The idea of an all-American fighter squadron in the Royal Air Force was met with a surprising amount of opposition from both sides of the Atlantic.

One reason that the senior officers at the Air Ministry accepted the idea of the Eagle Squadron was because Fighter Command had lost so many pilots in the Battle of Britain. In just two weeks of fighting during late August, 231 fighter pilots had either been killed or put out of the fight—almost one-quarter of Fighter Command's total complement, enough to man almost twenty-nine squadrons. The Luftwaffe was killing the RAF's fighter pilots faster than Training Command could replace them. The pilot shortage had become desperate.1

American volunteers were one answer to the replacement problem. However, many squadron leaders, wing commanders, and officers in the field were opposed to having an all-American squadron. The Air Ministry saw the Americans in the abstract—they were replacements and would also serve as a useful propaganda tool. But the field commanders would have to deal with them on a daily basis and were not enchanted with the prospect.

This reluctance to have American volunteers was partly based on the deep-rooted, traditional British dislike of any foreigners (a trait that is shared by a good many Americans). It was also based on resentment over America's attitude during the First World War: the general sentiment in Britain was that the Yanks had entered the war much too late, had done far too little fighting, and had made too much noise that the war never could have been won without them. Some British feared that they might try the same thing again—send a few volunteers and then claim to have won the war single-handed.

In Britain, the general opinion of Americans—not just of US volunteers—was fairly evenly divided between pro and anti. An opinion poll taken at the end of 1940 disclosed that 27 percent of those interviewed had a favorable opinion of their transatlantic cousins; 26 percent said that they did not like Americans for a number of reasons; and 29 percent were “half and half”—unable to decide whether they liked Americans or not. The other 18 percent had not really thought very much about Americans at all and did not feel anything about them one way or another.2

According to another poll, the British thought of Americans as likable, attractive, democratic, freedom-loving, and efficient. That was the good part. On the other hand, they also believed that Americans were impractical, mercenary, conceited, and smug.

But all of Britain was unanimous when it came to US neutrality—everybody was angry and resentful over America's refusal to come to Britain's aid. The British saw American neutrality as nothing short of a retreat from responsibility; the United States was willing to supply Britain with arms and cash so that the British could fight America's battle. Anyone in the British Isles would have agreed whole-heartedly. An RAF airman angrily announced that the Americans could not afford to see Britain lose, but that they would only come into the war for mercenary reasons; they would only fight for what they could get out of it.

In short, the Americans were thought of as being not very reliable in wartime. They acted mainly out of self-interest and should not be counted upon very much. But, like it or not, the United States was the wealthiest nation on earth and would have to be counted upon if Nazi Germany was ever to be defeated.

British civilians were not the only ones who thought of Americans as unreliable. As has already been seen, many RAF officers were against taking US volunteers in spite of the vital need for pilots. Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory was quite outspoken in his opposition. Leigh-Mallory commanded 12 Group, which was responsible for defending central England. Number 71 (Eagle) Squadron had been assigned to 12 Group.

Trafford Leigh-Mallory had never been renowned for either his tact or his discretion. He was a plump, stocky career officer, always neatly dressed with a cleanly trimmed moustache. Before the First World War, Leigh-Mallory had taken a degree in history from Cambridge. After leaving Cambridge, he joined the army and, in 1916, became a pilot in the Royal Flying Corps. His manner was usually brutally direct; he said exactly what was on his mind and did not give a damn if anyone was offended by it.

The air vice-marshal stated that he was “very strongly opposed” to having an entire squadron of Americans in the RAF, and he especially objected to having them in his 12 Group. He had experiences with American volunteers in the Royal Flying Corps during the First World War and did not have much use for them. He considered them charming as individuals, but on the whole they were “completely undisciplined.” Some of Leigh-Mallory's colleagues shared his opinion, although they were usually not as outspoken about it.3

Other opinions were not as personal. “At this stage, America was neutral and England wasn't awfully keen on taking Americans into our armed forces,” said a flying officer in 609 Squadron (the same unit as Red Tobin, Shorty Keough, and Andy Mamedoff). “There were an enormous amount of Germanophiles in America at that time. They would have made hay with the idea that American boys were being subordinated to the dreaded British.”4

The British have always had the idea that America is absolutely swarming with Germans and Germanophiles. This idea persists even a half century after the Second World War ended. A newspaper editorial in the late 1980s claimed that “American society is built much more on Teutonic lines than Anglo-Saxon,” and that most “typically American” concepts, such as Building a Better Mousetrap, seem German in origin.⁵

Eugene “Red” Tobin, Vernon “Shorty” Keough, and Andrew “Andy” Mamedoff flew with 609 (West Riding) Squadron during the Battle of Britain. In September 1940, all three were posted to the new, all-American 71 (Eagle) Squadron. Here, Shorty Keough models the squadron's shoulder patch. All three were killed on active service with the RAF. (Photo courtesy of the National Museum of the United States Air Force®.)

Prime Minister Winston Churchill knew that it would take a lot more than a few American volunteers to swing the United States toward direct involvement in the war. Yet he believed that the Eagle Squadron might help to win at least a few converts in Washington, DC, and he was practical enough to know that a few influential friends in Washington could help sway public opinion, along with the opinion of a few leading senators and congressmen. In other words, a squadron of US volunteers could not hurt the British cause and might just help it. The Air Ministry got its American squadron, despite all objections.

There was opposition on the American side as well. Some objections had historical roots, while others stemmed from the official taboos set down by the Neutrality Act. In US history textbooks, for instance, every red-blooded American was taught that Great Britain had been the traditional enemy of the United States since 1776. Even though the two countries had been allies during the First World War, this ill-feeling continued right into 1940.

Some objected to sending any help to Britain, including volunteers, because the British were “the damned redcoats” and had always been at odds with the United States—right through the First World War. Others suspected that Churchill's government was trying to drag them into “the British war,” and were merely starting off by recruiting volunteers.

Most Americans wanted no part of the war at all. They believed that it was none of their affair; the fighting in Europe did not seem to be a threat to American security and, as far as they were concerned, their best course was to remain neutral. Nearly seven hundred isolationist groups pressured Washington to stay out of the war. America First was the name of the largest of these groups. It was made up of thousands of men and women who were of the very strong opinion that any American support of the British was wrong and thought “that the country should prepare to fight for the United States, not Britain.”6

Another problem, one of “image,” was how the British war effort was perceived in the United States. During the summer of 1940, Americans believed that Britain was losing the war. This bleak picture of Britain's situation had been formed by several events. The evacuation of British children to the United States and Canada did not bolster confidence in Britain's chances. Neither did Winston Churchill's famous speech about fighting in the hills and on the beaches. It sounded like Britain was getting ready to give up, just like France had done. Nobody wanted to back a losing cause.

But isolationism and a large measure of Anglophobia (which is not the same thing as Germanophilia) were the foundation of most objections. In July 1940, during the Battle of Britain, President Franklin D. Roosevelt angered and irritated the Anglophobes and isolationists when he announced that the United States was going to transfer fifty US Navy destroyers to Britain. This action served as the proverbial red flag.

Isolationists were outraged. It made no difference that the fifty destroyers were obsolete (they were of First World War vintage) and of no immediate use to the US Navy. America Firsters insisted that Roosevelt had no right to dispose of American warships, especially not to the British. One demonstrator against FDR's destroyer deal carried a placard that read: “Benedict Arnold Helped England, Too.”

Colonel Charles Sweeny ran into similar obstacles when he was organizing the Eagle Squadrons. “For months,” Sweeny said, “I was hounded like a criminal. I began to have a friendly feeling for [the notorious gangster] Baby Face Nelson.”7

Americans did not dislike all foreigners, and a good many American citizens held no real animosity toward the British—at least not openly. They just could not have cared one way or the other about Britain or its people. Alex Cherry, a Wall Street banker who left New York to join the Royal Navy, believed that there would have been a flood of volunteers to join the French forces if France had not been knocked out of the fight so quickly. The general attitude of most Americans was of friendliness toward France, an ally and a sister republic, Cherry thought. When he was growing up, he remembered hearing heroic stories about the Americans who had flown with the Lafayette Escadrille during the First World War. Americans were sympathetic toward France, even though most of them did not speak French.

But the feeling toward Britain was far different. Most of Cherry's friends thought they had nothing in common with the British. Cherry had heard that Americans had served with Britain's Royal Flying Corps in World War One, but did not see anything particularly glamorous about it. He just assumed that the Americans who served with the RFC probably had been born in the British Isles.

Alex Cherry was not the only American who felt nothing in common with Britain. In a September 1940 opinion poll, 64 percent of the Americans questioned said that they opposed helping the British.8 Some came right out in the open and claimed that they were not neutral. They were completely against helping the British out of another mess as they had done during the First World War.

This attitude was also evident in Washington. Although the Neutrality Acts were used to discourage civilian pilots from joining the Royal Air Force, the government actually encouraged military pilots, trained by the US Army and Navy, to join the American Volunteer Group (AVG) in China. The AVG became more famously known as the Flying Tigers.

The commander of the Flying Tigers, retired US Colonel Claire Lee Chennault (a Chinese Air Force brigadier general), did not want a bunch of crackpots and screwball barnstormers for his Chinese Air Force volunteer group. He wanted experienced military pilots. With the help of Washington, he got what he wanted.

General Chennault was given permission by the US government to recruit his pilots right on army and navy bases. He offered his men one-year contracts with the AVG; at the end of one year, they would be allowed to reenter the US forces without loss of rank. They would also retain their US citizenship. If the United States entered the war, they would be allowed to resign from the AVG at once and return to the US forces. Pilots would be paid $600.00 per month; squadron leaders would get $750.00.

This was a far cry from what the RAF volunteers were offered: $67.00 per month (actually, 16 pounds, 14 shillings, and seven pence), service in the RAF for “the duration,” and possible imprisonment in an American jail along with loss of their citizenship.

Behind this line of thought—encouraging trained military pilots to fly for China but making it illegal for civilians to go to England—lay a basic distrust of Britain. This distrust dated from before 1776 and the War of Independence. Americans had no long and belligerent relationship with China. Instead, the Chinese were thought of as noble and oppressed allies, fighting the treacherous Japanese against great odds. The British were remembered as ungrateful allies, who never repaid their debt of millions of dollars from the First World War. And now, the thinking went, they were probably up to some other trick—recruiting volunteers into the RAF would only be the first step toward even deeper American involvement in the war.

Even Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was anything but anti-British or isolationist, did not entirely trust Britain. He warned a diplomat that the British were always sly and foxy and advised that it was prudent to be the same with them. Americans had a deep-rooted suspicion of Britain, a suspicion that stretched from Main Street all the way to the White House.

The formation of Number 71 (Eagle) Squadron, which took place in spite of all the opposition, did not get off to a roaring start. This probably should not have come as a very great surprise considering all the suspicions and objections on the part of almost everyone concerned, in both Britain and the United States, when it came to creating the squadron in the first place.

The Eagle Squadron patch, which was first worn by members of 71 Squadron more than a year before Pearl Harbor. The idea of an all-American squadron in the Royal Air Force met with a surprising amount of opposition from both sides of the Atlantic. (Photo by the author.)

When Andy Mamedoff, Shorty Keough, and Red Tobin arrived at Church Fenton, Yorkshire, on September 19, they found out that they were the squadron. There was nobody else around. There was no officer in command, no equipment, and no airplanes—just three pilot officers with no orders. (Actually, there was one airplane on the station: a Miles Magister trainer that could not fly.) So the three men just waited around for someone to show up and assume command. It was not a very happy time for them. The North Sea coast of Yorkshire is not the most cheerful place in the world, even under the best of circumstances. After having flown combat with 609 Squadron, not to mention the anticipation of joining the all-American Eagle Squadron, Church Fenton came as a very gloomy letdown.

Ten days later, on September 29, Squadron Leader Walter Churchill arrived to take over. Distinguished-looking and highly qualified, S/L Churchill had seen his share of combat since the war began. He had been in command of 605 Squadron, which operated out of Croydon Aerodrome, at the height of the Battle of Britain. While he was there, Croydon had been bombed twice. He and the rest of the squadron, basically every man who could fly, went up against the Luftwaffe every day.

Before Dunkirk, and before he took over 605 Squadron, Churchill had flown fighter patrols over France. He had also indoctrinated two all-Polish fighter squadrons into the RAF, a feat that involved showing the surly Poles how to fly the Hawker Hurricane and teaching them English at the same time.

But command of 71 Squadron was an assignment that Churchill was not expecting. The Air Ministry reasoned that if he could transform a bunch of ill-tempered Poles into an efficient fighter unit, he should not have any trouble with a squadron of Yanks. At least he would not have to teach them how to speak English.

The Air Ministry had been indulging in 100-proof wishful thinking, as usual. The Americans were no improvement over the Poles. If anything, they turned out to be a lot more difficult, right down to the language problem.

The Poles might have been unruly and hard to handle, but at least they had discipline—they had learned its value in combat. The Americans would prove themselves to be a mob of ill-disciplined, crackbrained kids. And the language they spoke might have sounded like English to the untrained ear, but frequently made no sense at all to anyone who had gone to school in England. The novelist G. K. Chesterton was absolutely correct when he said that Britain and the United States were two nations divided by a common language.

Walter Churchill had not originally been slated as 71 Squadron's commander. The original candidate, Billy Fiske, had been chosen for several reasons. For starters, he was an experienced fighter pilot with an enemy kill to his credit; he had shot down a Ju 88 on August 13. He had flown Hawker Hurricanes in combat, and 71 Squadron was to be equipped with the Hurricane. Fiske was also a university graduate, with a degree from Cambridge. And, last but certainly not least, he was an American.

It would have been a relief to have an American in charge of a squadron of American pilots, particularly an American who had spent so much of his life in England. Fighter Command would not have run any sort of risk when it came to trusting Billy Fiske with command of 71 Squadron. Fiske would have been “bilingual”—British enough to communicate with his RAF superiors, but better able to get along with the Eagle Squadron pilots than a “foreigner” from the regular RAF. For the newly arrived Eagles, Fiske would have been a bridge between home and the still unfamiliar ways of England. This would have been a great help, especially in the squadron's early days.

But Billy Fiske was dead, and Walter Churchill had been given command. Churchill quickly discovered, however, that he was not the squadron's only commander. A former US Navy flyer, William E. G. Taylor, had been appointed “co-commander.” The Air Ministry wanted a regular RAF officer to lead 71 Squadron, but also appointed an American as a figurehead commander for the sake of publicity.

William Taylor had a brusque manner and a no-nonsense attitude. He expected to be obeyed and did not give a damn if of his men liked him or not. He had spent several years as a naval aviator in the US Navy. In 1939, Taylor received permission to join the Royal Navy and flew from the aircraft carrier HMS Glorious during the Norwegian campaign early in 1940. After a brief stint with the Royal Navy, Taylor transferred to the RAF.

Taylor came to the RAF with the rank of squadron leader and was publicly named the Eagle Squadron's first commander. Reporters, photographers, and newsreel cameramen were invited to the ceremony. During the media event Colonel Charles Sweeny was appointed “honorary commander,” and the Colonel's nephew Billy Sweeny was to be Taylor's adjutant.

The publicity campaign certainly had an impact. Squadron Leader Taylor from the United States appeared in newspapers and newsreels all over the country. But when Taylor arrived at Church Fenton, Squadron Leader Churchill had already taken command. A fourth pilot had also arrived: P/O Arthur Donahue, from 64 Squadron.

Taylor was not thrilled with the situation; Churchill wasn't either. Both held the rank of squadron leader. Both had been promised 71 Squadron. And neither was prepared to relinquish command to the other. The four pilots were also not wild about the situation. They were exasperated and discouraged—stuck on the gloomy coast of Yorkshire, with no airplanes and two commanders who did not like each other.9

After four weeks of just sitting and complaining and wondering what would happen next, Arthur Donahue got fed up and left the Eagle Squadron. According to the squadron's logbook, he was “unhappy with us due to our complete lack of any airplanes at all.”¹⁰ He went back to 64 Squadron, wishing he had never left. Donahue thought the Eagle Squadron was “a motley crew that would never amount to anything.”¹¹

The situation did not improve very much after Donahue left, not even when the squadron finally received some nominally serviceable airplanes. Instead of improving morale, the newly arrived fighters only lowered it further.

Somebody in the Air Ministry had the bright idea of sending the American volunteers some American-built fighters. But unfortunately, the only American fighters available were four ancient Brewster F2A Buffalos. The stubby, radial-engined Buffalo had been designed for US Navy carrier operations in the 1930s. It looked like a gumdrop with wings, and it flew like one, too. It was slow, sluggish, lightly armed, and without self-sealing fuel tanks. In short, the Buffalo would have been a death trap in a fight with a Messerschmitt.

Before any of his pilots killed themselves, Churchill decided to scuttle the Buffalos. He ordered Tobin, Keough, and Mamedoff to land their aircraft without locking the tailwheel, which effectively destroyed the planes. Churchill discreetly kept his mouth shut about what had happened. All that the Air Ministry knew was that four Brewster Buffalos were sent to 71 Squadron and very quickly became “unserviceable.”

The loss of the Buffalos was no loss at all. On November 7, nine Hawker Hurricane Mark Is were delivered to the Eagles by 85 Squadron, led by S/L Peter Townsend (who, many years later, would be romantically linked with Princess Margaret). The Hawker Hurricane is generally considered inferior to its more glamourous cousin, the Spitfire, and most pilots complained if they were assigned to a Hurricane squadron instead of a Spitfire unit. A British writer described the Hurricane as “a halfway house between the old biplanes and the new Spitfires.”12 It could outturn the Spit in a dogfight, but the Hurricane was made of wood and fabric, like the fighters of World War I, and was larger than the Spitfire. Still, the pilots of 71 Squadron were not complaining—the Hurricanes looked absolutely wonderful compared with the decrepit Buffalos, even if they were hand-me-downs. Morale improved immediately. The three veterans from 609 Squadron finally had something decent that would fly.

On the same day that the Hurricanes arrived, eight new pilots also showed up straight from flight school. Among them were Chesley G. “Pete” Peterson, a Mormon from Utah, and Gregory A. “Gus” Daymond, who had been a makeup man in Hollywood. These two would eventually rise to the rank of squadron leader and would command 71 Squadron. They would also become the squadron's top-scoring aces. P/O Mike Kolendorski, the Pole from California who had been told that he was crazy for joining the RAF, was also among the new arrivals.

Number 71 (Eagle) Squadron in February 1941: William Nichols, Ed Bateman, Mike Kolendorski, Bill Taylor, Andy Mamedoff, Eugene “Red” Tobin, Nat Marantz, Luke Allen, Peter Provenzano, Kenneth S. Taylor, Reginald Tongue (a British pilot on temporary assignment with 71 Squadron), Gus Daymond, and Sam Muriello. (Courtesy of the National Museum of the United States Air Force®.)

Pilot Officer Peterson came to 71 Squadron from Church Fenton, though he had initially been earmarked for 609 Squadron—the same unit as Tobin, Keough, and Mamedoff. Apparently, 609 Squadron had been on its way to becoming an all-American unit, or at least a mostly American unit, before Colonel Sweeny's idea for the Eagle Squadron was officially approved.

The eight new pilots brought 71 Squadron up to strength. The four veterans—Keough, Mamedoff, and Tobin from 609 Squadron and Philip “Zeke” Leckrone, a volunteer who had flown with 616 Squadron—would form the nucleus of the new unit. It was hoped that they would give the untried Eagle Squadron a much-needed degree of stability.

Only one of the six “official” American volunteers in Fighter Command did not join the Eagles. P/O J. Kenneth Haviland joined 151 Squadron in September 1940 and took part in the battle over southern England. He elected to stay with his old squadron instead and remained in the RAF throughout the war.

Squadron Leader Churchill had his hands full with his raw but eager Yanks. He did his best to tutor them in the basics of combat flying, which allowed the pilots to become acquainted with the Hurricane's good points (it was highly maneuverable and could absorb a terrific amount of punishment without crashing) and bad points (it was slower than both the Spitfire and the Messerschmitt).

Churchill also tried to teach the Eagle Squadron military procedure, including courtesy and discipline, on the premise that proper ground discipline was the basis for good air discipline. He had a lot more success with teaching them flying, as most of the pilots could not have cared less about self-control and teamwork. Their idea of air combat was based on films like The Dawn Patrol—one man in a single-seat fighter plane against the wily Hun. In the films, success in combat was a matter of rugged individualism. Teamwork never entered into air fighting, at least not in their minds, so why bother about it? They would have to learn the hard way.

Toward the end of November 1940, the squadron was transferred to Kirton-in-Lindsey. Kirton is in Lincolnshire, about 40 miles south of Church Fenton—which the Eagles saw as 40 miles closer to the Luftwaffe. Things were definitely beginning to look up. Even though the squadron was still weeks away from being declared operational, it was still considerately better off than it had been a month earlier. And it was certainly better off than when it consisted of just four exasperated pilots, no airplanes, and two “co-commanders” who did not get along.

At Kirton, the Yanks continued to learn the things they would need in combat: formation flying and, even more important, individual tactics. But Squadron Leader Churchill was not able to instill the vital element of discipline. By this time, S/L Bill Taylor had transferred from the Eagles at his own request and had been posted to another assignment. That would at least give the pilots one less distraction in the coming months. They did not need to put up with warring co-commanders in addition to everything else they would have to endure.

Now that 71 Squadron was formed and active, the Air Ministry decided to let the press in on what was happening at Kirton-in-Lindsey. It was time that the Yanks began to make good on their publicity value. If the three Americans of 609 Squadron made headlines in the US, then an entire squadron of Yanks should get at least four times as many headlines.

At Kirton, the Eagles were surrounded by representatives of the press and other news media. A small army of newsreel cameramen, from both London and the United States, arrived at the airfield for pictures and interviews. The press visit, as arranged by the Air Ministry, was a complete success. Stories about the Yanks in the RAF appeared on newsstands from New York to California. Harper's and the Saturday Evening Post were among the many magazines that ran features on the Eagles.

P/O Byron Kennerly recalls being “attacked” by thirty-one reporters and newsreel men. He also received “fan mail” and requests for autographs long before the squadron became operational. One letter was from an eighteen-year-old girl in the United States who wanted to know “all about England.”13

The Eagles made the British papers, as well. One London front-page headline announced: “US Squadron Forms to Fight with RAF.”¹⁴ The Eagles were even welcomed in Parliament in a speech by Secretary of State for Air Sir Archibald Sinclair.

All the publicity and press coverage irritated pilots of other RAF fighter squadrons. The media exposure was making them angry and not a little jealous, especially since the bloody Eagle Squadron had not even finished training yet. The outbreak of Eagle publicity produced at least one joke, which was told over the radio. It used the theme of the jazz-happy American, and went something like this: “I wanted to join the RAF, but I didn't know how to play the saxophone.” Another version went, “…but I couldn't speak the language.”

In the United States, the Air Ministry's publicity campaign was not having its desired effect. Although Americans were interested in hearing about the Eagles, the fact that a group of their countrymen had formed an entire RAF squadron did not alter public opinion about joining Britain in the war against Nazi Germany. Isolationists suspected something fishy about all the news coverage. They correctly believed it was all part of a propaganda program to promote US intervention.

Only 13 percent of Americans approved of intervention. The vast majority still believed that England was going to be invaded and would lose the war. One more fighter squadron was not going to make very much difference, the country thought, even if it was an American squadron. The screwball flyboys would just be taken prisoner by the Germans, along with Winston Churchill and everybody else in Britain.

Fighter Command got its squadron of Americans. But in spite of all the newsreels and photos and press coverage, the United States remained, as one British reporter phrased it, “stubbornly neutral.”