After completing the Neukuhren course I returned to duty with the station company at Villacoublay. Here, little had changed. But now that I had been promoted to Unteroffizier (corporal), I was put in charge of one of the sections responsible for airfield security. Our primary duties were to guard the main gates and other entrances to the base, and to patrol the perimeter. We worked in shifts with the other sections of the security platoon and so had plenty of free time on our hands. I spent most of my off-duty hours pursuing my love affair with Paris. Magical though these weeks were, I had few regrets when they were abruptly cut short by the news that I had finally been selected for flying training.
After passing the necessary medical examination–which entailed a lengthy rail journey to Halle, northwest of Leipzig–I was posted to Luftkriegsschule 4 at Fürstenfeldbruck near Munich. It was here, on 1 February 1942, that my officer training and flying career proper were to begin. My long cherished aim had at last been realized. I half suspected that my father, as adjutant to the General commanding the Munich base district, may have had a finger in the pie, especially in the choice of school (shades of Rosenheim grammar!), but I wasn’t complaining.
The Luftkriegsschule, or air warfare school, had been built between the years 1936-1939. It was surrounded by pine forest, bordered to the south by the small town of Fürstenfeldbruck that gave the establishment its name, and to the north by the main Munich-Augsburg railway line. The school buildings were laid out in the form of an elongated U, one wing housing the classrooms, the other containing offices and living quarters. The open space between the two formed the parade ground–but the less said about that the better. Overall, the accommodation, the adjoining airfield and the numerous sports facilities represented state of the art technology.
The immediate environment was also very pleasant. Fürstenfeldbruck itself boasted several cafés and restaurants (although dancing in public places had unfortunately been banned since the start of the war with Russia in June 1941) and the local train service provided easy access to Munich–or the ‘Capital of the Movement’, as the city proudly liked to call itself during the days of the Third Reich–where a wide range of entertainments was on offer.
The one-year course, designed to get us our A and B military pilot’s licences, which would qualify us to fly single and twin-engined machines up to a certain weight, began with eight weeks of theoretical studies. At its start I had been promoted to Fähnrich, or officer cadet, a rank roughly equivalent to midway between a corporal and sergeant. And so, in addition to the hours spent in the classroom, the school also embarked upon the process of turning my fellow course members and myself into officers and gentlemen. Part of the transformation involved teaching us how to dance (apparently a necessary social grace, but not something to be done in public!)
We were bussed into Munich for our dancing lessons, which were conducted by the legendary ‘Peps’ Valenci, who was the city’s most distinguished dance teacher throughout the war and for many years afterwards. His lessons attracted only the cream of the cream. For a while one of my partners was a princess of the house of Wittelsbach. I hope I’m not being too ungallant when I say that the young lady’s physical beauty was in inverse proportion to her nobility of birth, but she was a sweet and charming girl.
The sporting facilities within the school, which included a competition-sized swimming pool, were supplemented by sailing courses on the nearby Starnberger Lake. All in all, the state was investing a tidy sum in each and every one of us. But all too many would be called upon to pay a high price in return.
It was during this time that fate dealt our family a tragic blow with father’s death on 15 March 1942. He had regularly suffered asthma attacks since being gassed in the trenches in the First World War. In the past he had always found temporary relief from the worst of these bouts by visiting the spa town of Bad Reichenhall for treatment. But on this occasion a particularly severe attack had struck him down in his Seidlstrasse office. He was unable to breathe and, despite being given an immediate antispasmodic injection, died of suffocation.
He was cremated in Munich’s East Cemetery and his ashes were laid to rest in Rosenheim. In some ways I am glad that he did not have to live through the catastrophic years that lay ahead. Given his strong moral and political views, there is every chance that he may have become somehow involved with the army officers plotting to overthrow Hitler, which could have had dire consequences both for him and the family.
After two months of theoretical tuition, when we learned about such things as the dynamics of flight and flying, the mechanics of aircraft and aero engines, air navigation, radio procedures, air and ground tactics and the like, the great day finally dawned: 24 April 1942–my first powered flight! Out on the apron we eight pupils clustered round our sergeantpilot instructor, hanging on his every word as he briefed us on the first of the three familiarization flights he would be giving each of us.