The squadron record book (Form 540) for 6 February 1943, notes our first success since arriving in Darwin:

A memorable day for the squadron, since it marked our first real kill in Australia. F/Lt Foster destroyed a Dinah light bomber [above], apparently engaged in recce., about 34 miles W.N.W. of Cape Van Diemen at 1250 hours. F/Lt Foster was White 1, and both he and his No.2, F/Sgt Mahoney, saw the Jap hit the water in flames. General Jubilation.

[Cape Van Diemen is right on the north-west tip of Melville Island.]

This action was really a great piece of luck as far as I was concerned. It was just shear chance that it was my section that was on readiness that morning and were scrambled, when this hostile plot was located on the radar screen, and we were sent off. In fact my section was made up of four aircraft, with George Farries and Dennis Monger being numbers three and four. We were away at 12.05 but the other two quickly became separated from Mahoney and myself and they landed back within ten minutes.

Mahoney and I sped out to sea, vectored onto the ‘bandit’ which was still some way off. Having mentioned earlier that over the last year quite a number of raids had been made around the Darwin area, of interest is that this incursion was recorded as number 49. Not all bombing or strafing raids of course, just anything hostile that had received attention from the defences, whatever the outcome.

After the sortie, Jimmy Councer debriefed me and then typed out the following report:

From:     Intelligence Officer, 54 Squadron, Darwin.

To:         Intelligence Officer, No.1 Fighter Wing.

Date:      6th February, 1943.

Reference:    Composite Combat Report: 54 Squadron.

White section Capstan¹ RAAF Darwin. Up 1205 hrs. Down 1320 hrs. White Section scrambled with orders to proceed to Charlie Angels 30. White 1’s radio transmitter unserviceable to ground but could hear White 2. White 2 could hear ground but not White 1. When at 24,000 feet over Charlie, ordered to patrol Arsy (Roman Catholic Mission, Bathurst Island) angels 25. This was found to be just in a thin layer of cloud. Next vector 350, “bandit 8,000 approaching from E.” White section decreased height to 12,000 and when approximately opposite Fort Dundas were ordered to fly on reciprocal course, “bandit approaching from 9 o’clock”.

White section returned to Arsy and orbited, and were then vectored 280, “bandit 2 o’clock, 5 miles ahead”. The next vector was 360, “bandit angels 17, 10-12 miles ahead”, and on this vector E/A (enemy aircraft) was sighted about 1250 hrs. flying S.W. Courses conveyed to about 1,000 yards when E/A apparently first observed our aircraft, and made a steep turn, heading approximately N.W. and climbing to 22,000 ft. at estimated rate of climb of 600 ft. per minute. At 22,000 ft. Indicated Air Speed of White 1 was 225 and he was just overhauling the E/A.

White 1 closed in quarter astern at 17,000 ft. and observed Jap markings. There was no fire from the E/A and no guns were observed. White 1 closed to 300 yds. Dead astern and slightly below E/A, followed by White 2. White 1 fired two quick bursts at 300 yds., the first of which caused cannon strikes to be seen on port engine without apparent result. The E/A here appeared to be gaining slightly, and White 1 fired a third short burst with cannon and machine gun without result. White 1 was then able to gain slightly more and at 200 yds. fired a fourth burst, observing strikes on port engine spreading to the fuselage and starboard engine. A fifth burst, followed by a long burst closing to 100 yds., resulted in further strikes raking the E/A, the port engine of which caught fire, the flames spreading to the rest of the machine.

The enemy spiralled down in flames and was seen by both White 1 and White 2 to hit the water burning fiercely.

Length of bursts. (1) 2 secs.; (2) 2 secs.; (3) 1 sec.; (4) 2 secs.; (5) 5 secs. Approximately. No deflection used.

Ammunition Report:

Machine Guns: Port inner 290 Incendiary; Starboard inner, 287 A.P. Port outer 291 Armour Piercing; Starboard outer 293 A.P.

Cannons: Port: 29 Ball, 28 High Explosive Incendiary. Starboard: 29 Ball, 29 High Explosive Incendiary.

Camouflage: Enemy aircraft was coloured a greyish blue; there were red roundels on underside of wings and onside of fuselage. Markings on tail-plane apparently black and white lines; could not be distinguished with clarity. From pilot’s description E/A is considered to be type DINAH, but it was observed that the underside of fuselage was swept up almost to a point at the tail, and the engine nacelles appeared to be slightly larger below the wings than indicated in R.A.A.F. Diagram P1/1.

Pilot of White 1 Flt/Lt R.W. Foster, RAF, who claims one E/A destroyed; of White 2, Flt/Sgt Mahoney, RAF. Our casualties nil. No damage to our A/C.

Weather: 10/10 cloud at 25,000 ft. Scattered low cloud 3,000-5,000 feet. Visibility excellent.

 

C R Councer F/O

Intelligence Officer,

54 Sqdn., RAF

p.s. The first Enemy Aircraft to be shot down by a Spitfire in Australia.

[Candy was our squadron call-sign, so on this day I would have been known as Candy White 1 – a great help had my radio been working properly. Pat Mahoney was Candy White 2.]

Not unnaturally I was the hero of the hour and duly took the plaudits from my fellow pilots after I had landed. This bit of excitement caused all sorts of interest as can be imagined although initially it was kept quiet publicly for it still had not been released that we were here. However, as always the press somehow got hold of the story within a few days (they came on the 10th) and the reporters and photographers were soon milling about.

I was photographed quite liberally: in front of the Spitfire in which I had done the deed, with Bill Gibbs as CO of the squadron involved, with Jimmy Councer our intelligence officer, and wearing my mae west as if I was reporting in moments after I had landed. Then with a smiling bunch of pilots with me grinning wonderfully in front. It must have lasted more than the required 15 minutes of fame one is allotted according to Andy Warhol!

The Dinah was the Allied code word for the Mitsubishi Ki46, Japan’s two-seat reconnaissance machine. Most did have a single 7.7 mm rear-firing machine gun but if this one did, or if the gunner fired it, I certainly had no recollection of any return fire. It was known for its graceful lines and this was what helped it fly at a goodly speed. It was generally this speed that helped it get out and away from trouble. It could also cover a lot of ground as well as speed. Usually the crews would be in and out almost before you knew it and the radar boys had to be on the alert, not only to spot one, but to get aircraft airborne quickly and vectored expertly if they were to have any chance of interception. I had been lucky, not only to be vectored proficiently, but then able to close in before the enemy crew spotted me.

Of course, we had no way of knowing at the time which Japanese unit this machine had come from, and it was years later that its identity was discovered. It was a machine of the 10th Sentai JAAF, 70th Chutai. One has to refer to it being a Japanese Army machine (JAAF) because the aircraft we encountered could be either army or navy. In this respect it was like the Americans or indeed the British, both countries having separate air arms, although Japan’s army air force units were more closely allied to the ground troops and in the main came under army control. This Dinah was apparently the first of 18 losses this unit was to suffer in the war.

With Darwin town being virtually deserted, there were obviously few places we could go for any form of entertainment. The gramophone records that Jimmy Councer had purchased in Sydney just before we left were therefore in great demand and had pride of place in our mess building. One particular record that seemed to be played incessantly was Bing Crosby singing ‘I’m dreaming of a White Christmas’. Considering the time of year and the heat I can’t imagine why this particular song was played so much, unless it made the lads think of snow and mentally cooled them down. The original stock of records were supplemented from time to time as chaps were given leave to take a break in Sydney and those inclined to be generous, or who were fed up with Bing Crosby, would bring back a couple of the latest tunes. We had a radio of course, and once we were established, mail from home came up fairly regularly.

Few Australian civilians were about, just a scattering of cattle stockmen and some essential workers to keep things ticking over. What entertainment we found all had to be self made. Our days were spent at dispersal, having motored down from our camp each morning. The weather was improving all the time, so at least it was generally warm and sunny.

The docks had been taken over by the Australian Navy and Bill Gibbs soon made contact with them to see if we could be of mutual help, although it would be true to say we were looking for more from them than they from us. Nevertheless, we were offered the hand of friendship and on several occasions were invited to dine with them. They certainly seemed to be able to get everything they wanted and asked for, so there was always plenty of good grub available and the drink flowed well too. Bill had already discovered that they had control over all supplies coming into Darwin and being a wise old guy – there is no good getting old without getting wise – had pounced on this chance to improve our lot.

From time to time some dignitaries would descend on us from Sydney, and we even had the odd chap from the UK. One such who had come out from England, was Group Captain Richard Grice DFC. He had got his award in France during World War One but more recently he had been station commander at RAF Biggin Hill during the Battle of Britain. In fact he would hop up to see us several times and I think he was the senior RAF officer in Australia at this time. The usual way up from Sydney or Melbourne for these people was by Sunderland flying boat, via Brisbane, then across the Northern Territories to a place called Groote Island where they would land on the sea. Of the others who called in, most arrived early on while we were still a novelty, but then their visits tended to die off, and it was only people like Dick Grice who would fly up more regularly.

As already mentioned, our food, while adequate, was not over sumptuous. One morning at Nightcliff, out in the airmen’s tented area, one of our fitters came back from the mess tent and yelled that there were eggs for breakfast. His words were met by the usual derision and disbelief, but it turned out to be true. Dick Grice had flown up with 60 of the precious things from Melbourne, but it only happened the once. Some of the more enterprising airmen of both nationalities supplemented the foodstuffs by introducing fish traps, a sort of netted enclosure fixed on the shore. Once the tide went out the fish that got caught were retrieved and given to the cookhouse. I must say that it was sometimes hard to distinguish our British airmen from the Australian ones, for many had swapped headgear. With tropical kit came the obligatory pith helmet, and these were exchanged for the Digger’s slouch hats. Often, if you didn’t recognise the face of the man you were talking to, you’d only discover his nationality when he spoke.

We did occasionally suffer from one of those discomforts that plague westerners who find themselves in the tropics, that oddly sounding irritation, prickly heat. This particular affliction usually gets you between the legs or perhaps under the armpits. The only cure we had was some stuff called Whitfield’s Ointment, which we would put round the affected area although it was akin to burning oneself to death. So every evening as the sun went down, someone, somewhere, could be seen sitting in front of their tent or hut, legs wide apart and, having applied Whitfield’s would then have to waft air over the treated spot with a towel, or even a fan if you were that way inclined. God, did it sting. There was no worry about seeing you doing this, or rubbing the ointment on, for we all seemed to get it at some time or other. Fortunately with no women about to chase, there were only some Australian army nurses to be found anywhere around the Darwin area, one didn’t have to cancel any dates if one became afflicted with this torment. Perhaps some newcomers might initially wonder why some of these chaps were standing about rubbing themselves between the legs and then, grimacing while they wafted a cool breeze over their nether regions, their grimace very slowly turning to a look of relief, but they soon understood personally the reason why.

When we were not scratching and wafting, one thing we did occasionally when we had some free time was to go off duck shooting with our navy pals. The place was teeming with wild life where we were, and I remember going out once into some swampy area. The poor old ducks had never come up against human beings intent on their demise with firearms so we had a bit of an advantage with our 12-guage shotguns. The guns were generously supplied by the navy, for as I said earlier, these sailors had everything.

Often we would take tents and supplies with us and stay out overnight, or even a couple of days if we could. It was not only a good way to relax away from the tedium of the airfield, but it helped supplement our somewhat meagre diet. I cannot profess to being any great shakes as a marksman, although the spread of a shotgun blast had certain advantages over a rifle. On this occasion I had become slightly separated from the other members of our hunting party and found myself by the side of an expanse of water. Suddenly two ducks flew right over me and without much thought but perhaps some inner instinct, I raised my shotgun, fired both barrels, one at each, and both birds nose dived into the water, about twelve feet from the shore. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What an ‘ace shot’ I thought. Why wasn’t there anybody about when I needed a witness to such shooting? It took me a few moments to realise that I had bagged a nice brace for the pot and had just started to creep into the water so as not only to retrieve my two floating meals but to bring back the evidence of my ‘kills’, when there was a sudden ‘splonch’ and a swift movement in the water. The noise was made by a ruddy great crocodile that poked its snout up just long enough for it to snaffle both birds and take them under. I was back on the bank in less time than it takes to describe it. I could only return with a good story but no confirmation or dinner.

I suppose I should have guessed that all the furore with the press because of my sudden fame at downing the first Japanese aircraft by a Spitfire over Darwin, would not fail to dog me, and so it proved. It was not long before my face, words and exploit began to be spread in various newspapers both in Australia and at home. Unknown to me at the time my mother began collecting as many of the newspaper clippings she could and stuck them on pages in an 8″ x 12″ book-keeper’s cash-book. She proudly showed them all to me upon my return home. Some of the titles of the pieces were quite remarkable.

Londoner Got the First.

A Londoner, Flight. Lieut. A W Foster, RAF, was the first Spitfire pilot to shoot down a Japanese plane on the Pacific front, said a Reuter cable today from Australia. He had already shot down three planes and shared honours for a fourth, in Britain and France, before he went to Australia with the new Spitfire squadrons.

I was to get used to reporting errors. Not only did they get my first initial wrong, but they also said I had fought in France.

Londoner Shoots Down Jap Plane.

A Londoner, Flight Lieutenant A W Foster RAF was the first Spitfire pilot to shoot down a Japanese airplane on the Pacific War front, it was revealed to-day in a despatch from “Somewhere in Australia”, says Reuters.

Flight Lieutenant Foster, describing how he came up behind a Japanese reconnaissance airplane and shot it down into the sea, said, “I do not think he even knew I was there.”

All Darwin is thrilled by the arrival of the Spitfires which are piloted by veterans of the Battle of Britain.

Again my first initial is wrong, and then, pretending to adhere to the secrecy of where we were, by saying ‘somewhere in Australia’, it goes on to mention Darwin, and to give the impression that the town is full of grateful people, when in fact, as I have said already, it was more or less a ghost town.

First Spitfire Pilot to Bag Jap. And so on.

Some weeks later, pictures and an article were published in the Australian Women’s Weekly, centre spread. There were pictures of a number of pilots and ground crews, with yours truly climbing out of a Spitfire, with side-arm de rigueur. The article was entitled: English Spitfire Boys in the Never-Never. It was written by Bill Moore, a war correspondent, whose opening gambit was: White skinned lads look like bronzed Australian surfers now. The words that he began with were no better:

There’s a little bit of England wedged into a slice of thickly timbered bush-land that forms part of rugged north-western Australia. That little bit of England is the courageous unit of Spitfire pilots and ground crew who left the misty green countryside of their Motherland to join Australian Spitfire units in tackling Jap air invaders who swarm in from the stratosphere over the Arafura Sea.

Mere lads with pink-and-white complexions have in a few months of their life in balmy, tropical sunshine become as suntanned as the brawniest surfer on Australian beaches.

They have tossed aside the sweaters and mufflers they were wearing in bitterly cold south of England air stations last year, and to-day work and play in shorts and boots as thoroughly acclimatised as the Australian troops who are defending this area.

I will not go on, but this vein continued. Had Mr Moore ever been to England? Did he think it was freezing cold all the time? Was wode still daubed on British inhabitants? Did my parents and friends think I and my comrades were living in a holiday resort where the sport activities included shooting down Japanese aircraft for kicks? Still, I hoped the Australian ladies lapped it all up so we could have even better welcomes when we were able to take some leave in Sydney. Little did I know then that in just over a year hence I would be leading a team of war correspondents who would churn out similar stuff from Normandy!