October 1940 to July 1941
By the beginning of October the air battle against the Luftwaffe was showing signs of easing off and the immediate fight for air superiority was won. I think the following poem, written many years before, surely predicted this modern battle:
The time will come when thou shalt lift thine eyes
To see a long drawn battle in the skies,
While aged peasants too amazed for words
Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.
England, so long mistress of the sea
Where wind and waves caress their sovereignty.
Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear
And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.
On 12 October the AOC judged that No. 600 Squadron had had enough and had earned a rest, and so we were moved up north to Acklington in Northumberland. Unfortunately, much to my regret, we had to leave our Beaufighters behind and we flew up in our ageing Blenheims. Ten days later one flight was moved further north to Drem, and I joined them there when I flew up in a Miles Magister. Drem was a few miles east of Edinburgh on the Firth of Forth, and the station was commanded by one of the Atcherly brothers. Both brothers were known to be scatty, but Batchie was the wilder of the two, and serving under him there was seldom a dull moment. After the traumas of the south, Drem was a rest indeed, although the squadron brought with them a bit of excitement. On our arrival the resident squadron had organized a guest dining-in night of welcome, and we all sat down to dinner in a happy and relaxed mood. The dinner over, the port was being passed around when the unmistakeable drone of German Mercedes-Benz aero engines was heard, followed shortly by the whistle and swish of falling bombs. On one side of the table there was no movement, but on the other, as one man, the pilots of 600 Squadron were struggling to get the best place under the table. Our hosts looked with wide-eyed astonishment at all their guests lying prone on the floor. Even the crump, crump of exploding bombs did not immediately register with the hosts, but luckily no serious damage was done. These were the first and the last bombs to fall on Drem, and again I couldn’t resist the joke that I thought that the Boche were still determined to get me!
Although our flight continued to carry out night patrols over the Firth of Forth areas and provide targets for gunnery practice for the Royal Navy ships in harbour, life was much more relaxed and we began to feel the benefit of the change.
Between our duties the local Scots were extremely hospitable, and on several occasions squadron aircrews were invited to Lord Tweeddale’s estate for grouse shooting and lunch at Yester. North Berwick was near, with several golf clubs that were open to us, and Norman Hayes in particular made good use of them. Several lady guests soon appeared for drinks in the mess with reciprocal invitations to local houses.
The battleship King George V was at anchor in the Forth off Rosyth, and I did several night patrols in cooperation with the ship for her gunnery trials There was always a slight feeling of apprehension as the Navy were using live ammunition, but they assured me that they had a system of a ten-second delay in the gun laying, which ensured that shells would pass 200 metres behind the aircraft. Even so! But months later I felt I might have contributed in a small way to the sinking of the Bismarck in the memorable engagement with the Hood and King George V. The latter ship’s shooting was decisive, but sadly not in time to save HMS Hood, which was blown up by a direct hit from Bismark’s fourteen-inch guns before she was sunk. The most exciting moments at Drem for the aircrews was being driven by Batchie in his large Humber to Edinburgh. He had a preference for driving over the moors, avoiding the roads as far as possible. We spent our time either hanging on or leaping in and out of the car, opening and closing farm gates.
In our northern hideaway we felt a bit cut off from the war, but we heard of the Italians attacking Greece, Roosevelt voted in for his third term in the White House and the sinking of the Empress of Britain, and we followed with great interest the news of the air battles that were still being courageously fought down south. On a flying visit to Catterick we met several old Blenheim friends from earlier times and during lunch exchanged views and news. I was very sorry to learn that one of my oldest sergeant friends from 25 Squadron days had been killed in a Beaufighter crash. Remember Sgt Monk, with the bent Blenheim propellers? We all returned in time for a Christmas party in our crew room at Drem at which great rivalry ensued around the dartboard and the table-tennis table. Wives and girl friends participated and Francis Day was the judge.
On the last day of the year Maisie arrived back in Britain after an amazing and hazardous journey by ship from Basra. It was a great relief to know that she was safely back, and we became engaged. On my return to Drem I found that 600 Squadron was being split up, with one flight sent down to Catterick while I was temporarily left in charge of the other flight at Drem. I heard that David Clarke was forming a new squadron, and I pulled a few strings so that I could join him as one of his flight commanders. Before I went, however, I was invited to Yester House, where I met and fell in love with a beautiful redhead. This was Rebecca, the best of a litter of three cocker spaniels, who was to be my faithful and constant companion, flying with me on many non-operational flights for the rest of the war. After another day’s shooting at Yester and a final night patrol, we left Drem in flight formation, and after a gentle ‘beat-up’ of the girlfriends’ houses we flew down to Catterick.
So it was that I finally left No. 600 (City of London) Auxiliary Squadron after a flying tour full of interest, excitement and some frustration. I was promoted to flight lieutenant, having skipped the rank of flying officer, and took over B Flight of the new No. 68 Squadron. The arrival of our Blenheims coincided with heavy snow, and flying was curtailed for some days. I took this opportunity to catch the train down to Gloucester and marry Maisie at Churcham church where the two families foregathered. The wedding was made notable by the bride and groom being driven off for their honeymoon in a taxi with a huge gas balloon on its roof – a wartime economy measure that added a measure of merriment to the memorable occasion! In retrospect I think I came to realize that it was rather a marriage of desperation, for with the inevitable wartime conditions there was little prospect of our being able to live a normal married life, and I knew that our future was going to be difficult. At least we were able to fit in a short honeymoon.
During February and March back at Catterick 68 Squadron was air-testing Blenheims, training aircrews and getting the squadron into operational shape. One great improvement was that we were now receiving trained radar operators. I was very pleased with the sergeant allotted to me and we got on well as a team. There was an added advantage in that Jack loved Becky, my dog, and whenever she flew with us on non-operational flights Jack would see that she was happily snuggled up on a flying jacket at his feet. Training was going well until the end of the month when one of our sergeant pilots went missing on a night-flying training exercise. I set off in a Magister accompanied by several other aircraft to carry out a search, but the wreck was not found until the next day, burnt out on one of the highest points of the Pentland Hills. On 6 April I was carrying out a night test of formation lights on the Blenheim when Jack and I were caught out in a heavy snowstorm and were lucky to get back into Catterick in one piece. There had been several local blizzards in the previous few days, and it seemed probable that the sergeant pilot had been caught out when descending through such a storm and flew into the Pentland Hills while in cloud. During the month I had the opportunity to borrow a Miles Master trainer and a much loved Gladiator to throw around the sky in a brief few moments of enthusiasm. But then back to the routine of Blenheim preparation, where guns were tested by live firing out to sea from Whitby and AI calibration runs were carried out by day and night.
On 17 April 68 Squadron took off from Catterick and flew in formation down to a new airfield, High Ercall, in the shadow of the Wrekin in Shropshire. It had a splendid runway but the accommodation was far from ready, and a lot of improvisation was called for in the first few weeks. There was no water and no lights, but the clerk of works did promise that they would do their best to have the roof on the mess by the end of the week! Aircrews were flying on reconnaissance flights round the new sector, exercising with the local GCI radar unit and getting familiar with the new airfield lighting and the relative position of the Wrekin on their airfield circuit, as it was 1,000 feet high. When the mess had its roof on and conditions at High Ercall were improved, two Beaufighters arrived for the squadron, so once again I was involved in converting a squadron to the new type. By this time Max Aitken had taken over as CO of the squadron, but we did not see much of him at first as he had made himself comfortable in a local country mansion. Later on, when the squadron moved to Coltishall, enemy activity on the east coast was considerably more, and 68 Squadron amassed a very creditable total of enemy aircraft destroyed under Max’s command and his personal score earned him a DSO. Despite his squadron’s great efforts, the city of Norwich suffered a very heavy air raid at this time.
Meantime 68 Squadron at High Ercall continued with the conversion to the Beaufighter and build-up to operational status on the new type. On 17 June our efforts were rewarded when Flt Lt Paine shot down an He 111 near Bath. The squadron maintained constant night readiness with regular night patrols, but there was little hostile activity and it was November before they achieved another victory, by which time I had been posted to a staff job. Before leaving I did two more night operational patrols in the Beaufighter and had another interesting flight that brought back recollections of my Holland experience. On a visit to the Enemy Aircraft Evaluation Unit I flew with their pilot, Sqn Ldr Smith, in a Heinkel III Mk IV. I felt that I could have flown that Heinkel from Rotterdam without any trouble, but persuading the Spitfire pilots from Manston that I was friendly might have been another problem.
My new post was to be on the night operations staff of Headquarters No. 9 Group at Preston. This was my first staff job and I did not have any idea what would be involved, but I hated the idea of being off flying. However, Headquarters seemed quite agreeable to my keeping in flying practice, so I was quickly in contact with the group communications squadron at the local airfield at Samlesbury. To my delight I was able to get airborne regularly, and during my six months’ tour I was able to fly twelve new types of aircraft. However, I did not get away to a very good start, as when I arrived in my sporty but ancient SS 100 car I found that the headquarters was accommodated in the very grand Barton Hall, and without thinking I parked the car immediately under the imposing columns of the portico. As I got out a gentleman dressed in smart country tweeds and trilby hat came by and gave me a haughty look. ‘Nice car’, he managed to grunt. ‘Would you like to make me an offer?’ said I, but the gent walked on with another haughty look over his shoulder. The next day, when I was ushered in to meet the AOC, I got another glare and he said, ‘I don’t want to buy that dreadful car of yours and I hope that you have now parked it round the back like the rest of the staff!’ However, he did give me a friendly grin as I went out. On 12 July I drove up to Blackburn and sat as a member of a selection board for VR commissions in the Training Branch, and the next day was able to borrow a Hurricane from Squires Gate and indulge in my favourite sport of aerobatics. Although my AOC didn’t want my SS 100, I soon managed to sell it. The next day on a cross-country to Pershore in a Miles Mentor to clinch the deal I had to force-land at Tern Hill with a cutting engine. The following day Maisie’s brother Eddie, an airman armourer, arrived by hitch-hiking from Cornwall, and I flew him up to Wrexham and back in a Magister to see the family. I then had to drive up to Lancaster to give a lecture to the Royal Observer Corps, but two days later I was able to take Eddie down to High Ercall in a Mentor and arrange for a Blenheim to take him on to Halton, where he was under training. I took a train to London to attend a Fighter Command conference, where I met several old squadron friends, including my erstwhile squadron commander, who took me out to lunch at Scott’s. While in London I took the opportunity to look for another car, and eventually bought an old but good-condition Riley Kestrel from Rowland Smith, which I drove back to Preston. I was welcomed with the good news that I had been promoted to squadron leader, but this was tempered with tragic news of the death of one of my pilot officer friends from 600 Squadron with whom I had shared so much fun at Drem. The worst of it was that the crash happened when he was shooting-up his home at St Albans in full view of his family. In early September I heard about the Royal Air Force Expeditionary Force landing in Russia under the command of an old friend, Ramsbottom-Isherwood. I envied them the Gladiators that they took with them. October was a good flying month, when I got airborne in a Hurricane and a Defiant at Squires Gate. I also flew a Beaufighter at Duxford, an Oxford and a Hornet Moth from Samlesbury and ferried a Lysander to the target-towing flight at Valley, on Anglesey. Several of my flights had the purpose of taking officers around to the group stations on their staff visits. On 20 October I flew the AOC and his SASO on a staff visit to Andreas, where they were flying ground-controlled pilotless gliders to act as targets on the air-firing ranges. One of the group captains on the staff at Group Headquarters wanted to renew his twin-engine rating, so I gave him several dual flights in the Oxford, on which I was becoming quite proficient. Finally I flew up to Wrexham in a Hornet Moth with Becky, as I had been told that there was a Wellington III bomber requiring an air test after having extensive repairs done to it after a forced landing some weeks previously. I had never flown a Wellington before, or any aircraft quite so big as this one, and I spent some time studying the cockpit layout, all the dials and levers and reading the Pilot’s Notes, which I found in a pocket in the cockpit. When I felt confident that I had taken in all the important dos and don’ts, and in the absence of any volunteers, I climbed in and took the left-hand seat in the cockpit on my own. Start-up and take-off were no problem and all seemed to be functioning well. I felt a bit strange flying around in this huge and strange beast, but in fact I found it remarkably pleasant to fly, although very heavy after the fighter types or light communication aircraft that I had become used to. After exploring some of the Wellington’s performance abilities I brought it into land and taxied in feeling well pleased and quite a guy as I took my flying gear from the large aircraft. My pride was seriously dented the next day when the Wellington was collected and flown away by a slender blond girl of the ATA. On one of my last flights from Samlesbury I took two Army colonels on a reconnaissance of their ack-ack gun sites at Preston, Southport and Blackburn, a flight only remarkable for the perfection of the day and visibility that ranged from the Ribble northwards to the wide expanse of the sands of Morecambe Bay.
On my last evening at Barton Hall, as I slumped into one of the comfortable leather arm chairs in the beautiful lounge of this old Georgian mansion where we were quartered, surrounded by valuable old paintings hanging on most of the walls I was very conscious of the all-pervading peace and tranquillity around me, and thought what a contrast it was to the grim war news. The USA had repealed its Neutrality Act and was arming her merchant ships. The German armies in the East were still being held by the Russians before Moscow and Leningrad, but they had made advances in the Crimea and were outside Sebastopol and Kerch. The Ark Royal had been sunk in the Mediterranean by a submarine, and great tank battles were being fought in Libya between the Afrika Korps under Rommel and the British Eighth Army.
And then on the radio came the most astonishing news of all. The Japanese had attacked the United States’ Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor with a series of bomb and torpedo attacks launched from aircraft-carriers, several battleships had been sunk or damaged and there had been many American casualties in the naval ranks. Rumours were spreading that Japanese ground forces had landed on the east coast of Malaya and a further force was threatening Hong Kong. Surely the United States would now join the Allied forces in the war? But the spreading of the struggle to the Far East would now stretch our forces even more thinly on the ground and in the air. With Singapore, Hong Kong and Burma at risk, even India could be threatened. With these sobering thoughts I went up to my room and started to pack my kit and prepare for my next posting. I would be joining another operational squadron, which would bring me a bit closer to the war, but regrettably still on night-fighters.