Library Reference Number: 079
Memories of a Single Engine Pilot
Sadly, James (Hamish) Reid died in the summer of 2004 before he could complete his memoirs. Hamish was a founder member of the Scottish Branch of the Aircrew Association, and unfortunately left recording his aircrew experiences until it was too late for completion. His aircrew career career included flying night-fighter Defiants, then Hurricanes, Spitfies, and finally Walrus Air Sea Rescue aircraft in the Middle East. Post-war, Hamish spent 4 years RAFVR followed by 3 years in the RNVR(A).
Although Hamish only reached August 1943 in his memoirs, we are grateful to Cumbernauld Branch, RAFA, for making this available to us. Hamish was also co-founder of this RAFA branch formed only four years ago. The following is an abridged version of "Memories of a Single-Engine Pilot" until the above date in 1943.
Growing up in pre-war Glasgow, I attended High School where previous to University Entrance, I was totally immersed in every form of sport, rugby, cricket, golf, ice-hockey and tennis. During this period, my Father who was an associate member of the Scottish Flying Club, took me frequently to Renfrew Aerodrome, and as some of his business associates owned their own planes, I had occasional trips in Gypsy Moth or Puss Moth aircraft. Two recollections at this time were a trip in an Argosy where Jim and Amy Mollison were also passengers (a PR exercise for Sir Alan Cobham's Air Display);and another flight over liner 534 (Queen Mary) on day before launching. Winifred Drinkwater and early members of the Auxiliary Air Force frequented Renfrew at this time.
Meeting a Canadian chap called John Howe during an educational trip to Norway in 1938, was a turning point in my life. We arranged exchange trips to each other's homes, little knowing that John's father was youngest of 3 brothers who owned an international drug company, and the eldest brother was the current Prime Minister of Canada. I was introduced to a social circle 'Toronto 400' which turned out subsequently to be very useful.
Coming to the end of my Canadian `exchange trip' in September 1939, I sailed home on the 'Letitia' sister ship of the Athenia.' Two days out of Montreal the news came through that the 'Athenia' had been torpedoed, and our ship did a 180 degree turn and headed back to Montreal. On my return, a spin-off from the social contacts already made. was that whenever a local radio station required someone with a Scots' accent, I was given several bit parts at S50 or S100 each time On eventually leaving my Canadian host family, I was asked to take some presents to UK for a neighbour's son who was a pilot in the RAF. When we landed at Liverpool. Customs opened one case, and uncovered baby clothes and a slab of toffee. If they had chosen the other case, they would have found several thousands of cigarettes, nylons, razor blades and other items in short supply in UK. Incidently, I was to discover that the RAF pilot I had been asked to bring over the presents to, was Jim Connor, the pilot of the Whitley in which Harmatt won his VC, and Connor his DFC.
Being too young for active service on returning to UK. I joined the Local Defence Volunteers, and from the top of Crookston Castle on observation duty I witnessed the air raids on Clydebank from this position. Having volunteered for aircrew in 1941 I received my Papers shortly after my 18`° Birthday. After Initial Training, we were issued with flying kit, and in the knowledge we would be sent overseas for flying training, we were given a strong clue it would be to a neutral country (USA?) when we were also issued with a Burton's Gents Flannel Suit.
On my arrival in Canada, I just managed a brief visit to my Toronto friends. when we were whisked off on a 5-day train trip to Phoenix, Arizona, USA. We were immediately struck by the sheer vastness of the country, miles and miles of straight single rail track, growing narrower and narrower until it disappeared over the horizon - an ideal spot for uninterrupted flying training. The great day came on September 21 d 1941, when I was introduced to a Stearman PT 17, and found its only vice was a tendency to ground loop on landing. This was good preparation for our advanced training to come on Harvards. I can honestly say that the couple of months flying Stearmans was the most enjoyable experience of my career. Every day was a clear blue sky, visibility unlimited, and if you strayed too far from the airfield, you found your way back by looking for the dust cloud, or followed Route 66.
Throughout December 1941 and January 1942, we trained extensively four times each day on Harvards, until one fateful day I was to find that flying was a serious and dangerous business. Sleeping quarters were arranged in L shaped cubicles with four beds in each. Due to flying accidents before 12 noon, I was the only person left to return to the 4-bed cubicle that night - Reid the survivor again! A part of the air base was sectioned off for those killed during their training. These graves are lovingly tended by the Daughters of The British Empire, and a service of Remembrance is held each year attended by the State Governor and RAF from Washington.
I was in Los Angeles on the week-end of December 7!h 1941 when Pearl Harbour was attacked, and saw signs of the anger of the general population with riots and windows smashing of shops owned by Japanese Americans.
Following my 'wings' award as a Sgt.Pilot, I returned to UK and was posted to 17 AFU (Advanced Flying Unit) where we were told if we kept our noses clean, we would eventually become Hurricane, Spitfire or Typhoon pilots. The outcome was - I became a Hurricane pilot, and was sent to 56 OTU (Operational Training Unit) before joining an operational squadron. During fighter attacks, air-firing, full squadron formation to 25,000 ft., height climbs, night flying, velocity dives, our operational training was completed with 7 fatalities. I was now pretty confident in the Hurricane, despite the fabric stripping off from cockpit to tail in a TV dive. My posting came through to join in operations flying Hurricanes with No.530 Turbinlite Squadron.
530 Squadron was one of those bright ideas which in practice was not feasible. The idea was to use a Douglas Boston (or Havoc) fill it with batteries with a searchlight in the nose, when directed by Ground Control on to an enemy target, the Hurricane slipped underneath, opened the throttle, the searchlight was turned on and the target illuminated ready to be shot down - Ha Bloody Ha! So many assumptions were made it was a non-starter, and the Squadron was eventually disbanded.
While still with the Squadron, I decided to hire a car. Everything was o.k. until it was discovered I was under 21. The management refused to permit anyone under 21 hiring their cars, and I blew my top. I pointed out that His Majesty's Government saw fit to provide me with my own personal aircraft worth £5,000 and they were quibbling about an Austin 10 worth £100 - I got the car!!
When 530 Squadron disbanded at the end of January 1943. I was posted to 277 Air Sea Rescue Squadron as an escort pilot flying Spitfires based at Martlesham Heath. The Spitfire was a beautiful plane to fly, but coming in one day the starboard undercarriage leg slowly folded up, and I was ground looping on my wingtip and propellor. It was discovered later that the locking pin had failed The supply of Spitfires slowed down, and then found myself flying Boulton Paul Defiants on the same ASR duty. Considering it had the same engine as the current Spitfire but had a one-ton turret, it was always a struggle to get it off the ground. However, if you felt lazy. the Gunner could do gentle turns and dives by manipulating his guns in the slipstream Another idiosyncrasy was a fine mist which used to permeate the right leg of you battledress - this was known as Defiant Foot.
We now had our compliment of Spitfire 2s specially equipped to drop 2 single seater dinghies but only armed with 4 machine guns. a damn sight better than the Defiants. Our main job was to investigate fading signals from our returning bombers, search last position, find and drop dinghy etc. ward off attempted enemy attacks until a Walrus or high-speed rescue launch turned up.
Since joining 277 Squadron I had expressed a desire to become operational on Walrus aircraft. It represented a challenge as it had completely different flying characteristics to the Fighters I had been flying. I was then posted tc the Middle East as a Walrus Pilot with a newly formed Squadron initially based at Malta to cover the Sicily Invasion. This was an Air Ministry Named Posting for which there was no get out. and I joined No.284 Squadron en route for Malta on 23rd May 1943. During the month I spent in Malta we practised sea landings, and carried out four Sea Rescue sorties. On the night of the Invasion we listened to the DC3s towing the gliders and various fighters taking off to give cover over the beaches. We, of course. were at Readiness' from first light.
On 3rd August, we flew into the first available airstrip in Cassible on the South-East coast of Sicily. We were short of aircraft as the ship bringing them from UK had been sunk. Our Ground Crews were floating around somewhere in the Middle East, and we had to do daily inspections and necessary adjustments ourselves. There were no tents, cooking utensils etc. - this is where my Boy Scout training came in handy in being self-sufficient. We were beginning to feel the strain - but were coping. One of our pilots pulled off a very daring rescue inside the Breakwaters of Catania Harbour while fighting was going on around him, he later received a well-deserved DFM.
Our Ground Crews and Support had now caught up with us, and we moved to another airstrip 75 miles north from Cassible. We had ben doing rescues in the Messina Straits and through them into the Tyrrhenian Sea at extreme range, so closer to the acton would be welcomed. At Lentini, we were under canvas for the first time, and on the edge of the Foggia Plain. I flew 4 rescue sorties during the month of August 1943, and found the Walrus ideal for the job. Strong hull, reliable Pegasus engine, and in event of forced landing you could put down on land or sea.
I then went on to fly with 691 Squadron, 1353 Flight, and post-war with 1843 RNVR(A).