Part 98.

From ‘Raiders Overhead a Diary of the London Blitz’ By ARP Warden Barbara Nixon published in 1943.

Excerpt from Chapter 3 ‘First Blood’.

My first incident occurred one afternoon in the second week. A soldier, however highly trained, will yet be apprehensive about his own reactions when, for the first time, he actually comes under fire. I had been fairly confident that I could behave reasonably well under gunfire and bombing, and the first seven nights had, more or less, justified my confidence. But what I was very unsure of was what my reactions to casualties would be. I had never seen a dead body, I was even squeamish about handling dead animals, and I was terrified that I might be sick when I saw my first entrails, just as some people cannot stop themselves fainting at the sight of blood. At later incidents one forgot oneself entirely in the job on hand. But on this occasion, because I was unsure of myself, I was acutely self-conscious, and, as a protection, adopted as detached an attitude as I could. I had to watch myself, as well as the objective situation.

It was a grey, damp afternoon in late September, ten days after the start of the air-blitz on London. I was bicycling along a shabby street in a district some miles from my own. The day alerts were so frequent that it was difficult to remember whether the last wailing of the siren had been the alert or the ‘all clear.’

It was a street of narrow houses, so decrepit that they might well have crumbled to pieces had they not been held up by occasional large office buildings, and even these were dingy and decayed. Dirty shop windows announced that they were high-class laundries, or would mend your boots while you waited, or would buy cast-off clothing. The whole derelict street and the lanes leading into it were calling for the house-breaker. A little further on, however, in a side turning on the right, the LCC had made a start, and a block of balconied workers' flats had been erected. They were well designed, and the plaster facings and the brickwork were still unsooted by London's grime.

Suddenly, before I heard a sound, the shabby, ill-lit, five-storey building ahead of me swelled out like a child's balloon, or like a Walt Disney house having hiccups. I looked at it in astonishment, that bricks and mortar could stretch like rubber. At the point when it must burst, the glass fell out. It did not hurtle, it simply cracked and dropped out, allowing the straining building to deflate and return to normal. Almost instantaneously there was a crash and a double explosion in the street to my right. As the blast of air reached me I left my saddle and sailed through the air, heading for the area railings. The tin hat on my shoulder took the impact, and as I stood up I was mildly surprised to find that I was not hurt in the least. The corner buildings had diverted the full force of blast; indeed, to judge by the number of idiotic thoughts that raced through my head, my progress to the railings might almost have been in 'slow motion.' I had not heard any whistle of the bombs coming down, only the explosion, and now the sound of an aeroplane's engine starting up. I thought, 'So it's true—you don't hear the one that gets, or nearly gets, you.'

For no reason except that one handbook had said so, I blew my whistle. An old lady appeared in her doorway and asked, 'What was all that?' I told her it was a bomb, but she was stone-deaf and I had to abandon bawling for pantomime of a bomb exploding before she would agree to go into a surface shelter. After putting a dressing on some small cuts on a man's face, I turned back towards the site of the damage. I did not know the locality, but, again, the handbook said that when an alert sounded, a warden away from his home area should report to the nearest Post. The damage was thirty yards away, but the corner building, which had diverted some of the blast from me, was still standing.

At four in the afternoon there would certainly be casualties. Now I would know whether I was going to be of any use as a warden or not, and I wanted to postpone the knowledge. I dared not run. I had to go warily, as if I were crossing a minefield with only a rough sketch of the position of the mines—only the danger-spots were in myself. I was not let down lightly. In the middle of the street lay the remains of a baby. It had been blown clean through the window, and had burst on striking the roadway. To my intense relief, pitiful and horrible as it was, I was not nauseated, and found a torn piece of curtain in which to wrap it. Two HE bombs had fallen on the new flats, and a third on an equally new garage opposite. In all this grimy derelict area, they had struck the only decent habitations.

The CD services arrived quickly. There was a large number of 'white hats,' but as far as one could see no one person took charge, and there were no blue incident flags. I offered my services, and was thanked but given nothing to do, so busied myself finding blankets to cover the five or six mutilated bodies in the street. A small boy, aged about 13, had one leg torn off and was still conscious, though he gave no sign of any pain. In the garage a man was pinned under a capsized Thorneycroft lorry, and most of the side wall and roof were piled on top of that. The Heavy Rescue Squad brought ropes, and heaved and tugged at the immense lorry. They got the man out, unconscious, but alive. He looked like a terra-cotta statue, his face, his teeth, his hair, were all a uniform brick colour.

Eleven had been killed but a larger number were badly injured— an old man staggered down supported by two girls holding a towel to his face; as we laid him on a stretcher the towel dropped, and his face was shockingly cut away by glass. It was astonishing that he had been able to walk down stairs. Three more stretcher cars and two ambulances arrived, but they had to park some distance away because of the debris. If they had been directed to approach from the western side they could have driven much closer. The wardens began to check up the flats. As I did not know the residents, or how many of them there ought to be, I could not help, and stayed below.

But by now the news had travelled, and women back from shopping, girls, and a few men from local factories, came running and scrambling over the debris in the street. 'Where is Julie?' 'Is my Mum- all right?' I was besieged, but I could not help them. They shouted the names of their relatives and scanned the faces of the dusty, dishevelled survivors. Those who found that they had lost a relation seemed numbed by the shock and were quiet, whereas a woman who found her family intact promptly had hysterics. The sudden relief from an awful fear was more unnerving at the moment than the confirmation of the fear.

A little later I left: there was nothing apparently that I could do, little enough that I had done. Any bystander could have been as helpful as I had been, and I felt discouraged and depressed. My bicycle was bent, but since the wheels would still go round, I clanked and wobbled on it back to my own Post.

Tommy Brickman was there, and greeted me with 'Blimey, your face!' I explained how it had got so dirty, and noticed, to my amusement, that he was obviously chagrined that it had been I, and not himself, who had 'had the fun.' Tommy was an energetic and conscientious warden, but both imaginative and loquacious. His existence was a continuous conversation piece with no back answers allowed. At the same time, he was quite incapable of seeing only six German planes, or being missed by only a 50-kg. bomb, or of extinguishing only a dozen incendiaries; it had always to be 60 planes, a 1,000-kg. bomb, or hundreds of incendiaries at least. If Tommy went away for a day or so to another town, we knew that that town would have 'the biggest blitz ever.' If he travelled by train, that train was machine-gunned. It was a habit that irritated the more serious-minded members of the Post, though I could not myself see that it mattered whether Tommy's graphic and hair-raising accounts were in fact true or not. I think he found me a pleasant audience, as I always egged him on by asking innocent questions. However, this time it was my story.

Tommy made me some tea, but before we had time to drink it, the evening siren went, and I left for my sector post. It was another all-night session and the 'all clear' did not sound until 6.15 a.m. We were supposed to wait, however, until we received the 'white' on the telephone, and I waited irritably for half an hour, angry with Control for being so inconsiderate of us after a twelve-hour raid. But when the man who lived in the flat above our post came down, he pointed out that Jim Mackin, the Post Warden, had come round at midnight to tell me that the phone was out of order.

To my alarm, I found that I could not remember that, or anything else after reporting for duty at 6.30 p.m. I replied, 'Oh yes, of course,' but as I walked home I tried to reconstruct the evening. I remembered the incident in the afternoon, but the twelve hours after that were a complete blank; I could not even remember whether I had gone home for supper. I counted the plates in the kitchen, but that did not tell me anything, and I was really frightened as I waited for someone in the house to get up. For all I knew I might have made an awful fool of myself. Apparently, I had behaved quite normally, made my usual tour of the shelters, had supper, and helped someone to change the wheel of his car, but I still could not remember any of it. I had one hazy picture of a white hat in a doorway, which must have been Jim Mackin, but that was all. If I was to have that sort of reaction after every incident, it was going to be inconvenient.


The ARP post open for business in the street.


Finsbury ARP post number 2 1941.

Part 99.

From: Fleet Air Arm The Admiralty Account of Naval Air Operations published in 1943.

THE SWORDFISH STRIKE IN BOMBA BAY

“This attack, which achieved the phenomenal result of the destruction of four enemy ships with three torpedoes, was brilliantly conceived and most gallantly executed. The dash, initiative and co-operation displayed by the sub-flight concerned are typical of the spirit which animates the Fleet Air Arm squadrons of H.M.S. Eagle under the inspiring leadership of her Commanding Officer."

Thus wrote Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham, K.C.B., D.S.O., Commander-in-Chief Mediterranean Fleet, in a despatch from his flagship, H.M.S. Warspite, to the Secretary of the Admiralty.

The sub-flight belonged to a Swordfish squadron which had disembarked to Dekheila airport when the aircraft-carrier Eagle (Captain A. R. M. Bridge, R.N.) was lying in Alexandria Harbour in August, 1940. After the squadron had been ashore a few days, Air Commodore R. Collishaw, Air Officer Commanding the Western Desert, applied for some torpedo-aircraft to help him deal with enemy shipping off the Libyan coast. He appreciated their potentialities the more because he had himself been a pilot in the Royal Naval Air Service during the last war, and later had served as Wing Commander in H.M.S. Courageous.

One of the squadron observers was accordingly sent as Naval Liaison Officer to Ma'aten Bagush, the headquarters of the Royal Air Force in the Western Desert. Next day three Swordfish followed, accompanied by an aged Victoria aircraft carrying the maintenance ratings and a conglomeration of tool-boxes, chocks, torpedo-gear and spare parts. The R.A.F. officers welcomed the pilots and observers, and the ground staff took the naval mechanics under their wing.

For the first few nights the sub-flight carried out anti-submarine patrols along the coast, without result. At 11 o'clock one evening the pilots were called to the Operations Room and told that the Blenheim dusk reconnaissance over Bomba Bay (between Tobruk and Benghazi) had reported a submarine depot-ship lying in the bay and a submarine heading in from seaward. Here was an ideal target for the torpedoes of the Swordfish. It was decided that the sub-flight should move up to Sidi Barrani next morning, re-fuel there, and await the report of the dawn reconnaissance.

Early next morning, 22nd August, Captain Oliver Patch, Royal Marines, arrived by air from Dekheila. As the senior officer he took command of the sub-flight, which flew off for Sidi Barrani, armed with torpedoes, at 7 a.m. And here a word of praise must be given to Leading Torpedoman Arthey, who, in the words of one of the pilots, " during a week of blowing sand, had nursed his charges with such loving care that they ran with the smoothness of birds when at length we dropped them."

After 90 minutes' flying, the Swordfish arrived over Sidi Barrani, which looked as though a tornado had passed over it. They succeeded in landing among the bomb craters without mishap. While the aircraft were refuelling, the crews were taken to the "Mess-cum-Ops Room," which one of them described as "a cunningly constructed edifice of petrol tins filled with sand, roofed by a tarpaulin, containing two wooden benches, a collection of camp stools, and an atmosphere of 85 per cent dust, 10 per cent tobacco smoke and 5 per cent air." There they had a breakfast of tinned sausages, with the inevitable baked beans of the desert, and bread liberally covered with marmalade dug out of a 4-lb. tin with the breadknife.

The dawn reconnaissance showed that the targets were still in Bomba Bay. At 10.38 a.m. the sub-flight took off again and headed out to sea in V formation, led by Captain Patch.
As his observer and navigator, Captain Patch had Midshipman (A) C. J. Woodley, R.N.V.R., who, although he was suffering from tonsillitis, had insisted on taking part in the raid.

The Swordfish, flying low over the sea, shaped a course 50 miles from the coast, to avoid the attention of any prowling Italian fighters. At 12.30 they turned inshore and, thanks to Midshipman Woodley's accurate navigation, found themselves flying straight into Bomba Bay. They then opened out, fanwise, to about 200 yards. Four miles from the shore, in the centre of the bay, they sighted a large ocean-going submarine, dead ahead of the leader. She was steaming at about two knots on the surface, apparently charging her batteries. The crew's washing was hanging out to dry. Three miles beyond her, at the mouth of a creek known as An-el-Gazala, a cluster of shipping was visible.

As the striking force approached, now flying only 30 feet above the sea, the submarine opened up a vigorous but ineffective fire upon the starboard aircraft with her two .5 machine-guns. The rear guns of the port and starboard aircraft replied. Captain. Patch turned swiftly to starboard, then smartly back to port, and dropped his torpedo from a range of 300 yards.

On seeing the splash of the torpedo those of the submarine's crew who were on deck jumped into the sea. A few seconds later the torpedo hit the submarine amidships, below the conning-tower. There was a loud explosion, followed by a cloud of thick black smoke. The submarine blew up in many pieces. When the smoke had cleared away, only a small part of her stern was visible above the surface.

Captain Patch, having completed his attack, turned out to sea again. The port and starboard aircraft, piloted by Lieutenant (A) J. W. G. Wellham, R.N., and Lieutenant (A) N. A. F. Cheesman, R.N., were now about a mile apart. They flew on towards the vessels lying inshore, which they identified as a depot-ship, a destroyer and another submarine, the destroyer being in the centre. The depot-ship opened fire with a few high-angle guns depressed along the surface. The destroyer joined in with her pom-poms and multiple machine-guns, and the submarine with her .5's. The fire was not concentrated, but a .5 bullet struck the bottom of the port aircraft, without wounding Lieutenant Wellham, however. He was not to discover the damage done to the aircraft until later.

The two Swordfish closed the ships. Lieutenant Wellham, with Petty Officer A. H. Marsh as his observer, dropped his torpedo on the starboard beam of the depot-ship. As Lieutenant Cheesman was preparing to attack the submarine his observer, Sub-Lieutenant (A) F. Stovin-Bradford, R.N., noticed that they were over shoal water and, just in time, saved his pilot from leaving the torpedo in the sand. Lieutenant Cheesman was forced to fly in to 350 yards in order to let go in deep water. He could see the torpedo running the full distance until it hit the submarine amidships. She exploded instantly and set fire to the destroyer. Three seconds later Lieutenant Wellham's torpedo hit the depot-ship below the bridge. She began to blaze furiously.

Both Swordfish turned away and headed for the sea, Lieutenant Cheesman making a right-hand circuit of the Italian fighter airfield at Gazala. He and his observer waved triumphantly to the airmen on the ground, but the enemy made no attempt to engage them. Then there was a terrific explosion astern. The magazine of the depot-ship had blown up. The three ships disappeared from sight in a cloud of steam and smoke.

Forty miles from the coast the two Sword-fish sighted an Italian Cant Z 501 flying-boat above them, but it flew on towards Bomba without altering course. Shortly afterwards they made contact with their leader and reached Sidi Barrani at 3 p.m., having flown a total distance of 366 miles. Lieutenant Wellham's aircraft was found to be unserviceable: a bullet had smashed the extension to the main spar and knocked a dent in the petrol tank, fortunateiy without puncturing it. Lieutenant Wellham returned to Ma'aten Bagush in Captain Patch's aircraft. Midshipman Woodley was confined to sick quarters on completing his duty:
apparently it was considered dangerous for him to be out of doors.

Not unnaturally, the Operations Staff remained dubious about the crews' claim to have sunk four ships with three torpedoes, until the photographs of the reconnaissance Blenheim brought complete confirmation. Captain Patch was awarded the D.S.O., and the other pilots and the observers were also decorated.

A few days after the raid the Italian Radio admitted the loss of four warships by "an overwhelming force of torpedo-bombers and motor torpedo-boats."


Neat as a pin. In this attack in Bomba Bay, Libya, on 22nd August 1940, a small striking force of Swordfish destroyed four enemy warships with three torpedoes. The submarine heading in from the sea was first to go. The aircraft on the right went on to sink the depot-ship lying at anchor. The second submarine was sunk by the remaining aircraft, and the explosion set fire to the destroyer in the middle.

Part 100.

Part 1 of the official account of the Battle of Britain. Published in 1941.



THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN

The Scene is Set

On Tuesday, 20th August, 1940, at 3.52 in the afternoon, the Prime Minister gave the House of Commons one of those periodic reviews on the progress of the war with which members in particular and the country in general have grown familiar. The occasion was grave. On 8th August, the Germans, after a period of activity against our shipping, which had lasted for somewhat longer than a month, had launched upon this island the first of a series of mass air attacks in daylight. For some ten days, and notably on the 15th and the 18th, men and women in the streets of English towns and villages and in the countryside had seen high up against the background of the summer sky the shift and play of aircraft engaged in the fierce and prolonged combat which has come to be known as the Battle of Britain.

The House was crowded. Its mood was one of anxious enthusiasm; but enthusiasm waxed and anxiety waned as the Prime Minister proceeded to describe the swiftly changing movements of the battle, the opening stages of which some of the members had themselves witnessed.

After referring to the work and achievements of the Navy, Mr. Winston Churchill turned to the war in the air. "The gratitude of every home in our island," he said, "in our Empire and indeed throughout the world, except in the abodes of the guilty, goes out to the British airmen, who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, are turning the tide of world war by their prowess and by their devotion. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few."
The Prime Minister was speaking at a moment when the battle was still at its height, for it was not until the end of October that the German Luftwaffe virtually abandoned its attacks by daylight and began to rely entirely on a policy of night raiding—its tacit admission of defeat.



First Great Air Battle in History

It is now possible to tell, in great part, the story of the action on which such high praise had been bestowed. Before doing so, however, it is worthwhile to recall the extraordinary nature of the battle. Nothing like it has ever been fought before in the history of mankind. It is true that aircraft frequently met in combat in the last war; but they did so in numbers very small when compared, with those which were engaged over the fields of Kent and Sussex, the rolling country of Hampshire and Dorset, the flat lands of Essex and the sprawling mass of London. Moreover, from 1914 to 1918 fights took place either between individual aircraft or between small formations, and an engagement in which more than a hundred aircraft on both sides were involved was rare even in the later stages of the war. The issue was, in fact, decided not in the air, in which element the rival air forces played an important but secondary part, but by slow-moving infantry in the heavy mud of Flanders and the Somme. It may be that the same thing, of something like it, will ultimately happen in the present war. Up to the moment, however, the first decisive encounter between Britain and Germany has taken place in the air and was fought three, four, five, and sometimes more than six miles above the surface of the earth by some hundreds of aircraft flying at speeds often in excess of three hundred miles an hour.

While this great battle was being fought day after day, the men and women of this country went about their business with very little idea of what was happening high up above their heads in the fields of air. This was not shrouded in the majestic and terrible smoke of a land bombardment with its roar of guns, its flash of shells, its fountains of erupting earth. There was no sound nor fury-—only a pattern of white vapour trails, leisurely changing form and shape, traced by a number of tiny specks scintillating like diamonds in the splendid sunlight. From very far away there broke out from time to time a chatter against the duller sound of engines. Yet had that chatter not broken out, that remote sound would have changed first to a roar and then to a fierce shriek, punctuated by the crash of heavy bombs as bomber after bomber unloaded its cargo. In a few days the Southern towns of England, the capital of the Empire itself, would have suffered the fate of Warsaw or Rotterdam.

The contest may, indeed, be likened to a duel with rapiers fought by masters of the art of fence. In such an encounter the thrusts and parries are, so swift as to be often hard to perceive and the spectator realises that the fight is over only when the loser drops his point or falls defeated to the ground.



These were the Weapons Used

Before we can understand the general strategy and tactics followed by both sides, something must be said of the weapons used. 'The Germans sought a decision by sending over five main types of bombers—the JU. 87, a dive-bomber, the JU. 88, various types of the Heinkel 111, the Dornier 215 and the Dornier 17. The JU. 87 type B was a two-seater dive bomber. It was an all-metal, low-wing cantilever monoplane, armed with two fixed machine guns, one in each wing, and a movable machine gun in the aft cockpit. When looked at from straight ahead the wings had the shape of a very flat W, Its maximum speed in level flight was a trifle over 240 miles an hour. The JU. 88 was also a dive bomber with a maximum speed of 317 m.p.h. Its crew and armament were similar to those of the Heinkel 111. The Heinkel 111k Mark V. was a low wing all-metal cantilever monoplane with two engines. It carried a crew of four and Was armed with three movable machine guns, one in the nose, one on the top of the fuselage and one in the streamlined “blister” underneath. Its maximum speed was nearly 275 m.p.h. The Dornier 215 was a high-wing cantilever monoplane of all-metal construction with three movable machine guns similarly placed to those of the Heinkel 111k. Its maximum speed was about 312 m.p.h. It was a development of the Dornier 17, familiarly known as “the flying pencil." This aircraft was a mid-wing cantilever monoplane. It was armed with two fixed forward-firing machine guns in the fuselage, one movable gun in the floor and one on a shielded mounting above the wings. Its maximum speed was about 310 m.p.h. Variations and increases in armament were constantly made in all these aircraft which carried the bombs intended to secure victory. These bombers were protected by fighters of which the Germans used two main types, the ME. 109 and the ME. 110. The ME. 109 in the form then used was a single-seater fighter. It was a low-wing all-metal cantilever monoplane armed with a cannon firing through the airscrew hub, four machine guns and two more in troughs on the top of the engine cowling. Its maximum speed was a little more than 350 m.p.h. Its pilot was later protected by back and front armour of which the size and shape became standardized during the course of the battle. The ME. 110 was a two-seater fighter powered with two engines. It was an all-metal low-wing cantilever monoplane with two fixed cannons and four fixed machine guns to fire forward from the nose. It was much larger than the ME. 109 but had not got the same capacity of manoeuvre. Its maximum speed did not exceed 365 m.p.h. In this aircraft the crew were protected by back armour only. The Germans also used a few Heinkel 113's. This was a low-wing all-metal cantilever monoplane with a single engine. A cannon fired through the airscrew hub and there were two large-bore machine guns in the wings. The maximum speed was about 380 m.p.h.

To combat this formidable array of fighters and bombers, which Goring had boasted were "definitely superior" to any British aircraft, the Royal Air Force used the Spitfire, the Hurricane and occasionally the Boulton-Paul Defiant.

The Spitfire. Mark I was a single-seater fighter with a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine. It was a low-wing all-metal cantilever monoplane armed with eight Browning machine guns, four in each wing set to fire forward outside the airscrew disc. The maximum speed was 366 m.p.h. The Hawker Hurricane Mark I was also a single-seater fighter similarly engined and armed. Its maximum speed was 335 m.p.h. In both these aircraft the pilot was protected by front and back armour. The Boulton-Paul Defiant was a two-seater fighter with a Rolls-Royce engine. It was an all-metal low-wing cantilever monoplane, and was armed with four Browning machine guns mounted in a power-operated turret.

With such machines as these the Royal Air Force and the Luftwaffe faced each other on 8th August when the battle began.

Part 101.

Part 2 of the official account of the Battle of Britain. Published in 1941.


The British Fighter Force on Guard

Before describing it something must first be said about our methods of defence, although it is not easy to do this without giving away "state secrets."

The governing principle is that a sufficient strength of Fighters must be assembled at the required height over a given place where it can intercept the oncoming enemy raid and break it up before it can reach its objective.

There is general agreement that the principle of employing Standing Patrols is impracticable owing to its wastefulness. To keep a sufficient strength of Fighters always in the air to guard our shores from any attack would be beyond the powers of the biggest Air Force imaginable. The Fighter Force is therefore kept on the ground in the interests of economy of effort, and only ordered off the ground when raids appear to be imminent.

Information regarding the approach of the enemy is obtained by a variety of methods and is co-ordinated and passed to "Operations Rooms." The coastline of Britain is divided into Sectors each with its own Fighter Aerodromes and Headquarters. These Sectors are grouped together under a conveniently situated Group Headquarters which in its turn comes under the general control of Headquarters, Fighter Command. The information about enemy raids is illustrated by various symbols on a large map table in Group and Sector Operations Rooms, the aim being to give each "Controller" the same picture of the progress of raids in his particular area. In addition to this the Controllers have all possible information set out before them, such as the location and "state" of their own Squadrons, the weather and cloud conditions all over their area. They are also in touch with Anti-aircraft Defences and Balloon Barrages.

Squadrons are maintained at their Sector Aerodromes at various "states of preparedness." The most relaxed state is "Released," which means that the Squadron is not required to operate until a specified hour and that the personnel can be employed in routine maintenance, flying training and instruction, organised games, and that in some cases they may leave the Station. Next comes "Available," which means the Squadrons must prepare to be in the air within so many minutes of receiving the order. "Readiness" reduces this to a minimum and is the most advanced state normally used. Occasionally "Stand-by" is employed which means that the pilots are seated in their aircraft, with the engines "off," but all pointing into wind ready to start up, and take off, the moment the leader gets his orders from the Controller.

In good weather conditions and when there is reason to anticipate an attack, Squadrons are perforce kept at a high state of "preparedness" which is relaxed as much as possible when the weather deteriorates. The broad principle is usually to keep one part of the force at "Readiness," a second part at "Advanced Available" and a third at "Normal Available." When the attack develops, the "Readiness" Squadrons are ordered off in appropriate formations and the "Available" Squadrons are ordered to "Readiness" and used as a reserve to meet a second or a third attack or to protect aerodromes or vulnerable points such as aircraft factories.

These orders are issued by the Controller whose function it is to study the Operations Room Map and put a suitable number of aircraft into the air at selected points to intercept the oncoming raids, or to cover vulnerable points. His duty also is to keep a constant watch on his resources so as not to run the risk of being caught by a third or fourth wave of raids, with all his Squadrons on the ground "landed and refuelling." It must be remembered that the endurance of a modern Fighter aircraft, if it is to have ample margin for full throttle work, climbing and fighting, is limited. Allowance must also be made for the journey back to the parent station, especially if visibility is bad.

With the tracks of the enemy raid and of his own Fighters both before his eyes, the Controller's task of making an interception is in theory a comparatively simple mathematical problem. He is in constant touch with his Fighters by radio telephone, is able to give them orders to change course from time to time, so as to put them in the best position for attack.

Once the Fighters report that they have "sighted the enemy," the Controller's task is over, except that he may have to give them a course to bring them back to their aerodromes when the battle is over. The "enemy sighted" signal, the "Tallyho," is at once transmitted to Group H.Q. and recorded on the Squadron state indicator. The Red Letter day for any Group was on 27th September, when, in No. 11 Group, 21 Squadrons out of 21 ordered up were able to report "enemy sighted." But the successful interception of raids is not always so easy. In practice exercises before the war, thirty per cent, interception was thought satisfactory and fifty per cent, very good. When the test came, however, the percentage rose to seventy-five, ninety, and sometimes a hundred. This consistently high rate of interception made it possible for our superiority in pilots and aircraft to achieve its full effect.

The task of the Controller in setting the stage for the battle is governed by one factor—accurate and timely information about the raids. In clear weather with little or no cloud, the raiders came over at such high altitude that they were almost invisible even with the use of binoculars. The numbers of aircraft employed made a confusion of noise in the high atmosphere and thus increased the difficulty of detecting raids by sound. In cloudy weather, this difficulty was increased, for the Observer Corps had then to rely entirely on sound. In view of these difficulties, that Corps and other sources of information deserve very great credit for the remarkably clear and timely picture of the situation they presented to the Controllers. These, then, set the pieces on the wide chessboard of the English skies and made the opening moves in the contest on the outcome of which the safety of all free peoples depended. Flexibility was their motto. Each day the Controllers held a conference at which every idea or device for thinking and acting one step ahead of their cunning and resourceful foe was set forth, earnestly discussed and, if found useful, adopted. Without this system of central control, no battle, in the proper sense of the word, would have taken place. Squadrons would have gone up haphazard as and when enemy raids were reported. They would either have found themselves heavily outnumbered or with no enemy at all confronting them.

Great care was taken to keep the burden of the fight distributed as equally as possible between all the Squadrons engaged. This was achieved by hard training which continued right through the battle. Whenever there was a lull, new formations were devised and flown, new tactics practised. No Squadron was ever thrown into the fight without previous experience of fighting. They were carefully "nursed" and went into action under the leadership of an experienced squadron-leader with many hours of combat to his credit. The importance of team work was fully realised. It was a lesson learnt in France during the battles of May and June, and fortunately many of the pilots who had fought in them were in positions of command during the battle of Britain. Their knowledge and experience were invaluable.



The German Command Plans a Knockout

The avowed object of the enemy was to obtain a quick decision and to end the war by the autumn or early winter of 1940. To achieve this an invasion of Britain was evidently thought to be essential. Preparations to launch it were pushed forward with great energy and determination throughout the last days of June, the month of July and the first week of August. By the 8th August the enemy felt himself ready to begin the opening phase, on the success of which his plan depended. Before the German Army could land it was necessary to destroy our coastal convoys, to sink or immobilise such units of the Royal Navy as would dispute its passage, and above all to drive the Royal Air Force from the sky. He, therefore, launched a series of air attacks, first on our shipping and ports and then on our aerodromes. There were four phases in the battle, the first from 8th-18th August, the second from the 19th August-5th September, the third from the 6th September-5th October, the fourth from, the 6th-31st October. During this last phase daylight attacks gave way gradually to night raids which increased as the month went on. It should, however, be remembered that throughout the battle the enemy made use of night as well as day bombing, the first growing in volume and violence as the second fell away.

What was the plan which he sought to carry through in these four phases? It is impossible to say with certainty at this moment. The German mind is very methodical and immensely painstaking. Schemes are worked out to the last detail; the organisation is superb and, provided the calculations are correct, the plan goes without a hitch. But again and again history has shown that, if the original plan fails or becomes impracticable, the German has little power of improvisation, and "if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?" A brand new plan has to be worked out in full detail, and when this has been done it may well be too late. In this instance the Luftwaffe was designed to prepare the way for the German Army by smashing the enemy's resistance, and it was a fundamental assumption in Berlin that Germany could in every case establish and maintain air supremacy.

The general plan for the use of the Luftwaffe was to seize and, exploit the full mastery of the air. This was the main feature in the Polish campaign, in the attacks on Norway and the Low Countries, and even to a large extent in France. Aerodromes were to be put out of action, thus tying the opposing Air Forces to the ground. Ports and communications could then be destroyed without hindrance, the military forces of the enemy paralysed and the German armoured divisions placed in a position to operate undisturbed. Success meant the destruction of civilian morale, and then internal disruption and surrender.





PHASE I: THE OFFENSIVE IS LAUNCHED

In the first stage the enemy sent over massed formations of bombers escorted by similar formations of single- and twin-engined fighters, The bombers were for the most part Ju. 87's (dive bombers), with a smaller quantity of He. 111's, Do. 17's and Ju. 88's. The fighter escorts flew in large, unwieldy formations, from 5-10,000 ft. above the bombers, where the protection they afforded was not very effective. Using these tactical formations the enemy made twenty-six attacks during this first stage. He began by renewing his assaults on our shipping. It may well be that this was still regarded as the most vulnerable form of target and the easiest to attack, for not only are slow-moving ships difficult to defend, but- casualties among the pilots of the defence are always higher when the action is fought over water. He may also have wished to test the strength of our general defences. Success against these would augur well for the next stage. At any rate, on 8th August two convoys were fiercely attacked, one of them twice. Sixty enemy aircraft in the morning and more than a hundred soon after midday, deployed on a front of over twenty miles, tried to sink or disperse a convoy off the Isle of Wight. They succeeded in sinking two ships. In the afternoon at 4.15 more than a hundred and thirty appeared over another convoy off Bournemouth. This they were able to disperse but they lost fairly heavily in doing so. The enemy renewed the assault three days later, choosing as his targets the towns of Portland and Weymouth, as well as convoys in the Thames Estuary and off Harwich. In these attacks he relied greatly on dive bombers, which proved no match for our Hurricanes. Nevertheless some damage was done both in Portland and Weymouth. This may have encouraged him, for on 12th August, early in the morning, he launched about two hundred aircraft in eleven waves against Dover. Shortly before noon a hundred and fifty more of the enemy attacked Portsmouth, and the Isle of Wight. By this time German losses were already very considerable, for one hundred and eighty-two aircraft had been destroyed.

On the 13th and 15th the attacks on Portsmouth were renewed and in some of them, notably that which began soon after 5 in the afternoon of the 15th, between three and four hundred aircraft were employed. The enemy was by now beginning to realise that our fighter force was considerably stronger than he had imagined. It was evidently time to take drastic action. Our fighters must be put out of commission. Therefore, while still maintaining his attacks on coastal towns, he sent large forces to deal with fighter aerodromes in the South and South-East of England; Dover, Deal, Hawkinge, Martlesham, Lympne, Middle Wallop, Kenley and Biggin Hill were heavily attacked, some of them many times. A number of the enemy penetrated as far as Croydon.



German Losses Run into Hundreds of Aircraft

Once more the Luftwaffe did a certain amount of damage but at a cost which even Goring must have regarded as excessive. On that day, 15th August, a hundred and eighty German aircraft are known to have been destroyed. Since the opening of the battle he had now lost four hundred and seventy-two aircraft. Nevertheless he still returned to the charge, throwing in between five and six hundred aircraft on 16th August and about the same number on 18th. Rochester, Kenley, Croydon, Biggin Hill, Manston, West Malling, Gosport, Northholt and Tangmere, were the main targets, His losses were again very heavy. In those two days two hundred and forty-five aircraft were shot down. One of them, a Heinkel 111, fell to a Sergeant pilot flying an unarmed Anson aircraft of Training Command. Whether he intentionally rammed the enemy will never be known, for both aircraft fell to the ground interlocked and there were no survivors. On 18th August, in the evening attack on the Thames Estuary, one Squadron alone of thirteen Hurricanes shot down without loss an equal number of the enemy in fifty minutes.

In the ten days since the opening of the attack on 8th August, Goring had now lost six hundred and ninety-seven aircraft. Our own losses during the same period were not light, for we lost one hundred and fifty-three. Sixty pilots were safe though some of them were wounded.

The pace was too hot to last. Goring called halt and gave his Luftwaffe a rest which lasted for five days.

What had he hoped to achieve? An examination of the attacks shows that he began by trying to destroy shipping and ports on the South-East and South Coasts between the North Foreland and Portland. This preliminary test must have shown him the strength- of our defences. Nevertheless he proceeded with his plan and next directed his attention to Portland and Portsmouth. Whether these objectives were too tough for him or whether he thought that the four heavy attacks upon them had accomplished his object, he turned away to deliver assaults on fighter and bomber aerodromes mostly near the coast. Throughout this first stage the tactics he followed were usually to open his attack on objectives near the coast in order to draw off our lighters. These feint attacks were followed thirty or forty minutes later by the real attack delivered against ports or aerodromes on the South Coast between Brighton and Portland.

The chief problem created by these tactics was to have a sufficient number of fighters ready to engage the main attack as soon as it could be picked out. Squadrons at the forward aerodromes had to be in instant readiness, but had at the same time to be protected from bombing or machine-gun attacks. Only on one occasion was a Squadron machine-gunned while re-fuelling at a forward aerodrome, and this happened because a protective patrol had not been maintained overhead during the process.

Generally the enemy attacks were countered by using about half the available Squadrons to deal with the enemy fighters and the rest to attack the enemy bombers which flew normally at from 11-15,000 feet, descending frequently to 7,000 or 8,000 feet in order to drop their bombs. Our fighter tactics at this stage were to deliver attacks from the stern on the Me. 109's and Me. no's. This type of attack proved effective because these aircraft were not then armoured. The success of our fighter tactics at this stage can be gauged by a comparison between our losses in pilots and those of the enemy. The ratio was about seven to one and might have been even more striking if so much of the fighting had not taken place over the sea.





PHASE II: THE ATTACK ON INLAND AERODROMES

Between the end of the first stage and the active beginning of the second there was, as has been said, an interval of five days which were spent by the Germans in wide-spread reconnaissance by single aircraft, some of which indulged in the spasmodic bombing of aerodromes. These operations cost them thirty-nine aircraft shot down, our losses were ten aircraft, but six pilots were saved.

During this lull, Goring evidently decided that a change of objectives was necessary. Perhaps he thought that he had achieved the necessary results, and that Portland and Portsmouth together with our coastal aerodromes were virtually out of action. Perhaps he was under the impression that inland aerodromes, factories and other industrial targets would not be as stoutly defended. It is more probable, however, that he merely gave the order for the second part of the plan to be put into operation and disregarded the failure of the first part—either deliberately, or because he had no alternative. In this next stage diversionary attacks against different parts of the country became less frequent. The main attack was now delivered oil a wider front. Enemy tactics were also changed. The number of escorting fighters was increased and the size of bomber formations reduced. The covering fighter screen flew at very great heights. Enemy bomber formations were also protected by a box of fighters, some of which flew slightly above to a flank or in rear, others slightly above and ahead, and yet others weaving in and out between the sub-formations of the bombers. This type of formation succeeded on several occasions in breaking through the forward screens of our fighter forces by sheer weight of numbers and in attaining their objectives even after numerous casualties had been inflicted. On other occasions smallish formations of enemy long-range bombers deliberately left their fighter escort as soon as it had joined battle and proceeded towards South or South-West London unaccompanied. They suffered heavy casualties when engaged by our rear rank of fighters.

Having thus altered his tactical formations the enemy proceeded to deliver some thirty-five major attacks between the 24th August and 5th September. His object, as has been said, was to put out of action inland fighter aerodromes and aircraft factories. He did not, however, disdain purely residential districts in Kent, the Thames Estuary and Essex, These could in no case be described as of military importance.



Eight Hundred Aircraft Attack Fighter Aerodromes

From 24th to 29th August he still showed an interest in Portland, Dover and Manston, all of which were heavily attacked. He added other targets as well. Several areas in Essex came in for attention. There was fierce fighting over the North Foreland, Graves-end and Deal. At 6.45 p.m. on the 24th, a hundred and ten German bombers, and fighters met a number of our Squadrons in the neighbourhood of Maidstone but turned and fled before they could be engaged.

The next day he returned to Portsmouth and Southampton where once again he achieved no success, the main attack, delivered at 4 p.m., going astray. A large number of bombs fell into the sea. Heavy assaults were also made in the Dover-Folkestone area, and over the Thames Estuary and in Kent. These continued with a lull of one day until 30th August. On that day and the next the assault was switched to inland fighter aerodromes. Eight hundred aircraft were used in a most determined effort to destroy or temporarily put out of use the aerodromes at Kenley, North Weald, Hornchurch, Debden, Lympne, Detling, Duxford, Northolt and Biggin Hill.

The opening of September showed little, if any, falling off in the assaults of the enemy. There were three heavy attacks on 1st September, five on 2nd, one on 3rd and two on 4th and 5th. One of the attacks on the 2nd got to within ten miles of London, but most of them were once again directed against fighter aerodromes. This was the last of the thirty-five main attacks delivered in this phase. They cost the Germans five hundred and sixty-two aircraft known to have been destroyed. Our own losses were two hundred and nineteen aircraft, but a hundred and thirty-two of their pilots were saved.

During these twelve days, our own tactical dispositions were altered so as to meet the changed form of attack. The effect of this was to cause the enemy to be met in greater strength and farther away from their inland objectives, while such of his aircraft as were successful in eluding this forward defence were dealt with by Squadrons farther in the rear.

The heavy task of the defence can be realised by the fact that in these first two phases of this great battle from the 8th August to 5th September inclusive, no fewer than 4,523 Fighter Patrols of varying strength in aircraft were flown in daylight, an average of one hundred and fifty-six a day.



Hurricanes and Spitfires Stay in the Air

What did the enemy succeed in accomplishing in just under a month of heavy fighting during which he flung in squadron after squadron of the Luftwaffe without regard to the cost? His object, be it remembered, was to "ground" the Fighters of the Royal Air Force and to destroy so large a number of pilots and aircraft as to put it, temporarily at least, out of action. As has already been made clear, the Germans, after their opening heavy attacks on convoys and on Portsmouth and Portland, concentrated on fighter aerodromes, first on, or near the coast, and then on those farther inland. Though they had done damage to aerodromes both near the coast and inland and thus put the fighting efficiency of the Fighter Squadrons to considerable strain, they failed entirely to put them out of action. The Staff and ground services worked day and night and the operations of our Fighting Squadrons were not in fact interrupted. By the 6th September: the Germans either believed that they had achieved success and that it only remained for them to bomb a defenceless London until it surrendered, or, following their pre-arranged plan, they automatically switched their attack against the capital because the moment had come to do so.

Those days saw the climax of the first half of the battle. As they drew to a close Goring's position became not unlike that of Marshal Ney at Waterloo, when at 4.30 in the afternoon he flung thirty-seven squadrons of Kellermann's Cuirassiers, backed by the Heavy Cavalry of the Guard against the hard-pressed British squares. Napoleon was unable to find the necessary support and Ney's effort was made in vain. Goring may perhaps have been in the same position, though the attacks of the Luftwaffe continued to be pressed hard throughout September. It may be that Goring had made up his mind to attack targets more easily reached than were our fighter aerodromes. It may be that he was merely working to a time-table. It may be that he thought that our fighter defence was sufficiently weakened. What probably happened can be conveyed by a simple analogy. Imagine a game which involves knocking down a number of objects such as nine-pins or skittles, in so many turns. The player has worked out a detailed scheme for attacking these by stages. The first two or three, shots, however, result in misses, and the prudent man would pause to reconsider his policy at this point. Can he pursue his scheme and still win, or must he abandon it and try another? But this player, Goring, is so certain of winning that he goes on without stopping to think whether or not the preliminary shots have been successful. Suddenly he realises that, with only one or two turns left, he cannot possibly win on the lines of his pre-arranged scheme and he makes a desperate effort to knock down the whole set in the last few shots. This may be no more than a speculation. The facts are that on 7th September Goring switched his attack away from fighter aerodromes on to industrial and other targets, and he began by making London his main objective.







France 1940. Three great colour pics from this site:

http://www.thefewgoodmen.com/thefgmforum/forum.php?

Scroll down to the WWII section then aviation. Site found by TungstenKid and posted in the General Discussion Ubizoo thread. Thanks TungstenKid.

Part 102.

Part 3 of the official account of the Battle of Britain. Published in 1941.

PHASE III: LONDON versus GORING

The attacks on London on 7th September were made in two or three distinct waves at intervals of about twenty minutes, the whole attack lasting up to an hour. The waves were composed of formations of from twenty to forty bombers with an equal number of fighters in close escort, additional protection being given by large formations of other fighters flying at a much higher altitude. Most of the German aircraft came over at heights above 15,000 feet in sunny skies which made the task of the Observer Corps very difficult.

At this stage, too, the enemy's dive bombers reappeared in attacks on coastal objectives and shipping off Essex and Kent. They were a diversion for they came over while the mass attacks by the long-range bombers were in progress. By night the Germans greatly increased their attacks by single aircraft. These made no attempt to hit military targets, but contented themselves with dropping their bombs at random over the large area of London.

All the attacks, however, were in essence the same. Over came the German aircraft in one or more of the many formations already described. Somewhere between the coast and London, usually in the Edenbridge-Tunbridge Wells area, but sometimes nearer to the sea, the German squadrons were met by our fighters. The Spitfires tackled the high-flying fighter screen covering the German attack.

The Hurricanes, which had taken off first, engaged the fighter escort, followed by other squadrons who went for the bombers. There were dog-fights all over Kent. The air was for some minutes—never for very long—vibrant with machine-gun fire. People on the ground have described it as like the sound made by a small boy in the next street when he runs a stick along a stretch of iron railings. As a background there was the faint roar of hundreds of engines which on occasion swelled to a fierce note as some crippled enemy fighter or bomber fell to the ground or made for its base dropping lower and lower with Spitfires or Hurricanes diving upon it. Sometimes watchers, like those upon the keep of Hever Castle, would see the blue field of the sky blossom suddenly with the white flowers of parachutes. The warm sun of those superb September days shone on an ever-increasing number of the wrecked carcases of aircraft bearing on their wings the Black Cross of Prussia or the crooked symbol of Nazi power.


The Last Throw

The attack on London and its environs was the crux of the battle. It continued with little respite from the 7th September until 5th October and was the last desperate attempt to win victory. This could no longer be achieved cheaply, for the Luftwaffe had already suffered terrible losses. But it might still be possible to destroy London and thus to Win the war. Despite the hard fighting of the previous month the Fighter defences of the R.A.F. were still fighting as hard as ever. They had to be overcome before London could be placed at Hitler's mercy. Goring still believed in superior numbers, these would win the trick. They had brought him swift victory in Poland, Norway, the Low Countries, Belgium and France; they might still bring victory in Britain. He put forth all his strength in a final endeavour to knock down the nine-pins at any cost. The Luftwaffe delivered thirty-eight major attacks by day between the 6th September and 5th October.

After battering away morning, noon and night throughout the 6th September against our inland fighter aerodromes, the German Air Force made a tremendous effort on the 7th to reach London and destroy the Docks. Three hundred and fifty bombers and fighters flew in two waves East of Croydon up to the Thames Estuary, some penetrating, nearly as far as Cambridge. They were met over Kent and East Surrey, but a number broke through and were engaged over the capital itself. For the first time since that September day in 1666, when Mr. Samuel Pepys informed the King at Whitehall that the City was on fire, Londoners saw flames leaping up from various points in the crowded and densely populated districts of Dockland and Woolwich, while from every German radio station announcers broadcast a running commentary On the action, in which imagination and wishful thinking were nicely blended. London did not emerge unscathed. Damage was inflicted on dock buildings, on several factories, on railway communications, on gas and electricity plants. It was also inflicted on the enemy. One hundred and three German aircraft were destroyed. These heavy casualties shook the German High Command, for though the attacks were renewed and continued, evidently all was no longer well. Still, the Luftwaffe persevered with great tenacity and courage, delivering heavy attacks on 9th September, using on that occasion a number of four-engined bombers; on the 11th, when about thirty aircraft penetrated to Central London; on the 13th and again on the 15th. Those who got through on the 11th were so savagely handled by our fighter defence that the losses among their crews were estimated to be not less than two hundred and fifty. On the next day a single German aircraft penetrated the defence by the clever use of cloud cover and bombed Buckingham Palace in the morning. On the 15th September came the climax; five hundred German aircraft, two hundred and fifty in the morning and two hundred and fifty in the afternoon, fought a running fight with our Hurricanes and Spitfires from Hammersmith to Dungeness, from Bow to the coast of France. This engagement will be described in greater detail later. It cost the enemy one hundred and eighty-five aircraft known to have been destroyed. Altogether, between the 6th September and the 5th October, he had lost eight hundred and eighty-three aircraft.

It is not necessary to record in detail the rest of the fighting which; endured to 31st October. Enough has been said to show the nature of the German effort and of our defence. There were, however, three more major assaults delivered, on 27th September, 30th September and 5th October.

Thus between 11th September and 5th October the enemy delivered some thirty-two major attacks by day. In all these, bombers were used and their escort of fighters steadily increased in numbers, till the ratio rose to four fighters to one bomber. Of these attacks fifteen were made on the area of Greater London, ten against Kent and the Thames Estuary, six on Southampton and one on Reading. While these last attacks were well executed and pressed home, those on London were less determined than in the opening stages of the battle. On many occasions the enemy jettisoned his bombs before reaching his apparent objective as soon as he found himself in contact with our fighters. Throughout this period the bombing attacks were mostly made from high level. To enable their bombers to reach their targets the Germans sought to draw off our fighter patrols by high altitude rather than by geographical diversions. High fighter screens were sent over, to occupy our fighters while the bombers closely escorted by more fighters tried to get through some 6,000 to 10,000 feet below.


Success of British Fighter Interception

As autumn came on and the sky grew more cloudy, the enemy began to make increasing use of fighters flying very high above the clouds; His most usual practice was to put a very high screen of these fighters over Kent from fifteen minutes to three-quarters of an hour before his bombers appeared. The object was evidently to draw off our fighters, exhaust their petrol and thus make it impossible for them to engage the bombers. Sometimes, however, the high-flying enemy fighters appeared only a few minutes before the bombers, which were themselves escorted by other fighters; These escorts were normally divided into two parts, a big formation above and on both flanks or rear of the bombers, and a small formation on the same level as, or slightly in front of, the aircraft they were protecting.

The enemy's high fighter screen was engaged by pairs of Spitfire Squadrons half-way between London and the coast while wings of two or three Hurricane Squadrons attacked the bombers and their escorts before they reached the fighter aerodromes East and South of London. Other Squadrons formed a third and inner ring patrolling above these aerodromes forming a defensive screen to guard the southern approaches to London. These intercepted the third wave of any attack and mopped up the retreating formations belonging to earlier waves. The success of these tactics may be gauged by the number of casualties inflicted on the Germans. Between 11th September and 5th October, No. 11 Group of Fighter Command alone destroyed four hundred and forty-two enemy aircraft for certain. This was accomplished with the loss of fifty-eight pilots, giving a ratio of seven and a half enemy to one British pilot lost.

September came and went and by the end of the first week in October our aerodromes had recovered from the damage inflicted on them at the end of August and the beginning of September. The percentage of raids intercepted increased, as did the casualties of the enemy, while our own steadily decreased. Thus on 27th September No. 11 Group destroyed ninety-nine German aircraft, out of a total for the day of one hundred and thirty-three, for the loss of fifteen pilots, a proportion of six and a half to one. Three days later, when thirty-two enemy aircraft were destroyed, the proportion rose to sixteen to one, and on 5th October only one pilot was lost though twenty-two of the enemy were shot down. Many times one aggressively-led squadron was able to break up an enemy bomber formation. On three occasions a lone Hurricane flown by a Sector Commander was successful in causing the enemy to drop his bombs wide of the target. The brunt of all this fighting fell on No. 11 Group. This Group was reinforced when necessary by elements of Numbers 10 and 12 Groups, which were especially useful during the period of the heavy attacks on London.

How hard fought was the battle can be seen from the fact that from 8th September to 5th October inclusive, 3,291 day patrols of varying strengths were flown, and from 6th October to the last day of that month 2,786, making a total for these fifty-five days of 6,077.



PHASE IV: THE LUFTWAFFE IN RETREAT

On 6th October, the fourth and final stage of the battle began. The enemy's strategy and method of attack now changed completely. He withdrew nearly all his long-range bombers and tried to achieve his end by means of fighters and fighter bombers. This change is the surest proof that he had received such a hammering as to make further use of his depleted bombing force by daylight too costly. He preferred to send it over by night, and this he did in increasing numbers. His tactical handling of his fighters and fighter bombers—a few of them were Me. 110's but they were mostly Me. 109's fitted with a make-shift bomb carrier enabling them to take a pair of bombs at a speed of about three hundred miles an hour— was this.

Mass fighter formations were sent over at a great height in almost continuous waves to attack London, still the principal target. He doubtless hoped by this means to wear out our fighter defence by forcing it to engage, at much higher altitudes, aircraft which were making the best use possible of high cloud cover. In the early stages he reduced the size of his formations and used flights of from two to nine aircraft. The fighter bombers were protected more and more by Me. 110 fighters. Evidently, however, this new plan did not achieve the success for which he hoped, for in the third week of October he reverted once more to large formations flying at 30,000 feet or higher. To enable them to break through, the Germans continued to use the tactics of diversion. Whenever the weather was good enough waves of fighters appeared almost continuously over the South-East of England. Using the cover these provided, very high flying fighter bombers made frequent and rapid attacks on the London area. On sighting our fighters, however, they often jettisoned their bombs and made off. They showed, in fact, little tendency to engage, but when they did so they sometimes gained the advantage of surprise owing to the height at which they were flying.


The Last Move Countered

Our own tactics were immediately altered so successfully that No. 11 Group accounted for one hundred and sixty-seven enemy aircraft in three and a half weeks. The cost to the Group was forty-five pilots. In this phase the number of enemy probably destroyed rose considerably, because the fighting took place so high up that our pilots were unable to see the ultimate fate of many of the German aircraft which fell away after the encounter towards the sea. The physical strain of fighting at heights of 30,000 feet or more proved very severe.

It is possible to detect a feeling of despair in the hearts of the Luftwaffe during this final phase of the struggle. Try as they might, and did, our defences were still not only intact but invulnerable. Occasionally an odd Me. 109 or a small formation broke through and reached London, but the weight of the bombs which they succeeded in dropping was only a fraction of what had been dropped in August and September. Moreover, there was little attempt at precision bombing. There can be no better proof of the enemy's failure than that furnished by the citizens of London. During the early stages, many of
them took cover when the sirens sounded. Post Offices, Ministries and Public Departments, large stores—all closed their doors and sent their staffs and any visitors in the building to cover. Very soon, however, it was noticed that most of the noise, at no time to be compared with the nightly barrage which soon became the background of their slumbers, was due to gunfire and not to the explosion of bombs. Trails of white vapour forming fantastic and beautiful patterns in the summer sky were often the only indication that the Luftwaffe was over the capital. These pleased the eye and provided a subject for speculation in the streets and public resorts. Soon, however, even these failed to attract much notice. As the days wore on the Londoner, always confident in the ability of the Royal Air Force to protect him in the hours of daylight, began to take that protection for granted. Except when roof-watchers—the Prime Minister's "Jim Crows" —signalled that danger was imminent, life went on as usual and still does.

There can be no better tribute to the men of the Fighter Squadrons.




Heinkel He 111’s in France 1940.

Part 103.

Part 4 of the official account of the Battle of Britain. Published in 1941.

Sorry it’s late – Office 2010 decided not to play, eventually the internet coughed up a missing registry key and all was well again …



THE GREATEST DAY

15th September, 1940

The foregoing is a summary, necessarily brief and incomplete—for the battle took place too recently for a full account to be written—of almost three months of nearly continuous air fighting. The better to comprehend its nature it is necessary to examine in greater detail an individual day's fighting. Sunday, 15th September, is as good a day as any other. It was one of " the great days," as they have come to be called and the actions then fought were described by the Prime Minister in the House of Commons as "the most brilliant and fruitful of any fought upon a large scale up to that date by the fighters of the Royal Air Force." The enemy lost one hundred and eighty-five aircraft. This is what happened.

Over the South-East of England the day of Sunday, 15th September, dawned a little misty, but cleared by eight o'clock and disclosed light cumulus cloud at 2,000 or 3,000 feet. The extent of this cloud varied, and in places it was heavy enough to produce light local showers. Visibility, however, was on the whole good throughout the day; the slight wind was from the west shifting to north-west as the day advanced.

The first enemy patrols arrived soon after 9 a.m. They were reported to be in the Straits, in the Thames Estuary, off Harwich, and between Lympne and Dungeness. About 11.30 Goring launched the first wave of the morning attack, consisting of a hundred or more aircraft, soon followed by one hundred and fifty more. These crossed the English coast at three main points, near Ramsgate, between Dover and Folkestone and a mile or two north of Dungeness. Their objective was London. This formidable force was composed of Dornier bomber 17's and 215's escorted by Me. 109's. They flew at various heights between 15,000 and 26,000 feet. From the ground the German aircraft looked like black dots at the head of long streamers of white vapour from the air like specks rapidly growing. They appeared first as model aeroplanes and then, as the range closed, as full-sized aircraft.

Battle was soon joined and raged for about three-quarters of an hour over East-Kent and London. Some hundred German bombers burst through our defence and reached the eastern and southern quarters of the capital. A number of them were intercepted above the centre of the city itself just as Big Ben was striking the hour of noon.

To understand the nature of the combat, it must be remembered that the aircraft engaged in it were flying at a speed of between 300 and 400 miles an hour. At that speed place names become almost meaningless. The enemy, for example, might have been intercepted over Maidstone, but not destroyed until within a few miles of Calais. "Place attack was delivered—Hammersmith to Dungeness" or "London to the French Coast." Such phrases in the Intelligence Patrol Reports forcibly illustrate the size of the area over which the battle was fought. That being so, it is better perhaps not to attempt to plot the place of attack too accurately—an almost hopeless task—but to refer to it simply as the Southern Marches of England.

The battle in fact took place roughly in a cube about 80 miles long, 38 broad and from 5 to 6 miles high. It was in this space between noon and half-past that between 150 and 200 individual combats took place. Many of these developed into stern chases which,were broken off within a mile or two of the French Coast.



"Achtung, Schpitfeuer!"

Sixteen squadrons of No. 11 Group, followed by five from Nos. 10 and 12, were sent up to engage the enemy. All but one of the Squadrons taking part in the battle were very soon face to face with him. Five Squadrons of Spitfires opened their attack against the oncoming Germans in the Maidstone-Canterbury-Dover-Dungeness area. These were in action slightly before the Hurricane Squadrons, which intercepted farther back, between Maidstone, Tunbridge Wells and South London.

The Germans were found to be flying in various types of formations. The bombers were usually some thousands of feet below the fighters but sometimes this position was reversed. The bombers flew either in Vics (a "V"-shaped formation) of from five to seven aircraft or in lines of five aircraft abreast or in a diamond formation.

The Me. 109's were usually in Vies. One pilot has described the attacking German aircraft as flying in little groups of nine arranged in threes like a sergeant's stripes. Each group of nine was in this case supported by a group of nine Me. 110 fighters with single-seater Me. 109's or He. 113's circling high above.

The enemy soon realised that our defence was awake and active, for the German pilots could be heard calling out to each other over their wireless 'phones "Achtung, Schpitfeuer!" They had need to keep alert. Our pilots opened fire at an average range of from 250 to 200 yards, closing when necessary to 50. Many of the enemy fighters belonged to the famous Yellow-Nose Squadrons, though some had white noses and even occasionally red.


"Justification for Our New Tactics"

Once the battle was joined, regular formation was frequently lost and each pilot chose an individual foe. The following account of one combat can be taken as typical of the rest.

A pilot, whose Squadron was attacking in echelon starboard, dived out of the sun on to an Me. 109 which blew up after receiving his first burst of fire. By this time he found that another Me. 109 was on his tail. He turned, got it in his sights and set it on fire with several bursts. He was now separated from his comrades and therefore returned to his base. As he was coming down he received a message saying that the enemy were above. He looked up, saw a group of Dorniers at 14,000 feet, climbed and attacked them. He got in a burst at a Dornier; other friendly fighters came up to help. The enemy aircraft crashed into a wood and exploded.

While the Spitfires and Hurricanes were in action over Kent, other Hurricanes were dealing with such of the enemy as had succeeded by sheer force of numbers in breaking through and reaching the outskirts of London. Fourteen Squadrons of Hurricanes, almost immediately reinforced by three more Squadrons of Spitfires, took up this task, all of them coming into action between noon and twenty past. There ensued a continuous and general engagement extending from London to the coast and beyond.

In it the tactics so carefully thought out, so assiduously practised, secured victory. Let a Squadron-Leader describe the results they achieved.

"The 15th of September," he says, "dawned bright and clear at Croydon. It never seemed to do anything else during those exciting weeks of August and September. But to us it was just another day. We weren't interested in Hitler's entry into London; most of us were wondering whether we should have time to finish breakfast before the first blitz started. We were lucky.

"It wasn't till 9.30 that the sirens started wailing and the order came through to rendezvous base at 20,000 feet. As we were climbing in a southerly direction at 15,000 feet we saw thirty Heinkels supported by fifty Me. 109's 4,000 feet above them, and twenty No. 110's to a flank, approaching us from above. We turned and climbed, flying in the same direction as the bombers with the whole Squadron stringed out in echelon to port up sun, so that each man had a view of the enemy.

" 'A’ flight timed their attack to perfection, coming down sun in a power dive on the enemy's left flank. As each was selecting his own man, the Me. 110 escort roared in to intercept with cannons blazing at 1,000 yards range, but they were two seconds too late—too late to engage our fighters, but just in time to make them hesitate long enough to miss the bomber leader. Two Heinkels heeled out of the formation.

"Meanwhile, the Me. 110's had flashed out of sight, leaving the way clear for ' B ' flight, as long as the Me. 109's stayed above. ‘B’ flight leader knew how to bide his time, but just as he was about to launch his attack the Heinkels did the unbelievable thing. They turned south; into the sun; and into him. With his first burst the leader destroyed the leading bomber which blew up with such force that it knocked a wing off the left-hand bomber. A little bank and a burst from his guns sent the right-hand Heinkel out of the formation with smoke pouring out of both engines. Before returning home he knocked down an Me. 109. Four aircraft destroyed for an expenditure of 1,200 rounds was the best justification for our new tactics."


Dropping Every Few Miles

It must be borne in mind that this great battle was made up of Squadron attacks followed by numbers of personal combats, all taking place more or less at the same time over this wide area. Squadrons flying in pairs or wings of three units went into action in formation against an enemy similarly disposed. After the first attack delivered as often as possible out of the sun, they broke up and individual duels took place all over the sky.

Certain of the more striking incidents may be briefly recorded.

There were the dive attacks carried out by one Squadron of Spitfires which twice passed through an enemy bomber formation, each time delivering beam attacks as they did so. These tactics threw the enemy into extreme confusion. The bombers turned almost blindly, it seemed, aircraft dropping in flames or in uncontrolled dives with every few miles of the return journey. One such aircraft, of which the cowling and cabin top blew off, shed its crew who baled out, all except the rear gunner, who was seen to be hanging from the lower escape hatch until the aircraft dived into a wood, ten miles east of Canterbury.

Then there was the pilot who twice attacked an Me. 109 which each time strove to escape in an almost vertical dive. The first of these from 20,000 feet was successful, for the German pilot straightened out, but only to find that the British pilot had followed him down and was close upon him. "By that time," said the British pilot," I was going faster than the enemy aircraft and I continued firing until I had to pull away to the right to avoid a collision." His burst of fire had taken effect, for the German never recovered, but plunged down until he entered cloud, about 6,000 ft; below when the British pilot had to recover from the dive as his aircraft was going at approximately four hundred and eighty miles an hour. "I then made my way through the cloud at a reasonable speed," he reported, " and saw the wreckage of the enemy aircraft burning furiously. . . . I climbed up through the cloud and narrowly missed colliding with a Ju. 88 which was on fire and being attacked by numerous Hurricanes."

There was also the Dornier which crashed just outside Victoria Station. Members of its crew landed by parachute on the Kennington Oval while the Hurricane pilot who had shot it down and whose aircraft had gone into an uncontrollable spin when the enemy blew up beneath him, landed safely in Chelsea. Nevertheless, the yellow-nosed squadrons, the elite of the German Air Force, acquitted themselves bravely and showed greater skill than their less well-trained comrades. It was observed that they usually attacked in pairs disposed in line astern some seventy-five yards apart.

Occasionally, fire at long range proved effective. Close range combat was the rule, but it is recorded that a Hurricane pilot fired at an enemy aircraft moving faster than his own and about to get out of range, and hit it at 800 yards. This caused it to slow up, and his second burst was fired from 500 yards. Eventually he finished it off at 25 yards. Another Hurricane pilot, who had broken off a fight because the cooling system of the engine of his aircraft was giving trouble, and who was therefore returning to base, encountered a lone Me. 109 which he stalked out of the sun and shot down from 500 yards.

At this stage in the fight it became clear that the enemy bomber pilots felt themselves to be no match for the British. It was generally observed that as soon as contact was established, they jettisoned their bombs then broke formation and turned at once for their base. Thus, twenty Dornier 215's were encountered over the London Docks flying in a diamond formation escorted by Me. 109's "stepped up" to 22,000 feet. The bombers were broken up by a level quarter attack and this enabled our intercepting Squadron to pursue them relentlessly and shoot most of them down.

Occasionally in this confused and struggling fight the British Squadrons found themselves temporarily outnumbering the enemy. Thus at 12.15 a mixed force of Hurricanes and Spitfires amounting to the greater part of five Squadrons was over the south of the Thames, somewhere near Hammersmith. Here they encountered an inferior number of the enemy and did terrible execution.

But it was seldom that we had the advantage in numbers. The enemy, however, seemed unable to profit by his numerical superiority. A single Hurricane, for example, encountered twelve yellow-nosed Messerschmitts flying straight at it. The pilot dived under them but swooped upwards and shot down the rear aircraft from directly underneath. As he still had plenty of speed the British pilot half rolled off the top of his loop and followed the enemy formation which had not apparently perceived the fate of their comrade in the rear rank. The British pilot accordingly destroyed another enemy aircraft from the rear and damaged a second before the Germans became aware of what was happening, and he was forced, being still in the numerically inferiority of nine to one, to break off the action.

The fight was all over by 12.30, and by the time the citizens of London and the South-East of England were sitting down to their Sunday dinner the enemy were in full flight to their bases in Northern France. One of those citizens had special cause to rejoice in the result of the fighting. The Prime Minister had spent the morning in one of the Operations Rooms of No. 11 Group. It was observed that for once his cigar remained unlit as he followed the swift changes of the battle depicted on the table map before him.

Some of the enemy had for a brief moment succeeded in penetrating into the centre of the capital but they dropped only a few bombs. The fire was too hot, the defence too strong. Seventy of the estimated two hundred and fifty aircraft in the attack, equalling twenty-eight per cent., were seen to crash that morning, ten more were considered probably to have been destroyed and twenty-eight were observed by our pilots to break off action in a damaged condition. These figures, compiled immediately after the fight and in accordance with the very strict rules applied by the Royal Air Force to pilots' reports, probably underestimate the casualties they inflicted. Even so the Luftwaffe lost slightly over forty-three per cent, of the aircraft used in this morning attack.


Second Wave of Afternoon Attackers

Despite the sound and fury of battle that sunny autumn day, the citizens of London had their Sunday dinner in peace. A lull ensued for about an hour and a half. Then, shortly after two, fresh enemy forces returned to the attack in about the same strength as had been employed that morning. German aircraft crossed the coast near Dover in two waves, the first of one hundred and fifty, the second of one hundred. These formations spread over the South-East and South-West of Kent and over Maidstone.

Before they could proceed farther they were intercepted by fighters of the Royal Air Force. Twenty-one Squadrons were sent into the air and twenty-one squadrons made contact with the enemy. This time the numbers on each side were fairly equal, and the fighting superiority of the British force was immediately established. Our fighters tore into the enemy's formations, ripping through them like a knife through calico. That was how it sounded from the ground. So determined was the British defence, so effective these tactics, that the "German formations were again instantly broken up. This was the opportunity for each pilot to single out an adversary, and in a few moments the sky was again a battlefield. In all that space from the Thames Estuary to Dover, from London to the coast, dog-fights were soon in furious progress. Squadrons were swiftly scattered so that two which took off together from their base might, fifteen minutes later, be fighting fifty miles apart.

There was nothing haphazard about this interception of the enemy. It was only possible oh such a scale and in so effective a manner because every detail had been planned and tested in the fighting of the previous months. So, as reports came through of the German approach, we were able to despatch from the correct tactical points enough Squadrons to achieve complete interception and the best results, without dissipating our forces. The general principle applied in coping with earlier assaults having proved so successful it was put into effect in this second great attack. Certain Squadrons were detailed to deal with the enemy screen of high-flying fighters halfway between London and the coast. This enabled the others to, attack the bomber, formations and their close escort before they reached the line of fighter aerodromes East and South of London. Those of the enemy who succeeded in penetrating these defences—-some seventy or so— were tackled by Squadrons of Hurricanes, mostly from Nos. 10 and 12 Groups, who came into action over the capital itself. They also pursued stragglers. As in the morning's fighting some two hundred individual combats took place and, although no two were quite alike, the general pattern was the same.

"I engaged the enemy in formation, causing them to scatter in all directions," ran the report of one pilot. "We sighted a strong formation of enemy aircraft," wrote another, " and carried out a head-on attack. The enemy scattered, jettisoned their bombs and turned for home. We encountered heavy cannon fire. . . ." The reports are laconic: " The whole of the nose, including the pilot's cockpit, was shot away. . . ." "I saw tracer flying past my left wing and saw an Me. 109 attack me. . . ." "I saw his perspex burst and the enemy aircraft spun down. . . ." "I did not consider it worth while to waste any more ammunition upon it. . . ." "I then looked for more trouble and saw an He. 111. I attacked and closed to about 10 feet..." "I gave him everything I had. . . ." "Aircraft became uncontrollable. I baled out, coming down with left arm paralysed (afterwards learned dislocated). ..."

As in the morning a single British aircraft, in this case a Hurricane, piloted by a Group Captain, encountered a large formation of German aircraft, both fighters and bombers, and went into the attack alone.

"There were," he said on his return, "no other British fighters in sight, so I made a head-on attack on the first section of the bombers, opening at 600 yards and closing to 200 yards." After describing how all alone he broke up the enemy formation the Group Captain adds, "I made further attacks on the retreating bombers, each attack from climbing beam. . . . One Dornier left the formation and lost height. With no ammunition left I could not finish it off. I last saw the bomber at 3,000 feet dropping slowly . . ."

So it appears that each pilot had his own swift decisions to make, his own problems to meet. He was not found wanting. While the fight lasted the Germans were destroyed at the rate of two aircraft a minute. That afternoon's attack cost them ninety-seven destroyed. In the entire day we lost twenty-five aircraft, but fourteen pilots were saved.

Such was a typical day's fighting in a battle which lasted for nearly three months over the South of England.


Hurricane prototype. Note retractable tail wheel, dropped on production models.


British searchlight – carbon arc 90cm, giving 210 million candlepower.

Part 104. Two years of posts!

Part 5 of the official account of the Battle of Britain. Published in 1941.


“MEN LIKE THESE”

When the order to begin the assault on these islands was given, the morale of the German air crews was undoubtedly high. The reason was obvious. For years these young German airmen had been "groomed" for victory. They were assured of their own superiority as individuals and their omnipotence as a striking force. Had they not seen in the first weeks of the spring of 1940 the terrible predictions of their leader come to pass? Each country Germany had attacked had fallen before the crushing blows of the "Nazi war machine, of which they, the Luftwaffe, formed so vital a part. Now, only the British Empire remained inviolate. As those young airmen had swept across Europe from Poland to the English Channel, so they expected to sweep over Britain, subdue her people and prepare the way for an invading army. Disillusion awaited them. As yet, still flushed with victory, they were to see their comrades spin to earth or sea in flames. Nevertheless, let it be said for the German morale, So near it approached to fanaticism, that it never faltered, even when the Luftwaffe was losing seventy, one hundred and one hundred and fifty aircraft during each period of daylight. Certainly the German pilots showed qualities of courage and tenacity; but these were of little avail against the better quality and still higher courage of the British pilots. Even in their hour of defeat some pilots of the Luftwaffe thought that the invasion of Britain might take place at any time and that, if it had to be postponed, it would be successfully accomplished in the spring of 1941. It was not, then, any faltering on their part that caused the daylight attacks to die away.

Of the morale of our own pilots little need be said. The facts are eloquent. They had only to see the enemy to engage him immediately. Odds were of no account and were cheerfully accepted. Only a very high degree of confidence in their training, in their aircraft and in their leaders could have enabled them to maintain the spirit of aggressive courage which they invariably displayed. That confidence, they possessed to the full.

Polish and Czech pilots took their full share in the battle. They possess great qualities of courage and dash. They are truly formidable fighters.



Sky Full of Spitfires and Hurricanes

To read the combat reports, written by the pilots immediately after landing from a fight, is to receive the impression of well-trained young men, conscious of their responsibilities and fulfilling them at all times with resolution and high courage.

"Patrolled, South of Thames (approximately Gravesend Area) at 25,000 feet," runs the report of one Squadron Leader in action on one of the "great" days. "Saw two squadrons pass underneath us in formation, travelling N.W. in purposeful manner. Then saw A.A. bursts, so turned Wing and saw enemy aircraft 3,000 feet below to the N.W. Managed perfect approach with two other squadrons between our Hurricanes and sun and enemy aircraft below and down sun. Arrived over enemy aircraft formation of twenty to forty Do. 17: noticed Me. 109 dive out of sun and warned our Spitfires to look out, Me. 109 broke away and climbed S.E. Was about to attack enemy aircraft which were turning left-handed, i.e., to west and south, when I noticed Spitfires and Hurricanes engaging them. Was compelled to wait for risk of collisions. However, warned, wing to watch, other friendly lighters and dived down with leading section in formation on to last section of five enemy aircraft. Pilot Officer ------ took left-hand Do. 17, I took middle one and Flight-Lieutenant ------ took the right-hand one which had lost ground on outside of turn. Opened fire at 100 yards in steep dive and saw a large flash behind starboard motor of Dornier as wing caught fire: must have hit petrol pipe or tank; overshot and pulled up steeply. Then carried on and attacked another Do. 17, but had to break away to avoid Spitfire. The sky was then full of Spitfires and Hurricanes queueing up and pushing each other out of the way to get at Dorniers which for once were outnumbered. I squirted at odd Dorniers at close range as they came into my sights, but could not hold them in my sights for fear of collision with other Spitfires and Hurricanes. Saw collision between Spitfire and Do. 17 which wrecked both aeroplanes. Finally ran out of ammunition chasing crippled and smoking Do. 17 into cloud. It was the finest shambles I've been in, since for once we had position, height and numbers. Enemy aircraft were a dirty looking collection."

Men like these saved England.

Nor must the ground staffs be forgotten. Their tasks were to "service" the lighting aircraft and to maintain communications, at any cost. Those attached to the fighter aerodromes, East, South-East and South of London, fitters, mechanics, signallers, telephone operators, despatch riders and the rest carried on under heavy and sustained bombing by day and by night. For the first time since William of Normandy set foot on these shores, men and women of England—the Women's Auxiliary Air Force was in the thick of it—found themselves in the front line. They did not fail and the list of awards they won beats witness to their bravery and their endurance. They made it possible by carrying out their duties, sleep or no sleep, bombs or no bombs, for the Fighter Squadrons to confront the enemy day after day until he was defeated.

Of the anti-aircraft batteries a whole story can be written; but this narrative is concerned only with the part played by the Royal Air Force in the victory. Its controllers received most important aid from the A.A. Units. Their shells bursting in black or white puffs against the sky gave to watchers on the ground or in the air invaluable information concerning the whereabouts of the enemy. Moreover, they accounted for nearly two hundred and fifty hostile aircraft in daylight during the period of the struggle.



Shattered and Disordered Armada

By 31st October the battle was over. It did not cease dramatically. It died gradually away; but the British victory was none the less certain and complete. Bitter experience had at last taught the enemy the cost of daylight attacks. He took to the cover of night. For what indeed did the Germans accomplish in all their attacks? At the outset they sank five ships and damaged five more sailing in our Coastal convoys; they next did intermittent and sometimes severe damage to aerodromes; they scored hits on a number of factories which caused production to slow down for a short time. In London they did considerable damage to the Docks and to various famous buildings, including Buckingham Palace. They destroyed or damaged beyond repair some thousands of houses; they killed during the day 1,700 persons, nearly all of them civilians, and seriously wounded 3,360. At night 12,581 persons were killed and 16,965 injured. These heavy casualties occurred during the hours when darkness prevented the enemy from being met and turned back as he was in daylight. They provide a Striking, if ominous, proof of the efficiency and devotion of the fighters of the Royal Air Force. To what height would those figures have risen had there been no Hurricanes and Spitfires on the alert from dawn to dusk engaging the enemy whenever he appeared—resolute, ruthless, triumphant?

Such, then, was the measure of the enemy's achievement during eighty-four days of almost continuous attack. A little earlier in the year the Germans had taken thirty-seven days to overrun and utterly to cast down the Kingdoms of the Netherlands and of Belgium and the Republic of France. What the Luftwaffe failed to do was to destroy the fighter squadrons of the Royal Air Force which were indeed stronger at the end of the battle than at the beginning. This failure meant defeat—defeat of the German Air Force itself, defeat of a carefully designed strategical plan, defeat of that which Hitler most longed for-—the invasion of this Island. The Luftwaffe which, as Goebbels said on the eve of the battle, had "prepared the final conquest of the last enemy—England," did its utmost and paid very heavily for the attempt. Between the 8th August and 31st October, 2,375 German aircraft are known to have been destroyed in daylight. (Throughout this account all figures relating to enemy aircraft concern only those actually destroyed. The number damaged or regarding whose fate complete, evidence proved impossible to obtain has not been given. ) This figure takes no account of those lost at night or those, seen, by thousands, staggering back to their French bases, wings and fuselage lull of holes, ailerons shot away, engines smoking and dripping glycol, undercarriages dangling—the retreating remnants of a shattered and disordered Armada. This melancholy procession of the defeated was to be observed not once but many times during those summer and autumn days of 1940. Truly it was a great deliverance.

It was not achieved without cost. The Royal Air Force lost 375 pilots killed and 358 wounded. This was the price, and of those who died let it be said that:

"All the soul
Of man is resolution which expires
Never from valiant men till their last
breath."

Such was the Battle of Britain in 1940. Future historians may compare it with Marathon, Trafalgar and the Marne.














Dunkirk after the battle. Scene of the RAF’s second major encounter with the Luftwaffe. Nothing to do with the Battle of Britain, just interesting LIFE photos I have recently found.

Part 105.

From �Find, Fix and Strike - The Work of the Fleet Air Arm� by Terence Horsley.
Published in 1943.

THE STORY OF H.M.S. "AUDACITY"

H.M.S. Audacity was an ex-German merchant ship which was given a flush deck and half a dozen Martlet fighters for the protection of convoys. Her life is a gallant story and the forerunner to many others. She was the first of the escort carriers commissioned with the job of protecting the Merchant Navy.

Audacity was captured by H.M.S. Dunedin in the Mona Passage in March 1940, when, as the S.S. Hanover, she tried to run the blockade. Her crew set her on fire, but exceptionally smart work on the part of the British boarding party got the fire under control, and two days later she was towed into Kingston Harbour. She was only a small ship�5,600 tons�with a single screw driven by Diesel motors, giving her a speed of 14 knots. She was really too slow, but she would serve for the great experiment. When she emerged from the shipyard in July 1941, she had a flight deck just over 400 feet long and 60 feet wide. There was no hangar, and her aircraft had to be lashed down on the after end of the flight deck�an exposed position and a further curtailment to the run remaining for take-off.

Her first trip was made in September with a convoy sailing for Gibraltar. The crowd on board was a happy one, led by a commander who was himself an old Swordfish pilot. They were all very young, and more than keen to try out their pocket carrier. They knew that they had no easy job, for the movements of so small a ship in an Atlantic swell would seriously jeopardise the landings of high-speed fighters.

Living quarters were almost luxurious. The old first-class cabins had been left intact and were given to the sublieutenants who were to fly the Martlets. The more senior officers gladly accepted the new and smaller cabins nearer the water-line. "I had a private bathroom," one of the pilots said. There were not many sub-lieutenants in the Royal Navy who could make the same claim.

On September 19, 1,000 miles out in the Atlantic, a Martlet on patrol fired the first shots. Her pilot put 400 rounds into the conning-tower of a U-boat. The enemy submerged.

Two days later, another U-boat pressed home an attack on the convoy and several torpedoes found targets. The Walmar Castle acted as rescue ship, and as she went in to pick up survivors she was attacked by a Focke Wulf Kurier. A Martlet took off and shot it down with thirty-five rounds from each of the heavy .5 machine guns. The tail unit came off in the air before it went into the sea, and the only trace of wreckage was a pair of flying overalls floating on the surface.

This attack was made 900 miles west of Brest, and there is no doubt that the German pilot had a painful surprise when he was intercepted by a thoroughbred fighter so far from land.

During the remainder of the trip the Martlets carried out 41-hour patrols round the convoy.

No further attacks were made by submarines, and from this moment it became clear that Audacity was going to earn her keep.

The voyage home was in company with another convoy. During the passage heavy seas were encountered, and the Martlets were landing on while the stern was pitching 65 feet by measurement with the sextant, and rolling 16 degrees. The worst that happened was the loss of one aircraft through skidding over the side. The pilot was picked up.

Audacity sailed for a second time in October, and ran into trouble soon afterwards. On November 9 the little squadron lost their CO., whose aircraft received a direct hit with a cannon shell from a Focke Wulf. The second pilot of the flight took his revenge a few seconds later when he shot the Focke Wulf into the sea in flames.

The same afternoon two pilots took off to intercept approaching enemy aircraft. The story of the action which followed is told in the words of one of the two Martlet pilots' who made an interception. It is a typical action between fast American fighters and heavily armed four-engined Germans. It may be remarked here that the Focke Wulf was no mean antagonist. If it was attacked head on, it could bring three cannons to bear and a machine-gun turret, while from the rear it was defended by two machine-gun turrets and by another cannon mounted under the belly. In addition to this there was, in the words of the author of the ensuing account, "a gentleman with a tommy gun who dashed from side to side, firing out of the side windows." He continues:

We took off at 14.15, and climbed rapidly through two layers of cloud to 8,000 feet. There was about 4,000 feet of clear air between the layers, and about 2,000 feet between the sea and the lower layer. As I emerged into the brilliant sunshine, I realised that the second machine was no longer with me; so I dropped down to about 4,000 feet again and searched the smooth blanket of the bottom layer for a sign of either the enemy or my colleague. There were one or two holes in this layer through which I caught occasional glimpses of the sea, and it was while passing over one of them that I saw 2 Focke Wulfs at only 1,000 feet over the water.

I went down through the hole at about 300 knots, and made the master switch for firing the guns on the way down. You have a little pistol trigger mounted on the stick of the Martlet, and the gentlest squeeze will start things happening.
The Huns didn't see me. They were flying in open formation on a straight and level course enabling me to get in an uninterrupted beam attack. I pressed the trigger at 500 yards, closed rapidly, and kept firing bursts until I was about 50 yards away. I had so much speed left from my dive that I shot beneath the tail of the formation, pulled the stick back into a climbing turn and came in again on the other quarter.

The Focke Wulfs were still there, apparently none the worse, but now going flat out at over 200 m.p.h. As I came in again I saw the face of the man with the tommy gun at the side window of the nearest machine. He was adding his quota to the stuff which came leaping towards me. I could see the little red flames from the mouth of his gun. This time I pulled up over the enemy, remembering the cannons in the belly, and realising that I had taken an unnecessary risk in the first attack. I was doing about 200 knots.

One of the Focke Wulfs now broke away and I concentrated on the aircraft which was making for the clouds. I got in two more beam attacks, and after the second saw the last of the man with the tommy gun. By this time I was desperately afraid that the F.W. was going to escape.. I had raked him four times, and I had been at point-blank range. Nothing appeared to happen, except that smoke was coming from his starboard inboard engine.

I went after him into the cloud, came out on the top side, and flew low over the upper surface of a smooth white blanket, hoping that he would come out. It was at this stage that I had a piece of luck. The enemy, making a turn inside the cloud, put his upper wing tip through the top. The pilot couldn't have known it, for the cabin was still in the cloud. But to me it was a godsend. I followed his direction and waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he broke out. No doubt he thought he had lost me. I was about 500 yards from him, and we were flying head on into each other. It was a perfect position for attack, and I opened fire immediately, holding it the whole way in. Our combined speeds were probably in the neighbourhood of 500 miles an hour, and there was little time. But I watched his windscreen disintegrating under the heavy .5 ammunition. Yet he held his course, and for a fraction of a second I thought he was going to ram me. The last burst-from his forward firing cannons was so close that the blast scorched the underside of my own aircraft. I shot upwards clear of him, and did a steep turn to see him dive into the cloud.

I didn't see the finish. But the second Martlet turned up at that moment, dived through the cloud, and reported that both the Focke Wulf pilots were probably dead, for the aircraft had continued its shallow dive for 1,500 feet straight into the sea. It went down in a mighty smother of spray, leaving the tail sticking into the air and the port wing floating separately a few yards away. My fellow pilot went down low and was surprised to see two Germans climb out of the after escape hatch and embark on the floating wing.

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of them. Martlets are not amphibians, and the convoy was 10 miles away, possibly requiring more attention.

One fact which was not recorded in this account was that the aircraft which scored the victory was flown with a bent propeller. It caused the engine to vibrate sensationally at high speed, and only the fact that another serviceable Martlet was not available accounted for it being flown. It was later condemned by the A.I.D. at Gibraltar.

The hot reception that was being given the Focke Wulfs made them more wary of approaching our ships. The submarines accordingly lacked the information upon which they had relied for interception. This particular convoy reached its destination without loss.

The significance of this cannot be over-stated. Hitherto the loss of ships through underwater attack had been serious, and until the coming of Audacity there had been no means of providing air cover for long periods of many voyages. For the first time on this convoy a substantial reduction in casualties had been achieved, and they can be directly attributed to the new idea which had found expression in the converted German cargo ship.

Audacity returned again from Gibraltar on December 17. In five days the Martlets sighted 17 U-boats on the surface. An attack was made on one of these which remained on the surface, and the result was the loss of a pilot and his machine. The submarine's gun shot him down. It no longer
paid to make low-level attacks on submarines whose commanders now realised that the new menace from the air carried nothing more lethal than machine guns.

The policy now was to put the destroyers on to the U-boats with the least possible delay. As a result of this, 3 of the 17 U-boats sighted were definitely sunk, and prisoners taken. One of them was rammed by a sloop.

Two days afterwards a Martlet shot the wing tip off a Focke Wulf. The broken piece fell into the sea, but the aircraft went on and escaped in cloud. On the next day 6 Martlets were in the air when they sighted 3 Focke Wulfs. One of them was shot down, and the others damaged. One pilot returned from this sortie with his armoured windscreen shattered, his sliding hood shot to bits, and the fuselage of his aircraft badly scorched.

The same afternoon another pilot got a second Focke Wulf. During his attack he collided with the enemy and landed with a piece of wing wrapped round his own tail.
It was evident that this particular convoy had been marked down by the Germans for an all-out attack. On the 21st, in the words of a pilot, "we had a terrific party."

Patrol after patrol was flown off on that day. Submarines were all round the convoy. By sunset there were only 4 Martlets fit to fly, and they had put in a total of thirty hours since dawn. The last 2 aircraft to land came back in the dark. The ship was rolling 14 degrees, but with the aid of two torches used as signalling bats both Martlets made a good landing. An hour later, while the pilots were having dinner, a torpedo struck the ship.

Audacity began to go down stern first. She settled until the after gun platform was awash, and there she appeared to hang. Although her engines were stopped, she was not abandoned, for even now there appeared to be a chance of getting the ship in tow. Twenty minutes later a second torpedo hit her on the port bow, and the order was given to abandon ship. She began to settle quickly. The bow structure collapsed and disintegrated into a mass of twisted metal.
The stern came up as the water rushed in forward, and rose vertically into the air. The aircraft lashed on the after end of the flight deck broke adrift and hurtled down the deck, smashing the boats which had not already been destroyed.

She went down in a few minutes, with the U-boat's conning-tower visible 200 yards away. As Audacity went, the gunners engaged her with their Oerlikons.

Audacity lies 900 miles off Brest, in almost the exact position of her first victim. Of the ten pilots who originally sailed with her, two remain alive today.


HMS Audacity undergoing sea trials.


HMS Audacity in service. Martlets on deck.

Part 106 ‘Boy’s Own’ stuff this week. From ‘Find, Fix and Strike’ 1943.

SHOT DOWN

It started as a routine fighter patrol. We took off from the ship and closed in towards the coast, and over Aalsund we ran into the usual bunch of Huns— mostly Heinkels and an occasional Ju. 88. We picked a Heinkel for our attack. I managed to get in a couple of bursts with my gun and Birdie (my pilot) got in several good bursts. We saw our Heinkel go down and crash-land on the side of a hill.

We felt rather elated and started to look for another suitable victim when I heard a shout from Birdie that something was wrong with the engine, and, sure enough, within a few minutes it started to cough and splutter. The Heinkel must have hit us somewhere.

I hurriedly looked around for a nice soft spot to land, but all I could see was miles of snow with great jagged rocks sticking up. At last we saw what appeared to be a road running round the bottom of a hill and, as by this time the engine seemed to have completely seized up, Birdie tried to put her down there. Actually he pulled off a very good forced landing, but unfortunately, what we had thought to be a road was in actual fact a sort of "moraine." The appearance of a road had been given by the small stones and mud underneath the snow brought to the surface by the sun's heat.

Of course, the landing made a mess of our aircraft. We were both unhurt, and after climbing out we looked around and decided that the only thing to do was to burn the aeroplane and then try to find some sort of shelter. The weather was fair, in that it wasn't snowing. But as usual it was bitterly cold.

I took my navigating instruments and confidential books out of the aircraft and Birdie took a few things from his cockpit. Then we set fire to the aircraft. It burned beautifully, and having seen it well alight we set off. I soon found that walking through 6 or 8 feet of soft snow—looking like a Christmas tree, with our chart-boards and other instruments—was not altogether as easy as it had seemed in Switzerland. In fact I soon decided to get rid of my encumbrances.

We buried everything except the confidential stuff, and just about this time we saw a small hut towards the top of the hill, near where we had crashed. We decided to make for this, not only to get some shelter but also to give us a chance of seeing where we were. I knew we could not be very far from Aalsund.

After what seemed to be a very long time—and it is amazing how the clear atmosphere deceives one in estimating distances—we arrived very hot, very tired but triumphant, at the top of the hill and the hut. There was no door and absolutely nothing at all inside. It was just a log-box. It was, of course, better than nothing, particularly as it was beginning to get dark—or at least as dark as it ever did get at that time of the year. We went in and started to tear off bits of bark and chips of wood to make a fire.

We did manage to get some sort of blaze going, and I suppose we must have been there about fifteen or twenty minutes when we heard a whistle outside. Somewhat startled, because we thought there was no one else within miles of us, we rushed to the door, Birdie leading, To our amazement we saw five or six Huns dressed in flying clothes coming up the last few hundred yards of the hill towards our hut. The first one, who had just blown his whistle, was carrying a revolver, and as far as we could see all the rest had some sort of weapon. We, on the contrary, possessed between us one pocket knife.

Something had to be done and Birdie did it. After only a few moments' hesitation he stepped out of the doorway and shouted, "Do any of you speak English?"

I think the Huns must have been just about as surprised as we were ourselves; at any rate, after a slight pause the leader shouted back that he could speak English. By this time they were all collected in a bunch about 20 yards away and all had drawn their revolvers. This did not seem to deter Birdie in the least. He simply shouted, "Come here! You are my prisoners." There was a most painful silence which seemed to last for years. Then—they all stepped forward and held their hands up.

It had worked—and now, having got our prisoners, we had to decide what to do with them. After a number of questions and answers in broken English, we discovered that the Huns were the crew of our Heinkel. They had crashed on the other side of the hill, and having burned their aircraft had seen the hut and had made for it with the same idea as ourselves. It was an awkward situation, to say the least, and we thought it better to say we were the crew of a Wellington reconnaissance aircraft. This seemed to satisfy them, although the nearest they could get to "Wellington" was "Welling-bomb." One thing they all flatly refused to do was to part with their guns, and for a time things looked awkward. However, while we were outside the hut and Birdie was arguing with them, I noticed that there was some sort of large building half-way down the hill on the other side, and eventually we told the Huns that they could stay in the hut for the night, and that we were going down the slope to the other place. They were to report to us there next morning.

When we got to this house we found that it was a chalet or hotel, quite empty. Having forced our way inside via a window we found that not only were there beds—and sheets—but provisions as well. We decided that a packet of Quaker oats seemed about the safest item, and after a meal of this and biscuits we turned in and had what was really, under the circumstances, a most comfortable night.

Next morning we were both up early, and I started to make some more porridge for breakfast, while Birdie went outside to see what the weather was like. He had not been gone more than a minute or two when he came running back with the news that our Teutonic "friends" were on their way down the hill towards us. Of course we had naturally hoped that they would run away during the night: the last thing we wanted was to have six fully armed Germans in our company, in what amounted to enemy territory. However, when they did arrive outside our hotel the leader greeted us quite submissively with, "You told us to report in the morning, and here we are."

I think I might here say a few words, about this Jerry crew. There were six of them: two pilots, a navigator, a bomb aimer and a couple of gunners who were also wireless operators. The captain of the aircraft or first pilot was the only officer. He and one of the N.C.O.'s spoke very indifferent English. The latter, to our great surprise, was a Jew. There did not seem to be much love lost between him and the rest of the crew.

After Birdie and I had talked the matter over, we decided that he should go off and try to get help while I stayed behind in charge of our "prisoners." The Jew didn't like the idea of remaining with his boy-friends and requested most earnestly that he be allowed to go with Birdie. So they went off while I took the Huns inside and started to make some porridge for them.

It must have been about three or four minutes after Birdie and the Jew had left when I heard a shot, and immediately jumping to the conclusion that the Jew had shot my pilot I seized the only available weapon—a bread-knife—and went outside to see what I could do about it. Sure enough, when I got outside there was Birdie lying in the snow, but to my surprise the German was standing with both his hands in the air. I then saw that a Norwegian ski patrol had arrived on the scene—we afterwards learned that they had seen our aircraft burning the night before and had been sent to investigate. There were only four Norwegians and they had divided themselves into two pairs, one in front of the house and the other going round behind. When they saw me they motioned me forward, and indicated that my hands should go up as well. At the same time, to my great joy, Birdie stood up. The Norwegians had fired a warning shot when they saw him, and being a sensible man he had decided that the closer he got to mother earth the better. While two of the patrol held us up, the other two routed out the rest of the Heinkel crew, and we were all paraded in a line with our hands up. Birdie and I did our best to tell the Norwegians that we were British, but although they could speak a sort of English, they were not prepared to accept our word without proof.

The situation was rather tricky. They seemed to have an idea that we might have guns or weapons stuck in the tops of our flying boots, and the fellow in front of me said, "Take off your boots." I lowered my hands to comply when a loud voice from behind me said, "Put up your hands." As he accompanied this last order with a jab in the back from his rifle, I thought he deserved more attention, and so put' my hands up again. This was greeted by a shout from the front to the effect that my boots must come off, and so in desperation I started to put my hands down again. The man at the back seemed quite infuriated by this and threatened that unless my hands did stay up he would shoot me. I think I might say that the situation had now grown rather more than tricky. I know I didn't like it a bit.

Then Birdie had an idea, and between us we tried every dialect and language known to us both, from "Look 'ere, ol' cock" to "Bai Jove, old man," including schoolboy French and Spanish. But all to no effect.

Then I had a brilliant idea. I quickly dropped my left hand, turned my breast pocket inside out, showing the tailor's label, and shouted, "Look—Gieves—London," and it worked like a charm. Birdie clinched the matter by producing half a crown and displaying the King's head. They were still a little suspicious, but we two were allowed to put our hands down and were treated in a rather more friendly manner. Very soon afterwards the officer in charge of the patrol arrived, and he could speak English. We got on very well from then on, and it was an amazing coincidence when he discovered that his sister was married to a very great personal friend of Birdie and I—a lieutenant-commander in the Fleet Air Arm. To meet his brother-in-law in the middle of Norway under those circumstances, and at that time, seemed like a miracle.

The Huns still had their hands up, pending further decisions, when the Jew, who was standing rather apart from the others, either got tired or, as I think, reached for his handkerchief. Anyway he started to make a pass with one hand towards his pocket, and the Norwegians took no chances. That was the end of him.

The ski patrol officer then told us that as the snow was rather deep and the nearest town, Aalsund, was 3 miles away, he would send a man to collect some skis for us, and in the meantime he would lend us his to practise with. Eventually the messenger returned—not with skis-—he had been unable to find any—but with two Norwegian nurses who had come up to see the British "heroes." As it was only 3 miles and the snow was fairly hard, we decided we would walk, and at about 8 o'clock that night we set off. It was not until we had been walking for about an hour that one of the nurses casually remarked to me that a Norwegian mile was equal to seven British.

We did it, although I don't know how. We eventually staggered into Aalsund, for myself, more dead than alive, and there our Norwegian friends left us in the care of a marine major.

We tried to get transport on to Aandelnes, but Aalsund was by now reduced to a pile of rubble, and we were being bombed round the clock.

After spending several days trying to find some means of getting across to Aandelnes, we eventually managed to commandeer an old motor-car and some petrol, and after tinkering with the engine started on the last part of our journey. What with bombs and bomb craters, falling masonry, and similar hazards, the journey was not uneventful. But we arrived safely at the fjord separating the two towns, and eventually found the so-called car ferry. It consisted of an open barge propelled by oars, and the sole man in charge, an elderly Norwegian, flatly refused to venture either himself or his contraption across the fjord. By this time we were getting desperate, because we had heard that the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force had commenced.

At the point of our borrowed pistols we forced the old man to take our car on board, and we cast off. The water was fairly calm, and we got about half-way across without untoward incident when we heard a sudden increase in the gunfire, which of course was going on the whole time, and an even greater increase in the bomb explosions. The noise appeared to be coming from farther up the fjord, and thinking that we were in a conspicuous position, we redoubled our efforts at the sweeps.

After a few minutes, we saw a British cruiser coming down the fjord very fast, zigzagging all over the place, and being pursued by what seemed to be every German aircraft in the area. Her guns were blazing, but during the time she was in sight I did not see her hit—although to us in our small boat it appeared to be raining bombs. Somehow, and I cannot explain why, we were not hit either by bombs or the cruiser, although we thought some of the "near misses" were much too close.

This was pretty well the end of our journey. We reached the other side safely and drove into what was left of Aandelnes, where we found that the rumour was true, and our troops were being evacuated.

Pics this week of 110’s in France in 1940. From ‘Flieger Ritter Helden’ (Pilots Knights Heroes) by Benno Wundshammer published in 1943.

Part 107

Time to start another book: ‘Over to You - New Broadcasts by the R.A.F.’ Published in 1943 price ninepence net.


1 Dog-fights over Dunkirk

The days of Dunkirk when France finally capitulated are far behind, but some of those battles, high up in the sky, have left vivid memories in the minds of many pilots.

I can remember the glorious spring evenings when the sun was going down, lighting the evening with a deep red glow, and our squadron pilots stood outside the dispersal huts, still in full flying kit, waiting for the release from readiness which came only with the darkness.

We stood there at nights watching the endless stream of heavy bombers droning south-eastwards over our heads; the ground crews who stayed by to check our machines after dark, ready for the next day, were counting the heavy chaps as they went out, and a throaty cheer went up as the hundredth ploughed majestically on its way, becoming even smaller until it was lost to sight in the darkness of the east.

Donald and Ralph, my two friends, were beside me— we were a little apart from the rest and Ralph spoke: "Things are pretty grim over there; I wonder when our turn will come?"

"Old boy, don't you worry," replied Donald." We'll be in the thick of it in the next fortnight; the French will never hold out, and we will have to fight like hell to stop the darned Huns from walking into London."

They started arguing. For once I was quiet—a little bewildered that so much beauty could come from so grim a setting—and rather amazed at the sudden turn of events on the Continent. War up to now had been just one terrific thrill, but now it was looming up into a threat against Britain, which appeared likely to end in complete and utter disaster.

It was dark and the telephone rang, but instead of the expected release from readiness we were ordered to eat our supper as soon as possible and to arrange for six pilots to be at readiness throughout the night. I was second off the ground that night, so I rolled up in my flying clothes and tried to get some sleep in case I was ordered off later on.

It was after midnight when someone shook me. I jumped up off the bed and started rushing towards the door still only half awake. "Steady, steady," a voice said. It was my Commanding Officer. "You are not wanted to fly, but we have got to go south to be at 'M' by first light, and you will be one of the squadron so get everything ready for 3 o'clock —dawn is at 3.30."

"What's the matter, sir? Are we going to France "I asked. "No," came the quiet reply. "The army is evacuating from France. It has started already, and we are going to cover the withdrawal."

I tried to snatch some more sleep but it was useless. All the time through my mind rushed those few words—"the army is evacuating." I was relieved when at last it was time to go out to our aircraft.

It was just growing light. Our Spitfires were standing looking slim and eager to get into the air. There was no wind; a white mist was drifting over the Fens and it was rather chilly and damp.

In this war, by far my most vivid memories are not those of fierce fighting, of firing guns or aeroplanes—they are of quiet moments at the beginning and end of each day when dawn is breaking or night falls. Some of the sunrises that I have seen (and one sees many as a fighter pilot) have been among the most beautiful moments that I can remember.

This was such a morning, everywhere cold, still, and grey; no noise except the hollow-sounding voices of the airmen. Here and there a farm chimney was starting to puff out white smoke as we taxied out in the half-light with our red and green navigation lights burning.

At last we were airborne, packed in tight formation, the long streaks of flame from the exhausts showing up against the dark ground below. Already in the east the sun was rising over the North Sea, tinting everything a dull red. It was all so strangely beautiful, and yet, ever present, was the thought of the grim and dangerous work soon to be done.

We reached" M," as ordered, by first light, and as we landed, two other squadrons appeared from the north, circled, and came in. Hot tea and biscuits were passed round by some airmen from the back of a lorry. Within half an hour two more squadrons had landed, and the boundary of the aerodrome was covered in aircraft.

At last we got our instructions. We were to take off as a wing of five squadrons and to patrol the areas south-east of Dunkirk from 05.45 to 06.30 hours. If we used up our ammunition we were to return at once.

We were quiet, then, wondering what it would be like. Fellows tightened revolvers round their waists, ready to fight on the ground if we were shot down.

In an incredibly short time we were airborne. Our job was to patrol at 20,000 feet to stop the German Messerschmitt fighters from protecting their bombers below. Underneath us, three squadrons of Hurricanes were to deal with the bombers. Above us, another squadron of Spitfires patrolled.

We flew straight into the sun on the way over, and I could see very little as my eyes watered with the strain of looking for the enemy. We passed Dunkirk—-a huge column of black smoke rising straight up to 15,000 feet hardly moving in the still morning. For thirty-five minutes we flew round inside France when suddenly we saw black dots a little to the north-east of us. We rushed towards them and, in a moment, the sky was full of whirling aircraft, diving, twisting, and turning. Too late, both squadrons realized that we were friends, and although we had not opened fire at one another, it was going to be almost impossible to form up again in our own squadrons.

Round and round we went looking for our sections. I noticed queer little straight lines of smoke very close together as I flew past them. Suddenly I woke up. "Someone is shooting; it's smoke from incendiary bullets," I told myself.

I gave up all thought of trying to find the rest of the squadron and started searching all round. The French Curtis flying across my front: I went closer to have a look at them. Wow! They weren't Frenchmen, they were Huns—Me. 109s. They turned towards me, and I went into a steep climbing turn. Up the two of them went. Gosh! How they could climb! They were level with me about 400 yards away; another one joined them. I could see no other aeroplanes by now—just the three 109s.

It was a question of who could get the most height first. I opened the throttle as far as it would go. I was gaining a little now, and with my more manoeuvrable Spitfire I could turn inside the 109s. Slowly, in giant spirals, we gained height and, suddenly, I found myself up sun of all three of them. I quickly turned the other way, and they lost me.

Round I came at 26,000 feet, and I was right behind the last 109—too far away to shoot yet. I gained—oh, so slowly! —but, sure enough, I was gaining. How long could I wait before firing or before the leader saw me? He was weaving about pretty violently now looking for me. At last, I was in range. I pressed the button, and my whole aeroplane-shuddered as the eight guns fired. Nothing happened. The 109 flew on. Then, suddenly, there was a flash, and the enemy aircraft flicked over: his port aileron had been hit and had come off. He jettisoned his hood to jump out, and I turned quickly to get another shot when showers of tracer bullets flew past me. I had forgotten the other two 109s.

I flicked over into a quick turn and lost them. It was getting late, and I had not much petrol, I knew, so I dived for home. My Spitfire was gaining speed rapidly. I was away from them, and it was nearly 6.35. How quickly time had gone! The aircraft was going so fast I had to push hard on the stick to keep it in its dive. I started to look round and saw the coast of Dunkirk. Then there came the roar of machine-gun fire. I pulled back on the stick and went up, up, higher and higher, into a huge climbing turn. I could not see what had been firing at me. Anyway, I'd shaken him off, it seemed.

Nose down for home again. I was getting short of petrol; no time for dog-fights now. Faster and faster, and then, again, a burst of machine guns above the roar of the engine. I whirled round into another turn, and as I did so the noise stopped. Then it dawned on me. Fool that I was, it was my own guns firing. As the Spitfire increased its speed in the dive my grip on the stick tightened, and my thumb was still on the firing button after my fight! All the time that I had been taking such violent evasive action, wheeling round the sky, there had been nobody near me. I felt rather stupid dodging round the sky trying to get away from no one at all.

I settled down and got a grip of myself and crossed the Channel at 500 feet. It was an amazing sight, with hundreds of vessels of all sorts of shapes and sizes ploughing backwards and forwards across the Straits. I felt proud of my country, even if we were being forced to leave France. It was incredible to see little 15-ft. motor-boats sailing steadily across towards Dunkirk, unarmed, to face the fury and strength of the Huns.

I have often heard someone described as being a victorious loser. Only now did I realize the true meaning of that expression. Watching these gallant men beneath, one felt an almost irrepressible desire to land on the beach at Margate and to climb aboard one of the boats to share their dangers.

I crossed the English coast at Ramsgate, and saw beneath me the old civilian aerodrome that we had used for our summer camp eighteen months before. How different it looked in its war paint; my mind wandered, dreaming back to the days we had spent in peace time.

Suddenly, a row of white puffs of smoke appeared half a mile ahead of me. It was our own anti-aircraft fire. I had a little ammunition left, and I flew towards it looking everywhere for an enemy aircraft. I sighted nothing until, looming up in the haze which was hanging over the Thames, I saw barrage balloons. I was right in the middle of them so I climbed quickly above them. I still do not know whether the anti-aircraft battery fired to frighten me away from the balloons or whether there really was a German raider. But I stopped my day-dreaming and paid attention to getting home.

By this time I had used so much petrol that I was getting worried about being able to reach base as we had been ordered to do. Slowly the familiar landmarks went by beneath me. Every moment I pressed the petrol gauge. At last, my aerodrome came in sight.

I landed just as another of the squadron was touching down. It was Barrie; we were the only two back so far. We taxied rather quickly, racing to get in first and to tell the story, for there was a crowd waiting on the tarmac. Two hundred yards short of the dispersal point, Barrie ran out of petrol and stopped, so I won the race home.

By ten o'clock three more pilots had returned, making five in all, and we sat down to a terrific breakfast of bacon and eggs and champagne (the chef had produced the champagne). One by one, the pilots came back; practically everyone had shot something down, and many had been damaged slightly. Kenny had the whole of one side of his aeroplane blown out, but he got it home with only a single strand of wire working the controls. "Sneezy," while chasing a Messerschmitt 109, had in turn been attacked by four more, and had led a follow-my-leader race down the main street at Dunkirk, only shaking them off by diving between a gasometer and a crane.

There were only two pilots missing, and our squadron score was 10 destroyed, 3 probables, and 3 damaged. By 4 o'clock, it was known that the two missing pilots had not got back to this country. They were Donald and Ralph, my two friends.

We never heard of them again.


August 14th 1940. Hurricanes diving on Ju 87’s.


Hurricanes could take a lot of damage. The Hurricane of Sub-Lt Begg who joined 151 Squadron from the Fleet Air Arm on July 1st 1940. Damage like this was quickly repaired and the plane returned to action. Begg was shot down and wounded in August, and reported missing in action in November 1942, aged 25.

RedToo,is this book available at all?

Looks a cracking read.

Hi Chucky,

Most of the books printed during WWII come up fairly regularly on eBay. I have bought most of my WWII published books there - you just need to keep looking. Prices are still surprisingly low. Here is the link to the 'Over to You' book that the last talk came from (scroll down):

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=160546560538&ssPageName=STRK:MEWNX:IT

I do mix and match pics though. E.g. the 'Over to You' book has no pics in it. Other period books do contain some pics. I source pics to go with the thread from all over the place. Hope this is of use.

RedToo.

Thanks RedToo.
I may in fact settle down one night with a G&T or two and read this whole thread.Much easier.
Thanks for your effort getting it all on here

Part 108.

Dawn Patrol.

I'm not good at getting up early—really early, I mean— and even in summer the early-morning air at 4 a.m. is chilly. But it has its compensations, for after you've over come the revulsion of getting out of a warm bed, there's something exhilarating and thrilling at that hour of the morning, especially when there's the prospect of a flying trip ahead. As a rule it's a good thing to have a cup of tea or something hot and a biscuit. It helps a lot towards waking you up.

When we get to the aerodrome it's still quite dark, except for the crescent of the last quarter of the moon and a very faint tinge of light in the east. The Met. forecast shows that we're lucky, and it's clearly going to be a fine day. A gentle breeze of ten miles an hour from the south, three-tenths to five-tenths cloud at five thousand feet, and a visibility of twelve miles or more. The Bomber boys were out last night, and a distress signal has been received saying that someone was down in the ditch 30 miles north-east of Calais. The boats are out searching, and I hope we shall have a chance of looking for them when we get out there.

Although it's still too dark to take off, we can just make out the faint silhouette of aircraft parked by the perimeter track. They look rather ghostly, and yet somewhat animal with their long snouts; the thick cable from the engine to the battery starter trolley—that's a large box containing an accumulator—gives them the appearance of being tethered to a trough.

As we arrive at the Flight Dispersal, one engine after another starts with a roar. My aircraft has already been warmed up and is ready for me to climb and take off. In the dark you may see a few sparks, but otherwise all you can detect is a faint mauve halo along a line of red-hot exhaust pipes.

As I get on to the wing of my aircraft, I notice that the morning dew and condensation have caused the windscreen and perspex hood to mist up; that's inevitable, but it will clear up as soon as we reach the cold air above.

Then I'm airborne. Although the Duty Pilot has seen me take off and will phone the information to Group Headquarters, I must book-in by wireless, so as soon as I'm in the air I press the "Transmit" switch on my R/T set. "Hallo, Bolton Control, Bolton Control. Party 24 airborne. Over." It's always a good thing to keep messages short, as it does not then give the Hun any time to plot my position. Immediately back comes the reply, "Hallo, Party 24, 24, Bolton Control answering. Receiving you loud and clear. I have no information for you. Listening out." That means that no enemy aircraft are reported in my vicinity, that Group know they can get into touch with me if and when they want to, and also confirms that my transmission is satisfactory.

Let's decide to climb above this first cloud layer and steer on 270 degrees. As the altimeter marks 4,000 feet, we get our first glimpse of the sun. At present it's just a red ball partially concealed by small clouds ; the channel and land below me are still in shadow, but the lights and changing colours reflected on the clouds must be seen to be believed. I wish I were an artist and could paint them; I always feel that a sunrise seen from the air is so beautiful that, were an artist to paint one truthfully, he would be accused of exaggeration. I wonder why it is so much more beautiful from the air than from ground level?

We are now passing through the light cloud layer. Small white wisps rush past me and the ground is blotted out as I break surface on top. It's glorious up here. The engine thrusts forward with a powerful roar, and although I'm in one of the fastest and deadliest of warplanes, I feel miles away from the war and rather tempted to day-dream. But that must stop right away. My position, silhouetted against the patch of white cloud, makes me vulnerable, for I can be seen very easily if there are any Huns above me. I take a good look around the sky, paying particular attention to that area behind me. There's nothing about, so we continue to climb towards the south-east. At 10,000 feet, I level out and take notes of the weather. The height, formation and amount of cloud, the temperature and visibility. All this I jot down on the writing-pad strapped to my knee. Below me the clouds have thinned out, and I am now immediately above a Belgian coast town which was formerly a well-known holiday resort. I note any ships I can see, and then turn through 180 degrees to dive down through the fast-disappearing cloud. To my right we can see the long white wake of an air-sea rescue launch. It must be searching for the bomber crew reported during the night. We shall not be able to spare much time looking for them, and there will be plenty of other aircraft doing that job, but—you never know —we might be lucky. I open the hood above my cockpit, for two reasons. It's easier to search by leaning a little out of the cockpit, and also I have a horror of falling into the water and being trapped inside. Higher up, I always fly with the hood closed, because I would have ample time to jettison if my engine failed or if I were unfortunate enough to be shot down. Low down I might not have the time before my aircraft hit the water and, you know, Spitfires don't float.

There's quite a lot of wreckage and oil floating about in the Channel these days, which makes me turn back several times and circle over a piece of wood or oil patch, fearing I might miss something or somebody. Every now and again I glance in the mirror above the windscreen or look behind me in case an enemy aircraft has spotted me and is creeping up. There doesn't seem to be anything about, so I think I—what's that? What a lucky break! Right below me, a large bomber's dinghy with five chaps in it. The sea all round is coloured bright green from the fluorescein carried in the Mae Wests, which helps so much to attract the attention of searching aircraft. Climbing above my "find," I circle and carefully note the position of the nearest rescue launch some six miles away. The rest is easy. I attract the attention of the launch and send it in the direction of the dinghy. They acknowledge my signals, and in a few minutes I know the bomber crew will be picked up.

We've now been airborne 40 minutes. Allowing, say, 20 minutes' scrapping, in case we meet anything in the air, that will leave about 30 minutes in which to play around. I decide to go and see if there's anything interesting inside France. We'll go down to nought feet and cross the coast between Boulogne and Calais. The cliffs at this part of the French coast are very like the ones at Dover, and on one occasion, I remember, I thought they were the English ones. We had been engaged somewhere in the middle of the Channel and I had got rid of a Hun off my tail by spinning down, and I turned to the right and headed south instead of north. I soon found out my mistake, because it seemed as if every anti-aircraft gun in France was having a pot at me, and I can't tell you to this day why I wasn't hit. However, that's another story.

Here's the coast. Now ease the stick gently back to scrape over the top of the cliffs, and we're over France. There doesn't seem to be any sign of life at this hour of the morning (it's just 5.45); but that doesn't mean much, and I'm quite sure that we've been spotted by some defence post; but we are too low and moving too quickly for anyone to have a shot at us. Trees and isolated houses flash by as we streak along at nearly 300 miles an hour. I'm looking for the aerodrome just south of the town we've passed, but it's impossible to read a map at this speed and, anyway, I want both eyes to watch the ground ahead and to avoid trees and other obstacles which appear as if from nowhere under my wings.

A clump of buildings ahead looks familiar; so also does that line of electric-light pylons to my right. Yes, I can now see the burnt-out remains of a hangar which was set on fire during one of the bombing attacks at the beginning of the summer. It's the aerodrome all right and the people on it are awake, for cutting across my port wing I can see thin white streaks. Flak. I can't hear any sounds of gunfire above the noise of the engine, but catch a glimpse of the gunpost on our left as we pass. Right ahead of me is what I'm really looking for—a couple of aircraft parked in front of a dispersal bay. I haven't the time to make out the type (they are probably 190s or 109s), and as my sight ring covers one of them, I press the gun-firing button on the control column. Small pencils of smoke reach out from each wing as my cannons fire. Although I can hear the guns firing, I'm not so much conscious of the noise they make as of the vibration and momentary drop in speed of the aircraft. It's a sensation hard to describe. Rather like standing very close to one of those pneumatic road drills where the noise is not deafening but seems to go through you and everything seems quiet in comparison when it leaves off.

As I pass a couple of feet above the enemy aircraft, there's a blinding flash of white flame, and a puff of oily black smoke is thrown into the air. Our cannon shells have hit it all right, and I would very much like to stay and watch it burning, but as all the guns round the aerodrome are having a crack at me, I resist the temptation and crouch lower in my seat. Not that crouching any lower would do the slightest bit of good if the aeroplane were hit fair and square, but somehow I feel as if I want to make myself very scarce just now. I keep the aircraft right down on the deck and shave a farmhouse or some building on the far side of the aerodrome, then down a small valley (I wish it were deeper) and hard right at the end of it so as to put as much distance and as many trees and buildings and things as possible between me and those red tracers which seem to follow after me. We haven't been hit, and there doesn't appear to be a single Hun in the sky. Anyway, I've used up a lot of my ammunition, and I feel that I've had my fun for this morning, so we'll just turn through 90 degrees to starboard and head for home.

Half-way across the Channel I pass over the rescue launch with the bomber's dinghy alongside. A couple of the crew wave and give the thumbs-up signal. Good show. They'll be back in England in time for breakfast. And talking of breakfast, am I hungry?


A Spitfire Vb of 92 Squadron in early summer 1941. This aircraft was used by Alan Wright. Note the lack of a yellow ring on one wing roundel.

Part 109.

"You don't make the same mistake twice"

In air fighting a pilot doesn't usually make the same mistake twice. Either he frightens himself so much that he never does it again or else—well, he's unlucky, and that way too he doesn't make the same mistake again. I'm remembering a mistake I made not so very long ago. I think you'll agree that I was lucky.

It was on one of those lovely English summer days on our aerodrome on the south coast. We were standing in our shirt sleeves and Mae Wests by the barbed wire near the dispersal hut. We could see the coast of France faintly on the horizon. Twenty feet away a couple of fitters were crawling over my Spitfire and tinkering with the engine, the aircraft looking slightly undressed with its engine cowlings on the ground beside it. No one had had a scrap for over a week. Nobody had even seen an enemy aircraft in the sky for over a week. I hadn't yet met a Hun in the sky at all. I remember someone saying, "It's a dull life," and we all agreed.

Half an hour later the C.O. told me to go and have a look at the weather at 30,000 feet over on the other side. I think Group Headquarters wanted to know whether it was fit to send over a sweep. I was as pleased as Punch. A lovely day. A climb up to 30,000, and I might find my first Hun somewhere over the water. What more could you wish for?

I took off and headed north in order to gain height first, before turning south and flying over France. It's best to cross the French coast either high up or at nought feet; if you go across at a height which is neither one thing nor the other, the Hun usually throws up a lot of dirt. It doesn't often hit you, but it makes things rather uncomfortable. Besides, it gives him plenty of warning.

At 12,000 feet, I could see both sides of the Channel there. The sea was as calm as a mill-pond. Here and there, dotted about the Channel, I could make out rescue buoys; and as I turned round towards France and Belgium, I could see woods and fields stretching for miles inland. It was then, I remember, my radio crackled in my headphones. It was the Controller back at base. He was warning me that there were a few bandits sculling about to the south of me. Well, I acknowledged the message, the warning, and I looked all round the sky, but saw nothing. I continued to climb steadily. Now below me was the balloon barrage over Dover harbour. The balloons looked like grey drawing-pins stuck into die kind of model landscape one used to see at exhibitions. There was no shipping in sight.

At 20,000 feet I levelled out. My engine was running perfectly, and I started to hum a tune. I felt so much on top of the world and wondered what it was about flying on a perfect day which you don't describe but—it gets into your blood and makes you happy. I looked down at Boulogne harbour four miles below me. The sun was very bright and glistened on a small patch of white frost forming on the inside of my perspex hood. By holding up my hand and squinting through my almost-closed fingers, I could just look into the sun, and satisfied myself that there was nothing above me. I was about to look behind me and examine the rest of the sky when I happened to glance down at the chessboard cultivation of France. Then I saw a small black speck moving slowly across the landscape. It might be a bird. The size was right. But it wasn't a bird. It moved too smoothly and regularly for that. It was the one thing I'd always been hoping to meet. I'd never been lucky enough to come across him before. My first Hun and by himself.

Keeping my eye on him all the time (otherwise I should have lost sight of him and might never have picked him up again against the dark background), I turned to the right so that I could dive down from out of the sun and come in from behind, him. It was then I heard a crackling over my radio transmitter. It was the Controller again saying something about "Bandits." He was warning me; but I was far too excited to listen to him. I just acknowledged the message with a curt "O.K." and, turning on the electric light in my gun sight and pushing forward the control column I started to go after my Hun.

The extra speed of my dive made the controls feel hard and stiff. The noise increased, and I could hear the whine of the slipstream as it rushed over my cockpit cover. Slowly I drew closer to my target. Very slowly, it seemed. But when I glanced at my airspeed indicator, I realized that it was "off the clock "—that meant over 400 miles an hour. Oh—I'd almost forgotten to turn the gun-firing button on the control column from "Safe" to "Fire." So I had the stick in my left hand and turned the knob with my right. Now, I was fairly tearing down. The enemy aircraft was still some distance below me. It began to take the shape of a 109F. Now I could see the crosses on the wings. I could just make out the double "V" sign on the long black fuselage. I knew that the pilot couldn't have seen me, as I was coming straight out of the sun. He just continued on a straight course. I was afraid that I was going to overshoot and flash past him without having time to get him in my sights. So very gently I eased back the control column and started to turn in a wide circle to the right. Then I could come up on him directly from behind. I was overtaking him quickly. My eyes were glued to his tail unit, and his wings were spreading wider in my gun sight. His tail unit was now dead in front of me. Now the two cross bars of the sight cut the fuselage behind the pilot's head. I pressed the firing button. Now! I felt the shudder as the guns fired, and saw the flash as the shells of my cannons went home into the aeroplane in front of me. A second later and I had to pull back the stick or I should have collided.

As I climbed almost vertically above and looked back and down over my shoulder, I saw a large mass of flame and black smoke. He could never have known what hit him. His whole machine exploded and disintegrated in the air. I continued to do a gentle turn, watching the flaming wreckage spinning down towards the ground some 15,000 feet below.

And then suddenly my own aircraft seemed to leap forward and shake itself. I felt the thud of the bullets hitting the fuselage behind me. As I looked at my instrument panel, it shattered. One of the instruments fell out, hitting my knee. I wondered vaguely how the shell had hit it without passing through my body. My side windshields splintered and let in a rush of cold air which took my breath away even though my face was covered by my oxygen mask. A large star appeared in the thick bullet-proof windscreen just above my head. Thick smoke and a smell of hot oil started to come up from the floor of the cockpit. I wondered what on earth would be next. You see, I'd just been watching an aircraft explode.

Telling you this takes time, but it actually took place so quickly that I hardly knew what had happened. It took time to realize I'd been shot up from behind, to remember the warning over the radio telephone. But I hadn't even the time to curse myself.

I whipped my machine over on to its back and the blood rushed away from my eyes, blacking me out for a second. The next moment I was diving down towards the ground. I hadn't yet seen what had hit me and automatically glanced up at my mirror to see if there was anyone still on my tail. But the mirror had disappeared, and all that remained was a piece of twisted metal perched ridiculously on top of the bent framework of my windscreen. I banked from side to side and looked behind me. Yes, above me and slightly to my right was an F.W. 190 getting into position for another attack on me.

I had to think quick. My radiator had been holed, that was certain. Besides, I didn't know what other damage there was. If my radiator was leaking, the motor might seize up at any minute. And somehow I had to shake off this Hun. He probably knew that he'd lamed me and was now waiting to finish me off.

I waited until he started to dive towards me. Then once again did a quick flick roll on to my back and dived almost vertically towards the French coast below. It was more uncomfortable, the dive, this time, for my aircraft was vibrating and it was as much as I could do to keep it straight. I guessed the tail had been hit; and probably the rudder was damaged, for I had to keep both feet on the port rudder control to prevent it from yawing to the right. The wind rushed through my splintered windscreen, tearing the oxygen mask from my face and pushing it up over my eyes so that I could hardly see or breathe. The sweat was running down my face and into my mouth, which was as dry as a bone. A few feet above the sea I levelled out and looked behind me. The 190 was nowhere to be seen. Whether I had lost him in the dive or whether he thought that he'd finished me off and I was diving down out of control, I shan't ever know.

With a great sigh of relief, and thinking my troubles were over, I sat back in my cockpit. Only to jump up the next second with my heart in my mouth. My engine cut. There was no time to bale out or give my position to base. Long ago I had discovered that my wireless set had been shot away, and anyway I hadn't got a microphone any more. I braced myself with my elbows against the sides of the cockpit and waited for the crash and the shock of cold water.

Suddenly the engine picked up again and very gingerly I climbed up to 500 feet. Twice more it cut, and twice more it started again. I wasn't quite so frightened the last two times, for I should have had time to bale out and had already loosened my straps and thrown away what remained of my helmet.

At long last the aerodrome appeared below me. I landed, and shakily I climbed out and looked at my aircraft. It was like a colander. How it came back I shall never understand. The fitter and the rigger who came up on the ambulance to meet me—they couldn't get it either.

Well, that adventure taught me a good lesson. Since then I've always listened to what the Controller had to say, and I always take a darn good look behind me before going after Huns. I think my lesson was cheap at the price.


Interrogating an RAF map. A bit better quality than the tea towel in the Collector’s Edition.

Part 110. The final part. Looking forward to CloDo being finished and the sim expanding into the later war.

This story is from ‘Battle Stories of the RAF’ by Leonard R. Gribble, published in 1945.

THE FLYING KITE

ON a grey November day in 1944 a group of Mitchell bombers left their airfield in North-West Europe and set out upon a vital strafing mission. Led by Wing Commander L. G. Homer, of Nuneaton, in Warwickshire, they flew through heavy banks of cloud to attack some of the most important rail communications in Northern Holland.

The farther they flew the thicker the clouds became, and the Mitchells had to go low to find their objective. They were met by a murderous fire from German anti-aircraft gunners. The black puffs of bursting flak dotted the route of the bomber formation. The gunners got their range, and as Homer led his formation in evasive action the Germans followed the twisting Mitchells with disconcerting accuracy.

The Wing Commander's aircraft, in the van of the procession, was hit several times, and the ailerons almost completely shot away. Cleverly he steadied the plane, and kept on course. The target loomed ahead, and Homer shouted over the inter-com.: "We're going in now. Let them have it where it'll do the most good!"

The Mitchell, difficult to handle, went straight in on the bombing run, and the bombs went down. A sheet of orange like the tip of a giant spear appeared in the centre of the target, and then the Mitchell was flying on and a billowing cloud of smoke marked where the bombs had burst. At that moment a glowing object rose vertically from the Dutch ground and seemed to pour upward through the air. It passed the bomber like a rushing meteor in reverse.

"A V2 rocket!" shouted the Mitchell's gunner.

The navigator, still looking back at the target, reported: "We made a good prang that time."

Homer set himself to start a sticky job of flying back to base. The aircraft was wobbling badly, and to make sure of hitting the target he had had to come down very low. Regaining the lost height, with the aircraft almost crippled, would not be easy, and enemy fighters were known to be between the Mitchell and its home field.

He got the bomber's nose turned round, and sped in a straight line for Arnhem and the lines of the Second Army, below Nijmegen. Behind him flew the rest of the formation, which had followed him into the attack. But again the Mitchells had to run the gauntlet of another close pattern of flak puffs. The German gunners around Arnhem seemed to be throwing up everything they had, and their shooting was still good. Not far past Arnhem the Mitchell shuddered and began slipping downward. Again a German gunner had found the range.

The leading Mitchell started bucking like a Western broncho. The engines were turning over smoothly, but with aileron control only one way Homer realized that he would lead his squadron into disaster if he continued to head the formation. He purposely turned out of the line of flight, while the gunners below, sensing his plight, renewed their efforts to shoot him out of the sky.

But long hours of training stood the Wing Commander in good stead during the perilous minutes that followed. By what seemed a miracle he contrived to retain his control of the rearing and sliding aircraft, and when one of the other planes in the formation came alongside to act as escort he was ready to continue the difficult flight home.

The Mitchell was still skewing about in the sky, like a kite broken loose from its mooring, and any moment might turn over and nose towards the brown Dutch fields or the silver streak of a river. But the crew knew Homer's ability as a pilot, and were content to await his order to bale out. They had no wish to land in the enemy's territory and spend the remainder of the war as prisoners, and every hard-fought moment brought them nearer their own base.

Homer knew his only hope of getting down was to make a belly landing, and the odds on his crew coming through the experiment without broken necks were slim. But he kept flying until he had sighted his airfield, and then he told the others of what he had a mind to try.

"The rest of you bale out, and good luck," he called.

The gunners had no option. Down they slipped, and their parachutes billowed open. Homer called to the navigator.

"I'm sticking, skipper," was the reply.

The wild-flying kite sped round the airfield, and Homer, glancing down, saw that it was littered with returned aircraft. There was no chance to try a belly landing until the field was cleared. He radioed his plight, and ground control got busy. But clearing the field in readiness for the risky landing took time. Round and round flew Homer in a series of wobbly concentric circles, with the Mitchell threatening at every turn to lift up its tail and dive out of control.

At last the field was ready, and the ground crews gathered to watch the Wing Commander take a chance with his life to save his machine. Just as he was about to go down a shout from the navigator sent the shuddering Mitchell off at a wild tangent. It had almost flown into a VI, which came roaring over the airfield, pouring flame from its tail. Another careering circle was made in safety, and then the Mitchel went down. It slid across the field with rocking wings, pitched, and twisted in its path, and then continued straight towards a five-ton lorry. Just in time the lorry was driven out of the damaged Mitchell's path, and the plane slithered on to a stop. Shaken, but grinning, Homer climbed out of his pilot's cockpit, to find his two gunners, who had parachuted down in safety, holding up their hands in greeting.

A few days later another Mitchell the German gunners had claimed as a "kill" was taking to the skies again.


No pics to view with this story but here is an Easter egg to finish with. France and the UK in 1944: http://www.stolly.org.uk/ETO/ (I’m pretty sure you won’t have seen these before).

Well that’s it the end of the thread. CloDo is out and I have built a new machine to run it (and ROF and OFF to tide me over until some decent campaigns arrive). I have enjoyed posting these accounts over the last two and a bit years. I hope you have enjoyed reading them. Hopefully the thread will remain for a while – mods any chance of a sticky?

RedToo.

Thanks for putting all of these up, RedToo!

What a great thread you've created RedToo, thanks to your link on 1C I found it.

MAC

I second Mac's comment above...

The one pic with the Me110 cockpit with the pilot looking thru a mirror is the first time Ive ever seen an Axis a/c use a mirror.
It might be this was just to see the radioman, but in IL2-COD and IL-46, the Luftwaffe a/c don't have mirrors as do the Allies, AFAIK anyways.

This link suggests that the Me109 E-4 did have one:
mirror link

S!

UPDATE

I did find ONE picture of a Bf109-E3 with a rear view mirror. Don't know if its a field mod or what.
So I hope this means we can expect to see mirror in the BF109 in IL-COD...

Hello, I am new to this Forum - so I hope I am asking this question correctly...

I have enjoyed reading this thread, a lot of interesting information and well written. This prompted me to join the Forum as I have a few questions which you may be able to help me with.

In this post I am interested in the third photograph of the Observer Corps Control Room. I am a member of ROCA and served in the ROC in 1960/1970s. One of my ROCA Colleagues believes her late father is in this photograph. So I am asking if anyone has any information about this photograph - when and where it was taken and can anyone confirm the names of any of the people in the photo?

Thank you for reading and kind regards,

John