Joey Jacobson's War

by Peter J. Usher

  After seeing them again in June, Joe wrote to his family:

  I have managed to see many of my old pals of late – we feel badly that the RCAF has been immersed into the RAF – for the time being we have lost our identity. I believe they are starting some squadrons in the near future – so you should have something to cheer about soon.

  (JJL 14 July 1941)5

  In early June, Joe learned that Monty had enlisted to train as a radio mechanic. Joe immediately dashed off an impassioned riposte to him while eating egg and chips in a truckers’ café in the wee hours of the morning, en route to Upper Heyford.

  It is urgent – essential and vital to you that you weigh my words carefully and act quickly.

  I congratulated you on joining up – but of all the goddamn silly things to get tied up in – the new radio mechanics course is the worst for you I have been thru the ropes to a certain extent – I know what I am talking about – Here’s why you must immediately apply for air crew –

  Firstly: anybody who has not got a wing up is shat on from a great height in Canada – here – anywhere – you will rise no higher than the rank of LAC6 – you will be treated as scruff – cattle – and nobodies – you just don’t rate – your job is important sure – but it’s a technical line – we came over in the boat with radio mechanics – we slept in cabins – they slept in the hole and peeled potatoes – we were the untouchables – they took a beating for the gang – many of them were skilled operators before the war.

  Secondly – advancement – very few of you will get commissions – you don’t rise from the ranks in your line – LAC is your top – $1.50 per day your max pay – as pilot or observer you will get $3.70 per day within four months. Not only that – Mub you will definitely lead your class – I told you before, everything we did was down your alley – you will get a commission after six months – there is not the slightest doubt … I know how officers are selected – you are officer material – your marks will be tops – your work tops –

  Thirdly – Prestige – There is only one thing that rates here – a wing up – officers – captains – colonels take their hats off to us – we do as we please on a station – we get one week’s leave every three months – plenty of weekends and thus ample opportunity to get around the country – see things – meet people – you will get one week per year – will be stepped on at every turn – be made to feel little better than a stooge – sucker etc. …

  Fourthly – Adventure – you won’t get any as a radio mechanic – you will be stuck on a station – probably never see a raid … you will be cut off from most activity – as a writer you should experience raids from both sides – think of the advantage you will have over your contemporaries if you have flown over Germany – if you can explain how the airmen feel – everybody knows what a blitz feels like – few know what it is like to blitz and be blitzed in the air – I will guarantee you more story material in one trip over Berlin than you will get in a week on the ground – this is your big chance Mub – as a ground radio mechanic – you will not only be disillusioned – stepped on and feel out of it – you will be passing up the big chance of a life time –

  Fifthly – I’ll bet your gang won’t be over here before Christmas – you would be over next spring if you got into aircrew immediately – Don’t let an extra few months influence you. By the time you can get here I will either have finished my operational flights or they will have finished me –

  I hope I have driven home my point Monty – you are too good a man to waste in a purely technical line – you have too much talent – ability – dash – take it from me – ability is rewarded in our line – a guy has to have his operational trips before we think anything of him – we are treated as highly intelligent – skilled and responsible men – it’s fun – it’s adventurous it’s vital. You get results and personal satisfaction. …

  Immediately apply for pilot or observer – you would make a marvelous observer and would really love the work – pilot is the same – suit yourself – use all pull, connection available – don’t let them stall you off – they will try – but get into aircrew at once –

  They need every pilot and observer they can get hold of and then some – Don’t get stuck as a wireless air gunner. (JJL 6 June 1941)

  Neither offended nor deterred, and already in radio training at the McGill detachment of the RCAF in Montreal, Monty resumed the old debate.

  About my course – it is terrific, it is hard & I am certain it offers all kinds of scope even though commissions may be scarce in the end. We learn in 13 weeks of radio physics more than several years of university work would give. Of course, our work is highly concentrated but when we’re through we are supposedly masters of the latest knowledge in radio plus a key invention … which will definitely blast night raiders from the skies – and that is why our work is so vital, the speed is so fast and why I feel that there is possibly even more in it than in the air crew. After some practical experience at an air base in England, we will be highly skilled men of extreme value.

  But realize what it means to me. In 13 weeks, a thorough student of the liberal arts has opened for him a completely new world, the world of science – and science to the ultra-modern degree. Naturally, I can’t go into any further details – nor does anybody know anything much about it7 – but I can say I am tremendously hepped up about it for it is a far better course and much more interesting than I had ever expected. …

  One of my prime motives for taking [the course] … was because we were fed up with the Army and this offered what every man wants when he finds himself going into service – speed and action. … I know radio mech lacks the glamour of air crew but the work is what counts – you have to have matriculation for this course while air crew is now down to ninth year – 2nd year High. But the chief thing is that this is something new and I’m in on the ground floor – with a few thousand others. (10 June 1941)

  If Joe disagreed with Monty’s course of action, he respected it. He didn’t doubt Monty’s courage or commitment, but he believed Monty could have done better for himself, at least in terms of status and prestige, so important to Joe. He was less sure about the rest of the Pony Club.

  Still reading mail from home – Pony Club not doing its part. Mub like me realizes the game that’s up and is willing to make sacrifices although he is cautious enough to keep on the ground – Gerald tried – still hanging on – reluctant to leave what he thinks is life – Herby hopeless – disgusting the way our boys hang on to what they have longer than they should. (JJD 4 July 1941)

  Rec’d Pony Club mail – Monty is only alive member left – he made up his mind slowly – but he knows what he is doing & he is a real man – will be a prominent leader some day – Smitty lacks the necessary spark for accomplishment – Herby gets along alright – both fail to realize that there are more worthwhile things in life than just living.

  (JJD 23 July 1941)

  Three months after leaving Canada, Joe’s ties to the Pony Club were loosening. He continued to correspond with Monty personally, but otherwise wrote the Pony Club collectively and relied on Monty to circulate his letters to Gerald and Herb. What mattered more now were his comrades in arms, those with whom he had bonded in unity of purpose and action.

  A month into his operational training, grumbles more or less forgotten, Joe was more than ever convinced of the rightness of his chosen course of action, and recorded that he had “no desire to return [to Canada] without finishing this job.”

  Had a good bull session with a couple of operational gunners – the easy days are over, night fighters & ak ak are really bowling our planes over8 – no more easy trip – I’ll be pretty lucky to go thru 200 hrs.

  (JJD 18 June 1941)

  I wish Peter was still alive – he would be over here with me – there’s a kid that was slated to be a top notcher. I will have to just be twice as good. (JJD 3 July 1941)

  Letters from home help keep my feet on the ground – life is pretty un
certain in the air force during war time and I feel that my life is but an average gesture to stand up for our principles, protect our families, our freedom. Naturally it is hard on them – but when I read those letters I feel it is worth it that I am lucky to be able to do what I am doing. (JJD 5 July 1941)

  Being left alone these past few days has allowed me to do some serious thinking about our world – destiny – life – future, etc. & my own position in it – firstly – the war – has made people realize that part of their labour – money – effort or brains has to be available to the nation for the common security of all – you can’t be a pacifist – isolationist or anything else – we all have to pull together – all have to safeguard our rights & liberties. (JJD 19 July 1941)

  In letters from home Mom always says “don’t change dear” – fortunately for me I am changing – I hope for the better – I still take a humorous outlook on life – but I now realize I have a responsibility to my country – people – family – because that responsibility involves danger – makes it all the more worth carrying out – a long life is no longer my objective – rather – a worthwhile one. (JJD 22 July 1941)

  Thirteen

  Operational Training

  No. 25 Operational Training Unit had initially been charged with turning out twelve battle-ready crews every four weeks. Each course would provide additional ground schooling but most of all flying time, ideally about eighty hours, over a span of eight weeks. No. 25 OTU was one of two main units that provided training on Hampden bombers, the other being No. 16 OTU near Oxford, to which at least ten of Joe’s classmates were posted.

  By the spring of 1941, there were sixteen OTUs across Britain, training over a thousand men at any one time, and they were struggling to meet the demands on them. Completing a course in eight weeks required moderately co-operative weather conditions and enough serviceable aircraft on hand. Neither condition prevailed. Unusually heavy snowfalls during the late winter had closed down their grass airstrips for days at a time, and training was falling behind. Bomber Command, desperate to expand its striking force, was forming new squadrons for operations over Europe, even as some existing ones were being sent to the Middle East. The Command was increasing squadron size from sixteen to twenty-four aircraft, and supplying a select few squadrons with new four-engine bombers that required larger crews and more training. By the end of 1941, training on these new aircraft would be done at separately established Heavy Conversion Units, but in the meantime, it fell to squadrons and OTUs to undertake this task, alongside their regular operational and training responsibilities.

  In addition to the needs of expansion, Bomber Command was pressing fresh crews into service to replace those killed in action. The arrival of thousands of newly trained airmen from Canada that spring, welcome as it was, further overstretched OTUs, which were by then gearing up to take in pupils every two weeks instead of four. Yet there were limits on how many aircraft Bomber Command could allocate to training units and still meet its own operational needs. The only way to increase output was to lower training standards, and that was the stark choice Bomber Command had to make. So, many courses were shortened that summer, with inevitable consequences.

  Ideally, OTUs were supposed to turn out complete bomber crews that, having trained to the standard of a combat-ready unit, could be assigned as such to an operational squadron. That objective soon had to be scrapped for the time being. Having to muddle through bottlenecks and disruptions made it impossible to keep crews together for the full course, and even the shortened courses took longer to complete than intended.

  With more and more aircraft flying about, the need for air traffic control and radio aids at each aerodrome became acute. Nearly fifteen hundred aircraft were written off or badly damaged due to airfield accidents and blind-approach training. Sneak attacks on aerodromes by German fighter aircraft occurred frequently that summer, causing damage and disruption, although few injuries or deaths. But these nuisance raids were overshadowed by what was feared to be a much greater danger. Germany’s successful airborne assault on Crete in May gave rise to fears of a similar large-scale surprise attack on England’s aerodromes. Bomber Command directed all station commanders to train and organize all staff for the defence of their stations, to ensure that every man had a weapon and be trained and prepared to use it, and to conduct regular drills for the purpose.

  The disastrous consequences of a German success in their initial onslaught must be clearly appreciated by every man in R.A.F. uniform, and he must understand that the attack can only be frustrated if he is determined to use every possible means of resisting it, and is prepared to die in the defence of his station.1

  Although this threat never materialized, it placed an additional burden on both training and operational stations.

  By war’s outbreak, it had become clear that two crucial tasks could no longer be left to the pilot. One was navigation, the other was bomb-aiming. Solving this problem posed a particular problem for the Hampden bombers on which Joe Jacobson would train and fight. Unlike the larger five-man Wellingtons and Whitleys, the Hampden was configured for a crew of only four. Their stations consisted of a cockpit midway along the top of the narrow fuselage, a clear Perspex nose cone at the front, and two turrets above and below at the rear of the fuselage. So the problem of navigation and bomb-aiming in the Hampden was not only who should carry out these duties, but where in the aircraft he should do so. At the same time, Bomber Command was trying to figure out exactly what duties should be assigned to the newly revived trade of air observer, and how men should be trained for them. Several months into the war, Bomber Command was still sorting out how to crew a bomber that was now part of its main force.

  When the war began, Hampden crews consisted of two pilots – a first pilot who was the captain of the aircraft, and a second pilot who was his understudy – and two wireless operators/air gunners (WO/AGs). The newly designated position of air observer was expected to be filled by someone already qualified as a wireless operator and air gunner, who would need some extra training in navigation and bomb-aiming. The pilot’s cockpit provided no space to perform the paperwork involved in log-keeping and map-reading required for night navigation, even if he had the time for it along with his flying duties.

  Several ideas were floated about who should sit where and do what in this configuration, some of which involved crew members changing places at various points in flight. The commander of the Hampden force (then Air Vice Marshal Arthur Harris, who would later become commander-in-chief of Bomber Command) put his foot down and insisted that two of the four crew positions were non-negotiable. The pilot, he said, must always be in the cockpit, and the WO/AG must always be in the upper rear turret, where the radio set was located. The lower rear turret was fit only for an air gunner who, facing backwards, could not possibly navigate, let alone aim bombs. So whoever was going to act as navigator and bomb-aimer had to sit in the nose cone, facing forward, where he could also man the front gun.

  With only four positions in the aircraft, Bomber Command initially elected to dispense with air observers and assign responsibility for their duties to second pilots. The disadvantage of this solution was that, separated eight feet away by a narrow passageway down a ramp underneath the pilot’s seat, the second pilot could do little else because it was a difficult and dangerous manoeuvre to crawl back and replace his captain in an emergency. Moreover, this separation meant that the first pilot was in no position to provide effective instruction to his second, who needed operational experience to eventually take on the duties of captain. It was an inelegant solution, “an attempt to make the best of a bad job,” to a problem that Harris asserted had been foisted on him because Bomber Command had accepted the Hampden into service despite its manufacturer having ignored “almost every conceivable requirement … in disregard of specifications.”2 The training problem was to be solved by providing second pilots with basic instruction in navigation and bombing.

  Operational experience
during 1940 made it evident that properly qualified air observers would be required to navigate each aircraft to its destination and to bomb the target, so it was decided to replace Hampden second pilots with air observers and to reinstate air observer training for Hampden service. This was an important reason why, during 1941, Hampden training units and squadrons came to rely so heavily on Canadian air observers, who were by then arriving in great numbers. The now displaced second pilots were taken on as first pilots as the force expanded and were given their own crews. But the newly installed observers were not given flying training, and so there was no one in the aircraft capable of taking control in an emergency even if, with great difficulty, he could manage to gain access to the pilot’s seat. This decision would have important consequences for Hampden crews, as Joe and others would eventually discover.

  The Canadian-trained air observers were better qualified in astro-navigation than those trained in Britain, but their map-reading skills soon proved deficient. The English landscape looked nothing like Canada’s. In place of the vast landscapes marked by the regular grid pattern of farms, and the long, straight stretches of railways and roads that separated isolated prairie towns, England from the air appeared as a hodge-podge of tiny fields surrounding a multitude of towns and villages, connected by roads and railways winding everywhere. Canada had few aerodromes; Britain had many, none easily distinguished from another. The rivers and lakes so visible in the open prairie were largely absent in England. There, farmland was drained by roadside ditches running into small, tree-shaded streams and ponds that seldom revealed even a glint of reflected sunlight, let alone moonlight. Only fragments of England’s landscape could be glimpsed through the clouds that frequently obscured it. At night, all signs of human habitation and activity were blacked out. Reading the countryside from the air was far more challenging than in Canada. Supplementary map-reading courses had to be laid on for Canadian-trained air observers.