Library Reference Number: 115
From 'Hurricane' to 'Walrus'
Fying a Hurricane with No.530 (Turbinlite) Squadron was never going to be a long-term project. The plan was for the Hurricane (usually the 4-cannon model) to closely formate on its larger partner (the Boston) while the interception was directed by the Ground Controller. When the Boston (also known as Havoc) got an indication on the radar and at a range of 250 yards, the Hurricane slipped underneath, opened the throttle, the Boston's searchlight was turned on and the target illuminated.
So many assumptions were made and it was never a starter but the seeds were sown and in 6 months of operations the total bag was half a probable, however we did get quite a lot of practice of night flying. Eventually the squadrons were disbanded and split up, the Twin Pilots going to Nightfighters (Beaufighters or Mosquitoes) and the Singles to various odds and sods. Thus ending only one of many RAFexperiments during 1942.The concept was never viable for the following reasons:-
1) Close night formation was not really possible if more than 5/10 cloud.
2) Hunsdon Aerodrome was situated in a valley which quickly got clouded in.
3) The speed differential between the two types of Aircraft was not sufficient to enable the Hurricane Pilot to identify and fire his guns and that is assuming the target did not deviate from his course.
4) During the Ground Control with the changes of Course the Hurricane Pilot, who was concentrating on his formation had no idea where he was and had to initiate Emergency Procedures to get back to Base.
5) And finally the Havocs were taking off and more dangerously landing at maximum weights and the airframes were showing signs of fatigue, which resulted in 2 write-offs and the crew killed on our squadron alone.
Despite all the little niggles 530 was a happy Squadron. London was in easy reach for a night out and when I was going on leave I could get a lift up to Carlisle Aerodrome thereby getting home in 8 hours. However, the results from the Turbinlite Squadrons were so negative and it was decided to disband them and split up the Air Crew. The Twin Engine pilots getting Beaufighters or Mosquitoes and the Singles a variety of postings with no seeming consistency. So at the end of January 1943 I was posted to 277 Air Sea Rescue Squadron, as an escort Pilot flyipg SpitfIres, based at Martleshamheath.
First from Martlesham Heath to Gravesend for 10 days for a Conversion Familiarisation Course on to Spitfires. Again it was a case of sitting in the cockpit, reading the Pilots notes and getting to know the various knob and switches. The day came to take one up and everything went very well- a beautiful aircraft to fly, much more sensitive than the Hurricane and I was really enjoying myself until on the landing run the starboard undercarriage leg slowly started to fold up and I was ground-looping on my wing tip and propeller. Luckily I had time to switch off the engine and petrol so there was not a great deal of damage. It was established that the locking pin had tailed when the weight had come on it and no blame was leveled at me.
Gravesend had been a Fighter Base during the Battle of Britain and the local pub - The White Hart - had established a ritual that after closing time a room was set aside called "Daniels Den" where anyone with wings could buy a supper of steak, egg and chips. Time to return to Martlesham Heath near the town of Ipswich and the river Irwell. More of that anon.
The supply of our Spitfires was slow in coming through so the Flight was continuing to use Boulton and Paul Defiants in the search mode until they could be discarded, so this was another type for the Log Book.
Ipswich was a pleasant Town with Cinema, Dances and Pub in which locals delighted in telling us that before his Abdication and as The Prince of Wales he had an establishment on the River Irwell thereby following his name - sake's tradition.
One outstanding memory of my time here is brussel sprouts - there was a glut of them, and they were served up in all shapes and forms. I cannot stand them to this day! As against that there was a little cafe just outside the main gate which made the most wonderful scrambled duck eggs, with chips, or spam, or beans, or all three. A life-saver from the monotony of the mess food.
We now had our complement of Spitfire 2's specially equipped to drop 2 single seater dinghies but only armed with 4 machine guns. A damned sight better for the job than the Defiants Our main job was to investigate Fading Pilots i.e. Bombers returning out to sea and then disappearing or to go out on a Mayday call and do a search on last known position. In either case if a bloke/s were found in a dinghy, to circle the position till either a Walrus or High Speed Launch came to do the pickup - or if in a Mae-west only to drop a dinghy.
Nothing much happened to me here. One event was flying No.2 to an Australian Pilot Officer checking a Fading Pilot from the Dutch coast. We were about 15 miles out to sea when I spotted 4 aircraft coming out from the coast looking very like FW190's. I called him on the radio and warned him but instead of asking me to close up (we were in our search mode 150yds apart), I could only continue to turn into them and luckily, for me, they turned out to be 4 Typhoon 1's returning from a low level Rhubarb.
As there was no point in me continuing this operation I set course for base, building up a fine head of steam on the way. Greeted by my ground crew "Thought you were lost" I wondered what tall tale had already been spun and went off to see the Flight Commander. Firstly I said I would never fly as No.2 to that b. . . again. He left me on my own when I warned him of possible Enemy Aircraft and beat it for home. "Oh" the Flight Commander said, "he told me you got separated during a cross over turn". My reply was "well now you know the truth". Shortly after this the Pilot Officer was posted. A short while afterwards I was promoted to Flight Sergeant.
One of the incidents which happened on a Spitfire:- I was taking off with a new Sergeant as my No.2 for a dawn Fading Pilot Search and as it was still fairly dark we were using the flare path. In deference to him I used the throttle gently and used most of the Flare Path. At the end of the flare path was a batch of lights set in a 3" thick timber about 8-10 feet called a totem pole. I selected my wheels up, started circling the airfield when my No.2 came to join me, found I had no R.T. I left him circling and went down and changed aircraft. We then went off and did our search. On parking the aircraft, the ground crew Sergeant came up to me and said "we have replaced the wingtip the first aircraft you flew to-day and you are also wanted in the Control Tower" I couldn't figure out the connection but all was revealed in the Tower. I had hit the totem pole about 3 feet from the top and split it. The noise of my wheels coming into their wells had masked the noise of the impact. So looking back, the thinnest part of the wing was at the tip, any closer to the fuselage and thicker would probably have induced a roll, and as I was only about 5 feet off the ground I would have gone straight in. Lucky again!
During one of my leaves, I had to make a decision which could have affected my whole career in the R.A.F. Group Captain Douglas McIntyre who was station Commander at Abbotsinch had put forward a very attractive proposition to me, after he found out I had a fair amount of night flying and was also a Qualified Defiant Pilot.
There was a small Flight based at Abbotsinch, flying Defiants and fully crewed and armed. Their job was to get up and fly over Glasgow and the Clyde Valley and Southwards down the Estuary checking the efficiency of the smokescreen on the ground, set up when an air raid was imminent. He also said that I could live at home on the off-duty nights and that I would have more time to help out in the Family Business. There was also the chance of intercepting a bomber on its run in. While all this was attractive, there were snags - Abbotsinch did not yet have proper runways only Somerfelt Track, 5 off the take-off line was a cluster of 3 chimney stacks 200 feet high and on the landing, approach high tension wires over the River Clyde. After some soul searching I declined reluctantly, but if I had known what would happen in the next three months I would have taken it without hesitation.
Firstly, my Younger Brother who doing a sterling job in the firm was accepted for Pilot Training.
Secondly I was posted to the Middle East, as a Walrus Pilot with a newly formed Squadron initially based at Malta to cover the Sicily Invasion. Since I had joined 277 Squadron I had expressed a desire to become operational on the Walrus. It represented a challenge - as it had completely different flying characteristics to the Fighters I had been flying.
On first introduction I thought what an ugly machine, but when I became more familiar I realised it was absolutely ideal for the job. It was part boat and part aircraft. A tremendously strong hull, combined with a most reliable Pegasus VI 9 cylinder aircooled engine, which had been known to keep going even with 2 cylinders out of action.
One had a great feeling of security as in the event of a forced landing you could put down on sea or land and walk away unhurt.
Technique of handling the Walrus
Firstly when in the air it wallowed through the air and oscillated about 5 degrees either side of the course you were steering - no point in fighting it - just let it trundle along.
The next thing was different type of landings according to the state of the sea.
1. Normal - a moderate chop - glide in with the engine ticking over at 65/70 m.p.h., level out and it sank down in the water - very pretty 2. Rough sea - up to 7 or 8 feet waves bring it in with plenty of power- nose up- and feel the tail cutting the wave tops - judge your moment - close the throttle and touch down on the face of an incoming wave crest. Very spectacular and for a few seconds looked as though you were playing submarine. .
3. At night or surface of water obscured by mist. Get the nose high, 55m.p.h, plenty of revs, sinking gently down and wait for the bang as it hit the water. All the above landings were made into wind One other condition was a cross wind and a long lazy swell where it was possible to land and take off along the swell.
After touch-down you connected the tail wheel (to act as a water rudder) - drop the wheels- to cut speed through the water and taxi to dinghy. Meanwhile the Gunner had scrambled to the front hatch, which he opened, and either pulled the survivor over his shoulder or hooked the dinghy with a boat hook ( with a detachable head) on a predetermined length of rope floated down to the rear hatch which was lower in the water and easier to deal with an injury or more than one body. The Gunner then slashed the dinghy, closed the hatch and settled the survivor/s amidships and we were then ready for takeoff.
Before describing it, I would mention that we carried 4 smoke floats with a burning time of 2 minutes from time of it hitting the sea - our aim was:- (a) to keep sight of the bod in the sea (b) an accurate wind direction, and touch down as close as feasible. Our aim was to carry out the operation before the smoke float stopped burning and if there were no snags we could do it. A mile off the enemy coast and 70/100 miles behind the lines was a great incentive (there were usually two Gunners on an occasion like this...)
So now we come to the take off - the sequence is always the same.
Disengage the water rudder, pump up the wheels, make sure you are headed in to wind (if in doubt fire a Verey cartridge into the water) to give you a final check then open the throttle and do 3 things at once - hold stick (in this case a half wheel) fully back in stomach. Full starboard aileron (to pick up port float) and Full starboard rudder - then after clouds of spray again and speeds picking up centralise everything. You should now be on the step, picking up speed and come off the water at about 60/65/m.p.h. always provided you did not "porpoise".
No pilot that I met really knew why this happened, whether it was wave conditions or swell but we all agreed that it started after you were "on the step". A gentle bounce maybe 10 feet long and 6 feet high without sufficient flying - the danger was that it doubled up successfully and as you came back on the surface drag cut off your speed until you were chucked in the air and stalled out and nose dived in. The only remedy was to shut down and start again.
I had on occasions acted as safety Pilot with the 283 Squadron Pilots who were going out to North Africa as the first Walrus only Squadron in the Middle East. These occasions were quite good fun, if the sea was calm I would demonstrate the type of landing, checked each one out to see if they were happy then I repaired by dinghy to the crash boat. This boat was manned by ex-fishermen- a bunch of characters, so manfully restricting myself to one glass of rum, I would return to my aircraft on the trip back to base. If it was calm we would race it on the step for a few miles before departing in the air. These lads from the Crash Boat had an open invitation to our mess parties and the Station Dances and as each brought a bottle of rum they caused havoc among the WAAFS.
About two months after the 283 Squadron Pilots left, another Pilot, a Canadian called Gordon and myself were called in to the Flight Commanders Office and told that we were on an Air Ministry Named Posting, for which there was no get out. Go on a weeks leave, come back to join 284 Squadron en route for Malta on 23rd May 1943. .
Off we set on a circuitous journey after coming together as a Squadron - 2 Officers (Flt Lt C/O, F/O 2/c) 1Warrant Officer, 2 Flight sergeants and 4 sergeants. As Pilots, 1 Warrant Officer, 3 Flight Sergeants and 5 Sergeants. The most experienced Pilot was the Warrant Officer.
We entrained in the evening from Ipswich and traveled overnight to Ardrossan in Scotland, crossed the Irish Sea caught the train to Belfast arriving at about 8a.m. We were shattered, tired, hungry and hung over. The first place we made for was the Station Buffet while waiting for transport and ordered whisky all round. Unfortunately we did not specify Scotch, we got Irish Whiskey which tasted like paraffin. This was to be our last chance of a drink till Gibraltar.
We were lorried down to the docks and got our first sight of HMS "Battler", an Escort Carrier. We got aboard, W/O's F/Sgt's to the chief Petty Officers Mess and Sgt's to the Petty Officers Mess., our homes during the passage. We sailed into the Irish Sea next morning, to join up with the Convoy and the Air Component flew on in the afternoon On deck we saw a bunch of six Spitfires parked at the Bow, forward of the barrier, these forward for landing on, and shuttled to the stern during take off. As the effective take off and landing deck length was just over 400foot, any restriction made it very dodgy. There were also another six Spits in the hangars.
Days passed, watching the Swordfish take off and land on Anti Submarine Patrols and a few Seafire (Naval version of the Spitfire) sorties. These were having landing difficulties and a few Prangs. However, what really surprised us, was no attempt was made to repair damage but damaged aircraft just shoved over the side.
We arrived to within 300 miles of Gibraltar and our C.O. put a proposition to us from the Captain. - would those of us whom were Spitfire qualified pilots volunteer to fly off some of the transit aircraft. This was not a good idea. (a) Half of the aircraft had been exposed to sea spray, wind and weather for 12 days during the passage. (b)Unlike the Seafires whose flap system had been modified and varying degrees of flap selected, these Spitfires would be
a case of select down, then up, and put a wooden wedge in each flap to give 30degrees.
The problem being that bouncing along the deck, one or both wedges could dislodge - result being, one wedge out you rolled out of control. Two wedges out gave not enough lift to get off the deck, so we declined and the Swordfish were flown off to bring back Naval Pilots to do the deed. A bunch of not very happy, Sub Lieutenants and Midshipmen made the attempts, and out of the 12 attempts 5 went over the side and were lost. We felt fully justified in refusing the Captain's request.
We had arrived at Gibraltar and spent a few days enjoying the sunshine, fresh fruit, prawns and the bars. You could tell how long anyone had been in a bar, by the pile of prawn shells at his feet! We had one memorable night when we won the major prize at Housey-Housey in the Sergeants mess. I think it was £15.00 and it had to be spent in bottles of whisky at 7 shillings and 6 pence a bottle, so apart from what was scoffed we had a couple of bottles each for our personal hoard. I put most of the lads to bed
Next morning, horror of horrors, we were woken very early, told to get out kit together and we were being transferred to Algiers by DC3. This was the first encounter with the mainstay of the American Transport Command, and when we boarded the whole centre aisle was taken up by crates of spare parts and our kits. We were sitting up each side in bucket seats.
After waiting for about 15 minutes the crew came aboard, casual as you please,each with a big fat cigar and we wondered what kind of a Fred Kamo outfit is this. The engines started eventually, one crew member chucked in a pile of sick bags and we set off for the end of the runway. We parked there for what seemed an age. Eventually he lined up for take oft and after an extremely long run and 2 attempts to lift off and sinking back again we staggered off and headed out to sea. 10 minutes later the engines were still at take off power We had managed to reach a couple of hundred feet. The aircraft was obviously grossly overloaded.
However all thing come to an end and we did reach Maisom Blanche, the airfield for Algiers. We were very thankful to get our feet on land again, although our intrepid cigar smoking pilots had a final shot in their locker by making a shocking landing and nearly bouncing us out of our seats. We were a very subdued, but thankful bunch and I wondered what next? Next was huge tented Transit Camp a few miles outside Algiers. The first thing most of us did (on the advice of some old hands) was to buy a shoulder holster for our revolvers, It was prudent to be armed if straying from the main thoroughfares which, of course, we did.
A few days and we were on our travels again. This time in the back of a 3 ton truck in a lorry convoy destination Bizerte. A hellish journey - sand, sun, lousy food and flies. Our W/O suffered incredibly from sunburn and I have never seen such large blisters on anyone. The last night before reaching Bizerte was spent in a Medjez-ecBab reputed to be the hottest place in Africa with a temperature reaching 135 F, yes, 135 during the day.
Next morning we arrived at a Sunderland Base and apart from stores we were the only passengers. What a difference from our DC trip, everything was well organized. We took off at night and landed in the early morning in " Berse Bugue Bay", our home before we went to Sicily. The first impression of Malta was very mixed - the incredible glare from the sandstone buildings- the deep translucent blue of the sea, the heat and dust, and the resilience and spirit of the Maltese people considering the hardships they had undergone. The food situation was still pretty grim but no one was actually starving and it was possible to get an egg and chips for 2/6 d in a café, and an egg in the mess for breakfast at 6d a time. Tinned bacon was mostly fat, soya link sausage tasted like sawdust and oleo margarine like axle grease. There was nothing else for it, but to make the best of it.
We lost no time in getting into the air, practising sea landings and getting ready for our move to Sicily. During this month I did 4 search sorties - the last two on 30th & 31st July 1943 lasting 3/30 hours and 3/15 hours respectively. On the night of the Invasion we sat in the mess listening to the DC 3s towing the gliders going over and fighters taking off to give cover over the beaches. We, of course, were at 'Readiness' from first light.
On the 30th August we flew into the first available strip in Cassibile on the South East coast of Sicily. Just our aircraft and aircrew - we were short of aircraft (the ship bringing them from the UK. had been sunk) and we had to do the daily inspections ourselves. The Ground crew were somewhere floating around the Middle East. There we were - no tents - no cooking utensils nothing! Having been a Boy Scout in my schooldays now came in useful. We took it in turns to take an aircraft back to Malta for servicing and bring back another filled with whatever we could scrounge for our comfort. Eventually both ground crew and replacement aircraft turned up, allowing us to carry out our Air-Sea-Rescue operations over a wide area. The Walrus proving an ideal aircraft for those tasks.