In the few days before going to the Orkneys, my immobile Wren and I had to get used to the new facts of life, that we were to be separated yet again, possibly until the end of the war.
During the five months I had lived — on and off — at our house in Sherborne, we had tried to secure our moorings, but we had found it impossible to plan more than a few days ahead. Neither of us yet had the emotional security we needed and which we had hoped might have come with marriage.
I found that a Seafire LIII needed to be delivered to Donibristle near Edinburgh and I flew up in that, refuelling at Ouston. Thence I sat, terrified, in the back of a de Havilland Rapide with a Lt France driving it.
The flight from Doni/B took two and half hours at an average height of 250 feet above the ground, in heavy rain and a cloud base of 500 feet. The only level part of the journey was across the water of the Pentland Firth. At all other times, a look out of the various windows revealed a series of rushing rivers, steep mountains and shaggy sheep, all at a seeming distance of 50 feet. Meanwhile, Lt France, in his French naval uniform, could be seen clasping the ‘spectacles’ with one hand and eating his sandwiches with the other, his ‘St Christopher’ turning and twisting on a string round his neck as if the Saint was trying to hide his eyes from what lay ahead.
On arrival at Hatston I was met by the outgoing CO of 880 — Lt/Cdr (A) ‘Moose’ Martyn, DSC, RCNVR. Needless to say, with a name like that, he was a Western Canadian; a relaxed six-footer, well known as one of the successful Hurricane COs in Indomitable. His most recent major operation had been to provide CAP — with 801 Squadron from Furious — on the raid against Tirpitz. On this highly successful operation, planning and preparation had been superb, the weather had been kind for high level dive bombing and Tirpitz had been caught out of her usual smoke-filled habitat by means of Ultra intelligence. She had suffered irreparable damage and she never went to sea offensively again. The new fighters — Corsairs from Victorious and Hellcats of 804 and 800 Squadrons from Emperor — a new escort carrier — had actually outnumbered the strike aircraft on this raid. This was an entirely new departure in FAA strike history. Moose said that although there were many Me 109s on the adjoining airfields, none had taken off to defend Tirpitz. This was odd because the Germans must have had adequate radar warning of the Barracudas’ approach. When asked about AA effectiveness from the multitude of guns which we had seen from photographs of Tirpitz, he said there were supposed to have been about 80 guns of 40 mm and 20 mm calibre firing at them, mostly from the shore, where they had been landed from the ship. He said that the Germans had probably worked it out that they could not elevate their guns high enough when aiming at a steeply diving bomber, and they had moved their guns ashore for that reason. He also said that the Barras had “got away with it” because they had made a co-ordinated attack and it was all over in about three minutes.
I asked whether Seafires took part and he said that Seafires had been confined to CAP, over the Fleet. The reason was their lack of endurance, even with the 45-gallon slipper tank. I asked ‘Moose’ about Jerry aircraft opposition. He said that there had been no interceptions on the last three Norway strikes but one of his pilots had been shot down and killed by our own AA.
There had been no serious Seafire decklanding accidents in 880 or 801 Squadrons in Furious. This was because the old ship did not have an arrester barrier. If pilots missed the wires they just went round again for another try, as in Eagle. The Captain, Captain Phillips, and Commander Flying, ‘Ben’ Bryant were great characters. Furious was obviously a happy ship and the crew knew their squadrons well and vice versa.
“But what’s the future ploy for our lot in Furious?” I asked Moose.
“That’s in the crystal ball, old son. They don’t tell you a thing until a day before it happens here.”
“Who’s your, or my, Senior ‘P’?”
“Shorty Dennison, (Lt (A) George ‘Shorty’ Dennison, RNVR), but he’ll be leaving and you’ll have to get your own replacement. George Whitehead and ‘Cherry’ Westwood will also be leaving. That will leave you with nine. There’s talk of you expanding to 24 and going aboard Implacable when she gets out of the builder’s yard.”
“I’ve asked for Norman Goodfellow as Senior ‘P’,” I said. “It looks like ‘all change’ to me. I suppose it was bound to happen. Most of your chaps are much older than me anyway.”
“Well, ‘Crusty’ Pye’s the daddy of the squadron. He’s 30. He drove dirt-track bikes for Wembley. He’s a very good Seafire driver, too.”
Norman Goodfellow arrived next day. I could not have been more thankful and happy. We knew each other well.
Then Norman, Moose and I went aboard Furious in an MFV (Motor Fishing Vessel) to meet the Captain and Commander Flying. She was at anchor in Scapa Flow with the rest of the Home Fleet. Norman and I were given a repaired Seafire III each to fly off her deck, back to 880’s base at the RAF Station at Skeabrae. The Mark FIII Seafire which we flew was a heavier version of the LIII in 3 Wing. It had heavy catapult spools added and (manually) folding wings. Nevertheless, it leapt into the air from Furious’ deck at anchor and with only 15 knots of wind.
Moose had arranged for me, and now Norman, to fly to Ravager to do some decklandings. Neither of us had done any in Seafires before. She was in the Clyde off Greenock on the other side of Scotland.
After doing six landings each we flew back to the Orkneys on 10 August. Moose then said goodbye to the squadron at Skeabrae and we put him aboard the ferry for Scotland with a spare bottle of Scotch and a carved squadron crest as going-away presents.
Three days later I embarked with my ten pilots aboard Furious. There I met the eight pilots of 801 Squadron, and the boss of 827.
The boss of 801, Stuart Jewers, showed me my cabin, My Gieves tin trunk had miraculously arrived on board with one or two spare pairs of pants and things were beginning to settle.
That night, the Captain was ‘dined’ in the wardroom. He told us that all leave was now stopped and he would be “lighting the candle” again on 14 August. We should be going for a few days ops, 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle.
“We shall all be back at Scapa by the end of the month,” he said, “our boilers won’t stand it for any longer.”
Before I turned in that night, Norman and I talked to the men maintaining our aircraft in the hangar. By now, I could just about remember the names of the pilots and the Chief Petty Officer in charge. Norman Goodfellow, Bob Simpson and ‘DC’ Richardson (ex-21 Course at St. Vincent), Claude Leighton (RNZNVR), Neville Turnbull, Dicky Dankaster, Ken Boardman, Doug Patullo, George Whitehead, Harry Westwood, I. I. Fraser (RNZNVR) and Edwin (‘Crusty’) Pye.
I took the squadron ‘Line Book’ to my cabin. The squadron had formed in early July 1941. ‘Butch’ Judd had been the CO until his death in ‘Pedestal’ in August 1942 when Dicky Cork took over. After 880 ‘A’ Flight had done the Petsamo/Kirkenes operation on 31 July 1941, the squadron was given eight more Hurricanes (which were just becoming available) embarked in the new carrier Indomitable, with Captain Dennis Boyd in command. After taking part in the desperate attempt to defend Ceylon and Colombo from Admiral Nagumo’s carrier group, the squadron accompanied Indomitable to the Indian Ocean and assisted in the capture of Diego Suarez, Madagascar. The ship and her squadrons returned round the Cape of Good Hope to the Mediterranean in August 1942 for ‘Pedestal’ with Captain Troubridge in command. In November and while Indomitable was under repair in the USA, 880 re-formed in Britain on Seafire Llls and embarked in Argus for ‘Torch’. After Operation ‘Husky’ in the repaired Indomitable, she having been again damaged, the squadron embarked in an escort carrier — Stalker — for Operation ‘Avalanche’ — the landings at Salerno, in September 1943.
Although the line book made much of the prangs sustained aboard Stalker at Salerno — with remarkable photographs of Seafires hanging by their tails with their props dragging in the water and the pilot climbing back aboard over the tail — the squadron did quite well, having enough aircraft left over to supply half the 20 Seafires disembarked to Paestum, a few miles inland from Salerno.
Since ‘Avalanche’, 880 had embarked again in Furious and, with 801 had taken part in several Arctic operations against iron ore shipping and shore installations in the ‘leads’, off the north and west coasts of Norway. Since the April raid it had also supplied CAP on three further raids on Tirpitz. However, none of these subsequent strikes had caught Tirpitz with her drawers down, as she was well defended by smoke generators by the time the Barracudas arrived.
When we arrived aboard Furious, the name Tirpitz was still on everyone’s lips. She still represented to the Admiralty the greatest threat since naval warfare began. She kept a fleet of up to four battleships, six cruisers and at least one fleet carrier permanently at Scapa for 18 months of the war and she kept Admirals pacing their cabins throughout the length and breadth of Britain, thinking up new ways of getting rid of her. The most brilliant and successful of these was her total disablement for six months by Godfrey Place’s mini-subs in September 1943. Admiral Tovey, C-in-C Home Fleet, ate, slept and drank Tirpitz, 24 hours a day. Naturally, we in 880 also became equally paranoid at the sound of her name and were itching to have a go at her ourselves, somehow or other. All this was in spite of the fact that Hitler had announced over two years previously that Tirpitz would “never again carry out prolonged operations at sea”. In fact she would never fire her guns at ship targets in her life and was now about to become a floating battery, with half her guns and her crew taken ashore and her bottom filled with concrete to keep her afloat. The Admiralty knew most of her movements from 1942 onwards, through Ultra. Why they disregarded this priceless information and allowed everyone to get so steamed up over her remains a mystery to this day. Perhaps one of the reasons for their obsession was that Tirpitz, unwittingly and without menace on her part, had been directly responsible for the First Sea Lord’s tragically wrong order for the entire Russian-bound convoy — PQ17 — to scatter, resulting in the loss of 24 ships to German air attack and U-boats. This order was given by Admiral Pound because he considered that Tirpitz was at sea, although Ultra told him clearly that she was returning to harbour (because the German Admiral learned that Victorious had put to sea after her). Pound, placing himself in the shoes of the German Admiral, could not believe that such a ship could fear an aircraft carrier and could not see why Tirpitz should return to harbour.
So that, to be at Scapa in August 1944 was to re-enter the old-fashioned world of the battleship. Who were we to say that our senior officers were all wrong? Yet, had we known it, 40 more aircrew on 200 more bombing sorties by RAF and Russian crews, were to lose their lives driving this wreck of a useless ship deeper into the mud, before the Admiralty and the C-in-C Home Fleet accepted that Tirpitz no longer held any menace. Finally, in November 1944, she was capsized in Tromso harbour by Barnes-Wallis’ 12,000 lb blockbusters, and the Admirals slept, exhausted, but happy, at last.
My new ship Furious was an interesting ship. She had started life in 1917 as one of Admiral Fisher’s fast battlecruisers which, with her four 18-inch guns could hurl l½-ton shells for 30 miles — farther than anyone else. She, and two others, were intended to win the next battle of Jutland. Beatty however, convinced by a greater need for aerial reconnaissance to find the targets for such guns, converted her two forward guns to an aircraft take-off platform for Sopwith Pups. When the pilots subsequently objected to the wasteful ditching of such beautiful aircraft after each flight, a landing platform was erected over the aft guns. By the early thirties she had been fully converted.
When we arrived on board we were introduced to the Officer-in-Charge of the flight deck machinery — Lt/Cdr (E) John Lefaux, RN. He introduced us to his favourite bit of machinery. This worked the aeroplane-shaped lifts, the aerials and arrester wires by driving a hydraulic pump. It was a double-expansion, double/acting, horizontal steam engine. It was fascinating to watch this latter-day piece of high quality British workmanship as it turned two huge flywheels almost silently, at 60 times a minute at full throttle, with its mahogany-lagged cylinders, drip-feed lubrication and its brightly polished gunmetal pistons and connecting rods turning majestically in the bright, carbon-filament lighting — which it also supplied. John Lefaux said that it had originally worked the aft pair of guns in Furious, and was second-hand even then.
The “few days ops” mentioned by our Captain, turned out to be yet another go at Tirpitz. We were to be joined by Indefatigable, newly arrived at Scapa, and by her 36 Seafires, 12 Fireflys and 24 Barracudas. She had two hangars and could carry double the number of aircraft of any British carrier launched so far. She completely swamped our contribution in Furious, so that when we sailed, we were very small fry indeed.
This, had we known it, was to be the start of a new method of carrier use — by a combined strike with several carriers, remaining at sea for a considerable period, refuelling the smaller ships at sea, as necessary — a dress rehearsal for the Pacific.
We were all anxious in 880 that our Seafires should be allowed to see some of the action over Norway and not be confined entirely to CAP over the Fleet. However, as I was a new boy I had to proceed cautiously. Too often, enthusiastic new COs of squadrons had led their boys to their doom.
After one day at sea and making good speed, we arrived off St. Kilda, a rocky islet in the Atlantic. We used it for a practice strike with real ammunition and bombs. There was nothing like flying with 880 Squadron to get to know them. We wondered what the St. Kilda fulmar colony must have thought of us.
After this we journeyed north until we were about 350 miles inside the Arctic Circle. As it was summer, the hours of daylight got longer and longer and we spent much time on deck, strapped in our cold cockpits, waiting to hear from Indefatigable’s radar whether a Ju 88 or two had taken off from Norway to come and search for us.
I also spent some time on Furious’ bridge in the starboard ‘catwalk’. I had noticed some blocks of wood lying around on the gratings. These had come from our Seafires. We used 15 degrees of flap on take-off. The early Seafire IIIs only had a two-position pneumatic selector, fully up or fully down. The intermediate position was only obtainable by using wooden blocks to jam the flaps open for take-off purposes. After take-off the blocks were freed by selection to the down position momentarily. The propeller slipstream and the slight crosswind from port always used for carrier operation (to prevent turbulence in the lee of the Island when landing) deposited them on the bridge. There was a competition between 801 and 880 to see who could get most blocks to hit the Officer of the Watch.
Deck operation and flying from Furious was relaxed and easy. The only need for urgency was to make sure that each Seafire, Barra or Firefly approached in pairs, so that if the first aircraft had to go round again for some reason, there was always another one to land immediately behind him. On landing, he would cut his engine and be pushed back to a carefully marked position athwart the aft lift. The lift would then descend with the Seafire, with about two inches clearance, to the hangar. It took about two and a half minutes.
At dawn (0300) on 22 August, eight of us took off for CAP. I had got permission for us to carry out our patrol over Nord Cap, a point of land about 40 miles north of Altenfjord, where the Tirpitz lay. At 2000 feet altitude, Indefatigable’s radar could still keep us on her plot and vector us onto any Jerries that might make the journey towards the Fleet while the strike was in progress. At the same time we could also cover the withdrawal of the strike as it made its way back to the ship. We were to take off after the strike had set course, so that surprise would not be lost and the Germans would not ‘see’ us on their ‘Würzburg’ coastal radar.
Twenty-two Barracudas, armed with 500 pound SAP and 1600 pound A/P bombs formed the main strike. Our four, of 827 Squadron, although they alone had had the experience of making the April strike on Tirpitz, were not senior enough and were not leading the strike, neither did they — nor anyone from Furious — attend the main briefing in Indefatigable.
When we landed after our CAP, having seen nothing except the distant mainland of Norway enshrouded with cloud, we learned that the main strike had turned back when eight miles off the coast due to bad weather. The leader had been told not to go near the coast if the weather looked bad, so that surprise would not be lost for any subsequent attempts. However, we were unaware that the German hill-top radar had already ‘seen’ the Barracudas, as they had to start their climb 20 miles before they reached the coast. Subsequent strikes were therefore unsuccessful, for Tirpitz was by then completely covered with smoke from the smoke generators around her, and bombing was a lottery.
Once the Germans had radar, they could never be surprised by the Barras or similar slow-climbing, low performance, strike aircraft. (See Appendix 2.) However, when the Corsairs and Hellcats later went in alone, surprise was achieved. Instead of staggering in at 100 knots and with a barely perceptible rate of climb they were able to zoom up from sea level at the last moment, giving insufficient time for radar warning of their approach. Thus it was that the only hit of the first day’s strikes was made by a Corsair, as they arrived overhead before her smokescreen was properly formed. Furthermore, being fighters, they could manoeuvre easily and neatly round the rain storms, without ploughing straight through them in the headlong and insensitive way that Observer-led strikes seemed to do. Fighter-bombers could also remain in a cohesive group for far longer than the Barracudas when the weather was bad. Their leaders did not consult with each other before every alteration of course, their formations were manoeuvrable and they could see where they were going.
Before embarking on this trip, I had met Lt Geoffrey Russell-Jones, DSC, again, at Hatston. He was still in a high state of nerves from his dreadful Malta experiences and to heap the Barracuda upon him for the April raid afterwards must have tried his spirit beyond its defences, as he himself admits. So that all those who flew this dreadful aircraft anywhere near a hostile airfield in daylight in Norway were brave men, like the Skua pilots before them. We just thanked God for giving us the relative safety of our Seafires.
I had noticed that when I had flown with the RAF, that if other squadrons from other stations were taking part in the same operation, we had always managed to hear how they had got on, the moment we had landed ourselves. This was done to promote thought and discussion on future tactics and to learn fully from past experience. In operation ‘Goodwood’ we were also operating with other squadrons, but there was as yet no contact whatever with them, either before, during or after the operation. It was therefore impossible in the FAA to learn quickly from each other’s experiences.
This state of affairs persisted until the last two days of the war in the Pacific, when the ‘Air Group’ system was at last begun. So that we only learned after the war what had happened to the others taking part in ‘Goodwood’. For instance, we saw lots of Seafires landing aboard Indefatigable but we had no idea at the time what they had been doing. In fact they had done very well. First, they had taken part in a strike on an enemy seaplane base at Banak and had sunk seven seaplanes at their moorings. Next, their CAP had intercepted two Bv 138 float planes as the Germans took off from this same base to try to find out who’d done it. They intercepted them 30 miles from the Fleet at 700 feet above the sea in appalling weather, and without the help of Indefatigable’s radar, of course, at that altitude; a superb feat by Lt H. Palmer (SANF) and S/Lt Dick Reynolds in Seafires of 894 Squadron. This would have been of the greatest interest to us in Furious, not least because it would have been very encouraging to know that, at last, the four 20mm cannon of the Seafire LIIcs could now outrange the guns and pierce the armour of the Bv 138 aircraft. All we heard was from our own Barras. They claimed three hits on their second strike. After the war, we found that they had had one hit, with a 1600 pound A/P bomb. The bomb had pierced two or three decks and landed on the top of one of the ship’s magazines where it had failed to explode. Part of the reason might have been that it was half filled with sand. The 500 pound SAP hit from the Corsair had predictably failed to pierce the eight inch deck armour.
Next day, 23 August 1944, we prepared to get airborne on a repeat performance, but as ‘seaweed’ forecast a force 10, we went down to the hangar and lashed down our aircraft and prepared for the worst.
The day after, the Captain announced that Furious would be returning one day early because of the weather and lack of fuel. The same day we heard that Nabob, an escort carrier in company, had been ail-but sunk by a torpedo. She and Trumpeter later returned in company, with Nabob’s quarters awash and making only seven knots.
While we were withdrawing with Formidable, Devonshire and a few destroyers, Indefatigable (we heard after the war) returned to the area and managed a few dozen more bombs in the general direction of the shrouded Tirpitz, though no further hits were claimed.
The Captain decided to use our spare day to make a call upon the Faeroes. These islands, north of the Shetlands, belonged to Denmark. They were fairly friendly to the British. We spent two hours walking ashore and bought some dried fish to put in Crusty Pye’s bunk.
We continued back to Scapa, burning some ancient oil normally used for ballast. This caused serious complaints from our faithful destroyers astern. They flashed: “Bridge no longer tenable, steering from aft!” Our skipper made his usual biblical reply — some thoughts about Delilah “Opening a pitcher of rare oils and spices” in Samson’s favour.
On 28 August we flew off before reaching Scapa and landed at Skeabrae. Here I found a note in the Mess letter rack inviting me aboard Kent, my brother-in-law’s cruiser, where he was the Chief Engineer. It was the finest lunch I have ever had in a warship in peace or war. We also witnessed the exit from Scapa of the ‘Royal Sovereignski’, an old ‘R’ Class battleship which Churchill had given to the Russians. When she steamed out, her Russian crew ‘cheered ship’ in the usual style. Their cheers sounded like the ruminations of a disappointed bull seal, and lacked conviction. I asked my host what possible use she might be to the Russians. He said he had not the slightest idea.
When I got back to Skeabrae, I could not help but notice the difference between life aboard a County Class cruiser and a Naval Air Station ashore. I helped myself to some water at the dinner table. A mosquito larva was swimming up from the bottom of the glass to take a breath of Twatt air at the surface.
There was very little time for social pleasantries for we were soon required to embark again. The trip had originally been planned to include Implacable, the sister-ship of Indefatigable. With 801 we were to be her two Seafire squadrons, of 24 Seafires each. But she was not ready and poor old Furious had to heave up her anchor again and we re-embarked in her.
On 10 September Furious and the repaired Trumpeter, with 18 of the new American TBM Avengers, set off from Scapa, bound again for the leads off the coast of Norway. The aim was to interdict the German/Norwegian ore-shipping and so encourage the Russians.
The ‘M’ in the TBM designation of the Grumman Avenger stood for ‘mining’. Our task in 880 on 11 September was to provide ‘top cover’ for 18 mining Avengers in the leads near Statlandet. 801 Squadron was to supply ‘close escort’. The operation was given the name ‘Begonia’.
The weather was reasonable, only a few snow flurries here and there and with layers of stratus cloud from 1000 to 5000 feet and no sun. I had got permission to come down from top cover once the mining had been accomplished — if there were no Jerry fighters around — to do a bit of strafing with my lot. We found two small flak ships and a minesweeper. Together with 801, we emptied our magazines at these most satisfactory targets, and left them on fire and stopped. Operation ‘Begonia’ was a great success, apart from one Seafire and pilot lost, S/Lt Glennie of 801 Squadron.
We returned to Scapa next day and flew off to Arbroath. From there, instead of returning to Skeabrae, we were told to go to Macrihanish instead. So we refuelled and flew across Scotland in good weather, and arrived by teatime on 12 September.
Recently, a new pilot — S/Lt Dennis Kirby — had joined the squadron. He was a large, intelligent-looking chap with a red beard and a ready wit. I had had no time or inclination to set about the task of organising the squadron’s bumph (paperwork). Dennis looked just the man for it and was made squadron ‘Adj’. His first job was to arrange leave from Macrihanish the moment we arrived. Work on Implacable in the Glasgow shipyards was two months late and we would not be required to embark for seven weeks. This would give time for me to get to know the squadron well and perhaps to try to improve the reliability of the Seafire’s long range ‘slipper’ tank system. (See Appendix 11 (k).)
I do not remember much about the fortnight’s leave that followed. I flew south from Donibristle by Seafire to Henstridge and back from Lee to Donibristle, so that I could spend most of the leave with my wife. This was a pleasant surprise for us both, for we had more or less written off the prospect of seeing each other again until the end of the Japanese war. On my return to Macrihanish, I found that we were due to get a trickle of new pilots to assimilate: S/Lts Peter Arkell, David Crabtree, CPO ‘Chiefy’ Watson, S/Lts Bob Armstrong, Alan Dent; Lts Dougy Yate, John Boak (RCNVR); Midshipman Mike Banyard and Ian (‘Penny’) Penfold. This made 20 in all. Lt Dougy Yate and Bob Simpson were in answer to my special request to the Admiralty, for we needed a stiffening of new flight leaders in place of those who had completed their time in 880. With Norman and Dougy as the nucleus, I now had to find a few more section leaders. Dennis Kirby writes of this period:
“. . . You, a very young CO, were taking us all up one by one to see what we were made of in dummy dogfights.”
During the winter at Macrihanish, we set about getting to know the squadron ratings. We wanted to show our appreciation of their hard work and their skill. Every pilot had his ‘own’ aircraft and crew. There were already 80 ratings in the squadron, 40 riggers/fitters, 20 armourers, ten electricians, five radio fitters and five senior ratings including one ex-pensioner Regulating Petty Officer.
So far as discipline was concerned, because we were always moving about between one station and another, I was allowed to ‘weigh off’ those who were AWOL or who had put up some ‘black’ or other. I had to use ‘Scale’ stoppage of leave and/or pay. If the squadron RPO1, the ‘buffer’, thought a man needed punishing, he would always tell me first. Everyone knew in advance what the punishment would be and there were never any complaints. Perhaps it was because we got to know the men so well while we were in ‘Manchers’, through organised squadron dances and other parties with the men, that discipline never became a problem and almost no flying was lost through careless maintenance standards. Much was owed to the Senior Pilot, Norman Goodfellow. He is a solicitor in real life. It must have been his sensible and good humoured approach to the many human as well as the many technical problems, which made life easier for us all for the 12 months he and I were to be in the squadron.
At Macrihanish the squadron and 801 were given the usual small offices and a hangar each. We had a good view of all the ‘occurrences’ on the airfield. These mostly concerned Barracudas. Two squadrons of Barras were working-up for duty in the Indian Ocean at this time. There were terrible tales of them flying straight into the sea instead of pulling out from dive-bombing practices. We watched with ribald scepticism as they lined up on the runway for take-off. They looked like so many grey-painted Christmas trees, festooned with ASV aerials, struts, Forth-Bridge-type undercarriage legs, footrests, handholds, ventilation holes, other holes, bay windows, windscreen wipers, hooks, tailwheel guards, rear view mirrors, wing ‘fences’ and catapult hooks, bumps and sharp edges everywhere, and with faces peering out of every window. At the front, it was just possible to see the tips of the four-bladed propeller sticking out beyond the huge, wide fuselage, originally intended for an engine twice the size and power of the overboosted, short-life, Merlin 30. Altered to a high wing monoplane for the benefit of the Observer — a factor which contributed to tail ineffectiveness when dive brakes were used and many fatal accidents — it was exactly the aircraft one might expect to evolve from ‘Group 3’ adherents. (See Appendix 2 — Naval Air Power in 1940.)
While the Barra squadrons struggled, luckier Seafire pilots carried out low-level form-ups, stream landings, dogfights, ‘splash’ firing at a wreck off the Mull, dusk landings and formation aerobatics. Our formation loops and steep turns were quite safe. However, with the changes of yaw with power, and rpm and airspeed in the Seafire, we were unable to make safe formation rolls in fours, but several of us managed it in pairs.
We had several interesting dogfights with the much larger and more powerful F4U Corsair. In turning dogfights, the Corsairs were unable to get a bead on us if we saw them first. However, they could, like the Fw 190, out-dive us (both starting together) because of their much higher density (weight/frontal area). Also, above 15,000 feet, they were faster than Seafire LIIIs. However, the FIII with its two speed, uncropped supercharger, could easily keep up with the Corsair at 20,000 feet and above.
The Corsair could not out-turn a Seafire I, II or III as has been claimed. However, if the Corsair slowed down to about 90 knots and then the pilot selected half flap — provided it was down to its last 50 gallons of fuel — it could hold a Seafire LIII in a turning match at this speed and configuration at heights above 10,000 feet. Below this height, the Seafire, if it did not overheat (Seafire IIIs all had additional thermostatically controlled engine cooling radiators under the port wing), could outclimb the Corsair while making the turn and ‘spin it off’. Each type and mark of fighter aircraft ever built has its ‘best’ height for various performance aspects and where it can out-perform most of the others over a narrow height band. For the Seafire LIII, this height band was 0 — 12,000 feet. During our work-up at ‘Manchers’, we had our first serious case of a Seafire ‘self tightening’ in the pullout of a dive which fatally overloaded the wings. This highly dangerous and insidious longitudinal instability characteristic only concerned the Seafire III series, and in particular the 80 or so FIIIs built by the Cunliffe-Owen Company and which had flush riveted fuselages. All pilots were, of course, warned about it and the fitters always inspected the wing-fold bolts after each flight for ‘notches’. However, in the heat of action, there was no time to think about such things and there was no easy way of avoiding its consequences for we did not know the basic cause. When a wing came off in action we tended to put such losses down to enemy flak. The pilot never returned to tell us what happened. (See Appendix 11 (c)—Stability problems in the Seafire.)