September 1938 to July 1939
On 26 September 1938 all RAF personnel were recalled from leave, and the next day No. 25 Squadron moved by air to its war location at RAF Northolt. The situation in Europe was now critical, and in Britain the Territorials, Observer Corps, Coastal Defences and auxiliary squadrons were called up, and in the USA President Roosevelt sent a 500-word telegram to Hitler urging him to hold back from further demands in Europe. Russia and Britain undertook to support France if Czechoslovakia was invaded. At Northolt my squadron’s fighters were dispersed around the periphery of the airfield, and we were standing by with guns loaded and at constant readiness. Around us the airfield was being camouflaged with tar roads across it and green and brown paint patterns applied to hangars and buildings. The next day the Prime Minister announced another meeting with Hitler. Daladier from France and Mussolini were also to be present. We watched with interest as three Imperial Airways airliners were positioned at Northolt and during the afternoon took off for Munich. The next day, 30 September, Chamberlain landed back at Heston waving that infamous piece of paper with Hitler’s signature on it. But surely the Prime Minister did not really believe any more than the rest of us that he had achieved any real guarantee of peace? That night our Gladiators carried out continuous night patrols until the dawn of 1 October, my 22nd birthday.
The scare over, the squadron returned to Hawkinge a week later, and apart from the now usual interception exercises things got back almost to normal There were rugby matches against the Royal Engineers at Shorncliffe and against Dover, both of which we won. The squadron was practising for the Sassoon Trophy, which was a pinpointing and attack competition between all fighter squadrons in the group. This took place at Northolt in early November, but 25 Squadron only came fourth. We also played rugby against Tangmere next day and lost that as well.
Even against the background of the emerging threat of war, the RAF commanders still sought a high profile in record attempts and prestigious flights in an attempt to impress the Cabinet and the Treasury and to gain more support for funding the development of more up-to-date aircraft and equipment. As an example, on 9 November three Vickers Wellesley bombers took off from Ismailia in the Canal Zone and flew non-stop to Australia. These aircraft were of the new geodetic construction and would be developed and emerge as the Wellington bomber, an aircraft that was to prove of the utmost value in the early days of Bomber Command’s attacks on German targets. Some months earlier Flt Lt Adams, flying a Bristol 138 monoplane, had raised the world height record to a remarkable 53,937 feet, and many lessons learnt on this flight would help in the design of high-altitude interceptor fighters in later years. Perhaps one of the most dramatic illustrations of this type of spin-off came as a result of Britain winning outright the Schneider Trophy high-speed series of races, and Stainforth beating the world speed record at 407.5 mph. The development of the Supermarine S.6B floatplane used for this record led to the emergence of the Spitfire and the Merlin engine. At about this time a Fairey long-range monoplane with a Napier Lion X 1A engine set up another record by flying from Cranwell to Walvis Bay in South Africa – a distance of 5,341 miles, and landing with only ten gallons of fuel remaining. This policy of continuing with record attempts despite many other priorities played important dividends as the war clouds gathered in Europe.
On 3 December a flight of the squadron was attached to Worthy Down and Lee-on-Solent to carry out affiliation exercises with the Stranraer flying-boats of No. 228 Flying-Boat Squadron. I had a very exciting ride in the tail gunner’s turret in the very stern of one of the Stranraers while my squadron chums carried out close stern attacks on the flying-boat. I was in no doubt as to which aircraft I would rather be in!
On return to Hawkinge I was once more plunged into despair as the prospect of continuing as a single-seater fighter pilot was once more in jeopardy. The squadron was now told that it must give up its splendid Gladiators in exchange for Bristol Blenheims, a twin-engine medium bomber. For one dreadful moment we thought that we were going to be transferred to the bomber force, a prospect too grim to contemplate. I found it difficult to decide whether my prejudice was the moral issue of having to drop bombs indiscriminately, possibly killing civilians, or just the wrench from the fighter role. But thankfully the question did not arise, as it turned out that the Blenheims delivered to us were designated fighters by virtue of being modified with the addition of a pod of four .303 Vickers machine-guns slung under the bomb bay. The upper turret was retained with a Vickers ‘K’ magazine machine-gun. I was going to be very grateful for this armament when the shooting started! It was not yet clear what the squadron’s role was to be with this aeroplane, although it was soon to be revealed.
But first I was sent off to No. 82 Bomber Squadron at Cranfield to undergo a conversion course. The Blenheim squadrons of Bomber Command at this time were in a state of low morale as they had suffered the loss of a number of aircraft and crews because of failures of the Bristol Mercury engines. However, Sgt Watkins seemed quite confident as an instructor, and after two dual flights I went solo on the Blenheim. I remembered that morning well, for there had been a very heavy frost the previous night and the rutted ground around the apron was as hard as iron. As I taxied out I was concerned at the battering that the Blenheim’s undercarriage was taking, so I went very cautiously and it seemed to come to no harm. Back at Hawkinge there was no flying until after Christmas because of heavy snow, which drifted to a depth of six feet in the lanes around the airfield. On 5 January 1939 I took off from Hawkinge in my personal Gladiator K. 7999, and with a feeling of melancholy on this one-way ferry trip I headed north to Usworth in Northumberland, to where the aircraft was to be delivered. After landing and taxiing up to the hangar apron I switched off the Mercury IX, and in the sudden silence, broken only by the tick, tick, tick of the engine as it cooled, I climbed down from the cockpit. I couldn’t resist a loving slap on the aircraft’s side before tearing myself away with a deep sigh of regret and walking across the tarmac to where Miley was waiting in a Blenheim to take me back to Hawkinge. As we taxied out I gave a final appraising look at this last of the splendid ‘silver-winged’ fighters that had been such a joy to me over the preceding years. So ended another happy and exciting period of my service, but there was little time to dwell on this setback, and Miley, who had also been to Cranfield, and I set about converting the rest of the squadron pilots onto their Blenheim ‘fighters’.
The Blenheim was first seen in its service form at the SBAC Show at Hatfield in 1937. It had been developed from the Bristol 142 (Britain First), designed as a high-speed transport aircraft, but its emergence as a military bomber-fighter came at a most vital time. I began to like flying the Blenheim, which, though not comparable with the single-seater fighters, had a good turn of speed and a good climb rate and was surprisingly manoeuvrable and pleasant to fly. I did not like all the perspex windows surrounding the cockpit, since although giving a good view at most times they caused all manner of reflections of any lights in or outside the cockpit. They could also mist up or freeze in cold weather, as I was to find out to my cost on a later night flight.
It took a little time to get use to the ‘spectacles’ type of control instead of the joystick that had come so naturally to hand in the single-seater fighters, but with the bigger and heavier aircraft it soon felt to be the right design. The Blenheim did have one serious fault, and that was that the cockpit heating was almost non-existent, and one flew around with constant cold feet. The squadron’s role with the new aircraft could surely not be as long-range escort fighters, for that would mean that they would be escorting Blenheim bombers, which would not make sense. So the conclusion was that they were for employment as night-fighters, and once the squadron was operational on Blenheims by day emphasis turned to intensive night flying. Confidence in the aeroplane gradually grew and was greatly enhanced by the visit of Mr Washer, a test pilot from Bristol, who took up several of the squadron pilots and demonstrated just what the aircraft could do. When I flew with him he asked if I would like a demonstration of aerobatics, and he showed me a full range of aerobatics and finished up by a single-engine approach and landing. I was very impressed, and as I gained experience I often repeated his performance.
On nearly every flight now I was demonstrating and converting the squadron pilots to the Blenheim. With a twin-engined aircraft one soon learned the importance of ‘critical speed’. With a single-engined aircraft, if the engine stopped one was left with only one problem – to find a suitable place to land within gliding distance. With a twin it was a question of keeping the aircraft under control, and to do this it was essential to maintain a speed high enough to give directional control to compensate for the asymmetric thrust from only one engine This was the ‘critical speed’, and it was particularly important during the approach and landing. Misjudgement under these circumstances was the cause of many accidents to twin-engined aircraft, and I gave a good deal of time to demonstrating asymmetric approaches during my instruction to the other squadron pilots.
Hawkinge had two rugby fixtures with Dover during March, and the second one coincided with the arrival of a Spitfire at Hawkinge. The teams crowded around the lovely, sleek machine and it received many admiring glances. Unfortunately no one was allowed to fly it (it was much too precious), but it was viewed with much interest and a lot of envy. I, in particular, again got that feeling of frustration that plagued me now that the earlier promise of single-seater fighters in my career seemed to be fading inevitably into memory. With no chance of flying the Spitfire, most of us ran off to the rugby field to vent our frustration in the rough and tumble of the game. The next day I was able to borrow a Lysander from No. 2 Squadron, with whom we shared Hawkinge. It was an Army Cooperation Squadron and had recently been equipped with this remarkable STOL aircraft. It was no Spitfire, but I thoroughly enjoyed this flight and spent some time in exploring the aeroplane’s low-speed handling and stalling characteristics that the full-wing slots, slats and flaps with which it was fitted made possible. This low-speed performance meant the aircraft could be landed or could take off in a very short space, making it ideally suited for the role in which it was used extensively later on, for landing and picking up agents from all sorts of fields in occupied France,
During April and May the squadron was employed on intensive night-flying training in the Blenheims. This was completed without serious mishap, which was a very good effort, as Hawkinge was a small grass airfield without very good approaches, and the emphasis was now on minimal flare-path lighting as the need for blackout on the ground became important in concealing worthwhile targets from enemy aircraft. After my flight in the Lysander when I had been able to evaluate the aircraft’s stalling characteristics, I and other pilots on the airfield at the time were amazed and shocked when a No. 2 Squadron pilot managed to stall and lose control of his Lysander right over the centre of the airfield, and it flicked over and crashed in flames. It was a sad case of misjudgement, and I had already appreciated, when I flew the Lysander, that its remarkable slow-flying capabilities could easily tempt a rash pilot to take liberties with the aircraft and inadvertently induce a stall, which, although at a very low airspeed, was vicious and came without warning.
Despite the grave news of the Nazis continuing to rampage through Europe, the squadron continued to participate in traditional events in our flying calendar. Empire Air Day took place on 20 May, and Hawkinge was open to the public to come to see the Blenheims and Lysanders demonstrating their different roles. Formation flying and mock attacks on an ‘enemy fort’ on the airfield were carried out by the Blenheims, and formation and short landings and take-offs by the Lysanders. There was also a flypast by Sunderland and Stranraer flying-boats, and the station workshops, hangars and other facilities were open to the public. A free ‘flight’ in the Link trainer proved to be very popular.
Early in June a flight of three of our Blenheims was attached to Benson for affiliation wth No. 159 Squadron, which flew Fairey Battles. Interception exercises were carried out and practice attacks using camera guns for assessment of the films after landing. After returning to the mess when the day’s flying was over we were all horrified to hear of the loss of the British submarine Thetis, which sank off Llandudno with the loss of ninety-nine lives: a tragedy for the Navy, and the war had not yet even begun.
On 14 July I flew in a formation of Blenheims, Wellingtons, Hurricanes and Spitfires that took part in a flight over Paris in salute to Bastille Day. Nobody could guess that some of these aircraft would be returning to France in less than twelve months as part of the British AASF in a desperate effort to hold back the Nazi hordes sweeping relentlessly through that unfortunate country. On this day too came news that Alexandria had been bombed. There was no doubt in our minds now that the so called ‘phoney war’ was coming to an end and the serious fighting was about to begin.
At about this time I was pleased to be called in front of the CO for an interview for a commission, and I also received another annual assessment as ‘Exceptional as a Fighter Pilot’. Both these were good news and helped alleviate my melancholy mood.
Among all this excitement I was concerned that Maisie had decide to take a job in Istanbul. It seemed to me to be most unwise in view of the worsening conditions abroad, but as she had already made up her mind, when she sailed out of Folkestone I took a Miles Magister from Hawkinge and flew over her ship across the Channel as an escort. She was to be a nanny to the two children of M. Monicault, l’Ambassadore de France in Istanbul. It was clearly going to be a worrying time, but I was heartened by the news that Gp Capt George, my old commanding officer at Hawkinge, was Air Attaché there and had agreed to keep a fatherly eye on her, and also let us correspond via the Diplomatic Bag.