They Spread Their Wings

by Alastair Goodrum

  The idea was the brainchild of Wing Commander W. Helmore and the light, named Turbinlite, was built by the General Electric Company (GEC) in England and powered by forty-eight 12-volt batteries that weighed a total of about 2,000lb. These were stowed away on reinforced flooring in the bomb bay, the batteries themselves being laid out in four banks of twelve with two banks placed in each of the two halves of the bomb bay. They were charged up from an external ground-based source with special attention given to providing forced ventilation inside the aeroplane to avoid the build-up of hydrogen fumes during the charging process. A description of the Turbinlite by a former pilot, Michael Allen DFC**, will convey the sheer power of this airborne searchlight:

  Its batteries were capable of producing a current of 1,400 amps and discharging totally in two minutes. The lamp – reputed to be the most powerful in the world at that time – produced a beam from mechanically adjusted carbon rods located in front of a para-elliptical mirror reflector with a small frontal area approximating to the size of that cross-section of the forward fuselage. The light thus produced had an illumination intensity of over 800,000 watts [try to imagine 8,000 x 100 watt domestic light bulbs] and blazed out as a horizontal, sausage-shaped, beam of light that illuminated an area 950 yards wide at one mile range. It was not, however, simply a case of detecting a target then throwing a light-switch! The carbon rods took some seconds to bring the arc-light to full power during which time, in order to avoid a situation where the beam was not at full strength but nevertheless provided an enemy with a juicy light to fire at, the light source and reflector were hidden behind shutter doors on the inner surface of the lamp glass. Only when maximum luminosity was achieved [code name: Boiling!] did the pilot open the shutters, expose the beam and [hopefully] pinpoint the target like a blinded moth.

  Equipped with an AI Mk IV set, with an arrowhead transmitter antenna protruding from each side of the lamp glass, the aeroplane carried a crew of two. The pilot sat in a comfortable single-seat front cockpit and a radar operator occupied the glazed rear compartment, originally intended for a gunner. But in this AI configuration the Boston carried no armament, because with the weight of the batteries, light and radar there was no spare capacity for guns and ammunition! Despite this peculiar arrangement and – as will be seen – the lack of combat success, it nevertheless provided night-fighter crews with many months of valuable – if boring – night flying and radar interception practice. This was to stand them in good stead when the Luftwaffe stepped up its activity over Britain later and also when RAF night-fighters carried the fight to continental and other skies.

  The design team in front of the Douglas Turbinlite Havoc prototype after its first flight. From left to right: Dick Becker, Dennis Roberts, Leslie Baynes, Bruce Benson. (Courtesy of Paul R. Becker)

  One of an eventual ten such units in Fighter Command’s 11 and 12 Groups, No 1453 Air Target Illumination Flight, to give it its full title, formed at RAF Wittering in July 1941 from elements of 1451 Flight which was based at RAF Hunsdon. The commanding officer of the new flight was Sqn Ldr Kenneth Blair DFC, who had seen active service both in France with No 85 Squadron and in the Battle of Britain, and was transferred from No 151 Squadron based at Wittering at the time. These Havocs co-operated with one or more single-engine fighters, usually Hurricanes, but on occasion Defiants or even Spitfires are recorded as taking on the role of satellite fighter. Take-off would be carried out in close company, with the Hurricane keeping formation to the rear of the Havoc by reference to a few tiny, variable-intensity lights playing over broad white paint stripes on the upper and lower rear surface of the wings.

  Of course, to assemble in this manner at night would have been no mean feat in itself, but how was this unwieldy group going to bring the enemy into combat? The scenario goes like this: ground control would vector the Havoc on to a bandit to a point where the AI operator could take over and use airborne radar to try to pick up the target. If a target was found the AI operator guided his pilot towards visual range. The pilot might, of course, be fortunate to get a visual contact first but the whole idea was to bring the Havoc within searchlight range – without needing to rely on a visual sighting – and that was when the Turbinlite would be switched on. The pilot of the satellite fighter was supposed to spot the enemy in the beam, move in and shoot it down. There were many imponderables that could affect the success of this sequence of events – not least that it was highly unlikely that an enemy aircraft so illuminated would stay mesmerised in the beam long enough for the satellite fighter to catch it! Or that either of the two RAF pilots would not have their night vision ruined by the sudden intense light. So far, successful interceptions had been a quite rare event.

  It was in July 1941 that No 151 Squadron began co-operating with the Turbinlite Havoc unit at Wittering. As a first step, several of its aircraft and pilots were sent to RAF Hunsdon to learn the ropes from one of the first Havoc units formed. When they returned to Wittering, almost all flying in August, September and much of October was devoted to training with No 1453 Flight.

  As the flight was more or less up to personnel strength, training started in earnest with the Hurricane and Defiant boys from No 151 Squadron. It was recorded in No 151 Squadron’s Operational Record Book that: ‘on October 22, Pilot Officers Stevens in Hurricane Z3261 and McRitchie in Defiant AA431 carried out a pukka Turbinlite patrol for the first time.’ It also records that: ‘Plt Off Stevens broke away and independently destroyed an enemy aircraft.’

  Jack Cheney continues:

  The weather deteriorated into December but practice interceptions continued whenever there was a break. Despite the cold, our dispersal was very comfortable during the bad spells and we sat around line-shooting whenever there was little else to do. However, the calm was quickly shattered when, on 18 December, Sgt James Sudders, who had been with us at Church Fenton and posted in during October, spun in and crashed his Havoc at Stowgate railway crossing, between Crowland and Market Deeping (Lincs). At this time radio observers outnumbered pilots so it was quite usual for a pilot to have two observers attached to him. On this occasion, Sudders had both Sgt Eric Welch, his regular RO, and Sgt William Fradley, a spare RO, in the back of BD120 and they were all killed in the accident.

  Later on in December there were a few sorties in company with Hurricanes of 151 Squadron to try out a new wheeze. The Havocs were to fly around at 5,000 feet dropping flares on possible targets as an alternative method of illuminating the enemy. Bit of a shambles all round! Since the flares were loaded in the bomb bay, the Havocs used for these sorties were the battery-less non-Turbinlite aircraft that the squadron had on charge for crew training purposes. As we were not yet declared fully operational, the whole flight was allowed Christmas leave, which suited me down to the ground being so near to home. There was precious little flying for us in January 1942 and we were still ‘non-op’. The bad weather made our other activities scarce but we played several ice hockey matches on the frozen Whitewater lake at the edge of the airfield. There was also bags of snow clearing to be done and it was both back-breaking and heart-breaking as, every time an area was cleared, it snowed up very soon after. The CO was dead keen on playing soldiers so, when flying was scrubbed, we used up many Very cartridges and thunder-flashes on these ground exercises.

  In February the snow abated a little and although it was still cold enough to keep skating, we were able to put some flying in too. My pride took a bit of a blow when I taxied a Havoc into one of the dispersal bay walls. The brakes failed and the starboard engine cowling was a trifle bent but there was no serious damage and I got away with it. The station dance, held on 17 February in Stamford Grammar School, was a good opportunity to give Flt Lt George Turner, one of 1453’s original pilots, a good send-off. He was being posted to RAF West Malling and a replacement crew arrived from 51 OTU Cranfield even before he had left.

  A milestone was also reached before the end of that month when the flight was, at long last, declared operational. N
ight readiness routine was started, with bags of panic, Mae Wests and things. Despite all this readiness routine though there was not much trade and the only excitement occurred during the night flying tests [NFT], when one could indulge in a spot of low-level work over the wide-open space of the Fens. I was warned off doing this after word got back to the CO about my regular aerial visits over my home in Spalding, which also happened to be just across the road from my old school. My mother – and of course the boys of the school – got an enormous kick from the sight of my big black Havoc thundering down the school road just above rooftop height. But it had obviously upset someone and they reported me!

  Shortly before the end of March the flight was re-equipped with Douglas Boston III aircraft to replace the lower powered Havoc Is. These new mounts were handled gingerly at first, in view of the extra power but when we got used to them they were found to be aces up on the old Havocs. Two new crews arrived from Cranfield on April 7 but sadly only one week later one of these was lost in an accident. Plt Off Jacques Henri Horrell [English father, French mother] and Sgt Samuel Capewell were on an NFT with Plt Off Frank Darycott BSc, the flight’s special signals [radar] expert also on board. An enquiry into the crash suggested that Horrell became aware that two unidentified Spitfires were diving on him from astern. It was surmised that he took violent evasive action and fell into a spin from which he could not recover, the aeroplane crashing at Aldwincle St Peters in Northamptonshire.

  Now that the weather was getting better, our thoughts turned to outdoor pursuits to relieve the waiting. Someone had the bright idea that we should take up sailing on the lake near dispersal, so a sailing dinghy was purchased from the aircrew fund. The first trips were made, a bit too daringly and in the strong April winds quite a few duckings followed, including Mike who tried to go solo too soon.

  Flying livened up a bit in May when mine was one of three crews detached for readiness duty at RAF Swanton Morley, Norfolk. Each day the detachment took off at dusk for Swanton and returned to Wittering at dawn the next morning. 151 Squadron had by now exchanged its Hurricanes for Mosquitoes so the flight was now co-operating with 486 (New Zealand) Squadron instead. Another change of scene occurred in the middle of this month, too, when I underwent a blind approach course with 1529 BAT Flight at Collyweston, Wittering’s second satellite. It was a pleasant change to fly a single-engine aeroplane again, this time the Miles Master II. Upon my return to the fold I continued to do readiness at Swanton but there was precious little doing because Jerry just didn’t show up much. Plt Off Gallagher got a scramble one night and chased an unidentified target until it was discovered to be a friendly aircraft. That was the only chase during the month but it did at least relieve the monotony of the continual waiting.

  Night-fighter crew member Mike Mycock, with Jack Cheney behind him, relaxing on Whitewater Lake, RAF Wittering, 1942. (J. Cheney Collection)

  Late in the month my pride and joy, Boston Z2184, went u/s [unserviceable] with a radio fault. It had only flown once with the flight and was practically brand new. It was, however, repaired by the 30th, just in time to fly Sgt Dave Glen to RAF Church Fenton to start his leave. I found that the station had changed considerably since my time there. The OTU had disappeared and night-fighter operations had taken its place with the return of 25 Squadron from RAF Ballyhalbert in Northern Ireland.

  Detached aircrews continued to go regularly to Swanton Morley well into June but there were no more scrambles. There was plenty of activity, though, on the night of the thousand bomber raid on Germany at the end of May. Both Swanton and Wittering were littered with our bombers coming back in one piece or in several pieces. At the end of the month our flying from Swanton Morley was washed out. July got off to a good start, though, as the flight was one year old and it was decided to have a party to celebrate. All the aircrews and many of the technical NCOs were invited to Pilsgate, the CO’s house near Stamford, where copious quantities of strawberries and cream were consumed and the beer flowed freely. When the CO persuaded us to leave, the party departed in two cars (eighteen in the Humber!) to continue the merry-making at the White Hart in nearby Ufford, before finally retiring somewhat worse for wear for a nightcap in the mess. Standing patrols began at Wittering during this month but though these were flown regularly, no trade came our way. No 486 Squadron converted to Typhoons but still kept a few Hurricanes to co-operate with us.

  On 26 July 1942 the flight upped sticks to go on detachment to RAF Hibaldstow, eight miles south of Scunthorpe, to reinforce No 1459 Flight and maintain standing patrols co-operating with the Hurricanes of No 253 (Hyderabad) Squadron. This was all very well but still no trade came our way. The ‘conventional’ night-fighters usually had first bite of the cherry at any trade that came over England these days. Aircrew were billeted at RAF Kirton Lindsey and we had the bind of travelling daily to and from Hibaldstow to do our flying. The dispersal at Hibaldstow was definitely ropey compared to the comfort of Wittering and the food was lousy, too. But, you can get used to anything eventually and after a few days this was no exception. Kirton Lindsey Mess was full of Polish Spitfire pilots from 303 Squadron led by Sqn Ldr Jan Zumbach and I was very envious of their cannon-armed Spitfires.

  Turbinlite standing patrols from Hibaldstow continued into August and things began to hot up a bit as most crews began to get their share of scrambles. Nobby Clarke got two head-on interceptions one night over Hull but was unable to turn quickly enough to follow them up. Jerry Clymer had the most atrocious bad luck. Almost invariably, when he got the order to scramble his engines would refuse to start, or he would be recalled before he could get off the deck. Mike and I chased an unidentified aircraft and almost came within range, only to be told it was a friendly.

  On August 24 Mike and I were sent off on yet another detachment, this time to RAF Coltishall with Havoc BJ467 and a ground crew of six. We stayed three days doing some ground control exercises for Fighter Command under the watchful eye of Flt Lt Derek Jackson, a university don and electronics boffin. There were endless snags between Coltishall and Wittering control and I was heartily fed up with the job by the time we left for home. No sooner had we arrived back at Kirton Lindsey than I was told to report back to Coltishall on the 31st. Another binding few days!

  The pace of life took another upward turn on September 3 1942, when 1453 Flight was re-formed as No 532 Squadron. A number of Hurricanes were sent to us and pilots for them were drawn from 486 Squadron and from various OTUs. The idea now was for the squadron to become self-contained, in that it comprised ‘A’ flight with Havocs (Boston III) and ‘B’ flight with the Hurricanes. The other good news was that we were to return to Wittering on the 6th.

  ‘A’ Flight of No 532 Squadron. Jack Cheney is seated second from the left; Mike Mycock is standing second from the left. (J. Cheney Collection)

  Back at Wittering, the first two days were spent rearranging and clearing up our old Whitewater dispersal. Training under the new structure began immediately but after only two days, would you believe it, it was all change again and off we went back to Hibaldstow. In order to become operational there, it was necessary to borrow three Hurricane pilots from 486 Squadron at Wittering, which was now fully fledged on Typhoons. Does anyone really know what they are doing in this war?

  Once the move to Hibaldstow was complete we settled down to get the new Hurricane pilots operational, so that the 486 chaps could return to their squadron. Just before they left we had the only scramble of the month. At 21.30 on the 19th, Sgt Preston, one of the 486 boys and I took off to intercept a bogey. We were airborne for only forty minutes though before the hated recall came through. The Hun had gone further north and some of the squadrons in that direction took over the hunt. That was the nearest any of us got to the Hun in September. For the rest of the month we got stuck into our training programme in order to become fully operational, spending much of the time on instrument tests, since the artificial horizons in the Havocs were playing up at this time.

  A c
hange of command brought the month to a close. We bid a boozy farewell to John Willie Blair, posted out to 51 OTU Cranfield and an equally rousing celebration for his deputy Flt Lt C.L.W. Stewart on his appointment as the new CO. Needless to say this historic occasion was dealt with in style and lunch that day finished at 16.00 hours. At 17.00 that same afternoon I flew Sgt Joe Gunnill down to Wittering to attend the Beam Approach Training School and I don’t think I have flown a steadier course in my life!

  With the coming of the moon period in mid-October the weather turned duff and night flying was reduced to practically zero and it was not until the 24th that the weather decided to clear. Although the squadron was on readiness and could only put up one Boston at a time, Mike and I managed to jam in six and a half hours of night flying, the first for a fortnight. I crawled into bed at 08.00 next morning well satisfied after such a splendid session. The weather clamped down yet again so odd jobs were the order of the day. The latest wheeze is for us to scrape off the matt black dope from the Havocs in order to get the new grey and green camouflage on in the specified time. Well, at least it’s warm and useful work, though some of the aircraft began to resemble patchwork quilts.

  In general terms, up to November 1940 aeroplanes used for night operations were painted in the standard RAF day paint scheme. When night-fighter operations became common it was felt that black or a dark colour might be the most suitable for camouflage at night. As a result, a black paint with an almost ‘fuzzy’ finish to it called ‘Special Night’ or ‘RDM2’ was applied first to under-surfaces from September 1940, then overall by about mid-November 1940. However, by the time the Blitz ended, Special Night was considered not to be the best colour for night-fighters – a conclusion that had already been discovered in the First World War! Flying experiments showed that it tended to turn a fighter into a dark silhouette and rather than the aircraft merging with the darkness, it could, under certain conditions and at reducing ranges, actually become more visible. Unfortunately, no one seemed to have an alternative and it took many more experiments and almost eighteen months before a replacement colour scheme was settled upon. It seemed that, contrary to expectations, disruptive patterns of grey rendered aeroplanes less visible under most conditions, including the night sky. Thus, in October 1942 night-fighters were to be painted medium sea grey overall with a disruptive pattern of dark green on upper surfaces – hence the hard work referred to by Jack Cheney: