Category: Aviation Historian

Martin-Baker development model

At 10 am on 1 October 1956, Royal Air Force Avro Vulcan B1 serial XA 897 of 230 Operational Conversion Unit was on its final approach to land at London Heathrow Airport, eagerly awaited by VIPs and families. This was a very unusual airfield for a Vulcan bomber, but then it was a very special flight.

This was the first Vulcan to have been delivered to the RAF and which was on its way home from a round-the-world tour to New Zealand to demonstrate this latest addition to Britain’s aircraft industry and defence capabilities.

But at this point, the fairy tale turns to tragedy. Landing a military aircraft with handling characteristics quite unlike an airliner at a civilian airport, while under the control of a civilian radar controller by a military pilot with limited experience of radar assisted landings – and in bad weather too – resulted in the deaths of four of the crew (three RAF and one from Avro). The aircraft impacted the ground well short of the runway, taking off again but fatally damaged and crashing: whilst the two pilots were able to eject safely, those in the rear of the cabin had no such seats and were unable to bale out and use their parachutes.

This accident brought to the fore a question which had been under consideration since the very first stages of the Vulcan’s design – why did the pilots have ejection seats but the rear-seat crew did not?

The German Luftwaffe fitted early ejection seats to some of its wartime aircraft and in Britain, the RAF stipulated in 1947 that Martin-Baker Aircraft Company’s seats would be fitted as standard in all new jets.

Early Martin-Baker design

Thus, the three V-Bombers – Vickers Valiant, Avro Vulcan and Handley Page Victor – would have ejection seats for the two pilots. But the cabin layout of all three types created problems: the three rear-seat crew (Air Electronics Officer, Navigator Plotter and Navigator Radar) – all faced aft  and the Air Ministry doubted that it would be possible to eject whilst travelling backwards.

Vulcan crew placement

Valiant rear crew seats

They had to bale out conventionally through the entrance hatches. Martin-Baker Aircraft Co proved rearward ejection was possible with a live firing from the rear of a Valiant. The Air Ministry then doubted it would be possible for all three rear seats to eject as the cabin roof could not have a large enough aperture. Again, Martin-Baker Aircraft Co. proved them wrong with a rig with all three seats ejecting sequentially through a single exit: the outer two seats would tilt over to clear the hole.

Victor cabin door/escape

Vulcan crew hatch

This required major modifications of the seats: rocket propulsion was impossible as the exhaust from the first seat would burn the remaining two crew; and the standard long seat guide-rails had to be shortened as the first man out would have blocked the remaining two. (An unsuccessful design submitted by Armstrong-Whitworth actually included a completely detachable crew compartment descending by parachute – as implemented on the General Dynamics F 111 Aardvark – but this was beyond the manufacturing capabilities of the 1950s so was abandoned.)

Martin-Baker triple-seat test rig

Numerous trials were undertaken by the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment at Boscombe Down in 1958 on the chances of escape from the rear seats, involving dummies and live parachutists, and, to simulate ‘G’ (force of gravity), a centrifuge. Conclusions across all trials and all three aircraft types were unanimous: escape was feasible provided the aircraft was in stable, controlled, flight. Otherwise, the reports concluded ‘the only sure method of escape is the ejector seat and the early fitment of them for rear seat crew members is strongly recommended.’

Armstrong-Whitworth drawing of detachable cabin escape system

Proof existed that it was technically possible and so the debate shifted to whether seats should be fitted. The real problems lay in questions of strategic defence policy, cost and the anticipated service life of the V-Bomber fleet.

This was the era of the Red Menace (‘Better Dead than Red’ © Senator Joseph McCarthy), the Cold War, Cuban Missile Crisis and the ‘four minute warning’ [flight time of a Soviet nuclear-armed missile from East Germany to London and the East Anglian bomber airfields]. When there were permanently a dozen or more V-Bombers on 24-hour alert, fully fuelled and with live nuclear weapons already loaded: ready to fly to Moscow at 5 minutes notice. Added to which were recurrent financial/currency crises.

The strategic issue lay in ensuring that the United Kingdom had a credible deterrent policy: that it had sufficient bombers to create a genuine belief in the Soviet Government that it could destroy key Russian cities. The argument ran that removing aircraft from their front-line duties to fit new seats would reduce the deterrent fleet below a credible size.

Cost was a major factor, coupled with the anticipated ‘out of service’ dates of the V-Bombers, alongside how many lives might realistically be saved. These questions were debated at the most senior levels in the Air Ministry and RAF, with opinions swinging back and forth. An early discussion paper was issued in 1957 and a final decision was apparently not taken until 1969. And at no time were rear ejection seats fitted.

How many crew did V-Bombers kill or – more pertinently – how many more might have survived with rear ejection seats? All statistics must be viewed with caution and the issue of how many more men might have lived requires major assumptions on accidents.  Also, only RAF statistics were compiled centrally, thus excluding losses during manufacturers’ tests. Bear in mind that although the standard crew was 5 men, some tanker variants had the Nav Plotter’s seat removed whilst with the normal bombers, often there would be a sixth supernumerary crew – the NCO Crew Chief for one – and sometimes even a seventh, both on primitive ‘jump seats’ or – in the Vulcan – wooden boxes.

Valiant jump-seat (folded)

Vulcan starboard jump seat

Finally, some freak accidents defy prediction and analysis. On 19 July 1960, Victor XH 617 of 57 Squadron caught fire in flight. Of the five crew, the Captain ejected safely and the AEO made a safe parachute landing. But the Co-pilot did not operate his seat correctly (probably failed to pull hard enough on the face-blind handle) and went down with the wreckage; the Nav. Plotter jumped but became entangled in his parachute lines which broke his neck before reaching ground; and by a tragic freak accident, the Nav. Radar baled out successfully but was killed during his descent by debris falling from the exploding aircraft above him.

A key document appears on 27 March 1963, being a list of all V-Bomber losses to date. Ten had been involved in fatal accidents between introduction into service in 1955 and March 1963. The briefing paper acknowledges (and it is worth quoting directly here) ‘in 6 fatal accidents, ejector sets for rear crew members might have facilitated escape and it must be said that in the three cases where only the co-pilot escaped, it was at least possible that the captain might also escaped but for his efforts to save the remainder of the crew’. The statistics are harsh: 50% of co-pilots  and 30% of pilots escaped, but only 9% of rear crew.

The files suggest the matter lay quiescent for 5 years until Vulcan XM 604 crashed on 30 January 1968. The two pilots ejected and survived; the four men in the rear perished. The then current draft operational plan foresaw 88 Vulcans and Victors remaining in service until 1977/78 and statistically, over 15 would be lost in flying accidents. The Air Force Policy Board, at its meeting on 29 September 1969, considered a paper by the Vice Chief of the Air Staff (VCAS) which is significant as it appears to be the rationale behind the last decision taken on the subject. Starting a study of the arguments, perhaps paradoxically, with the Appendix, there is an analysis of the 19 major accidents in RAF service [i.e. excluding manufacturers’ and other trials] and the likelihood of rear ejection seats altering the rear seat crew loss rate. Of the 19, it was assessed that there was no change in 9 cases, 5 marginal, 1 very doubtful and 4 good, some 11 souls. The main paper gave a history of the decisions taken and their reasons but did state that by now, there was ‘a practical scheme’. However, the paper continued with a cost-benefit analysis. To complete the equipping of the whole V-Bomber fleet of 108 Victors and Vulcans would take until mid 1974 and cost in the region of £9.95 million. VCAS makes a very noteworthy comment ‘on the grounds of humanity, I would be inclined to recommend adoption  of the modification [installing ejection seats] but in these days of rigidly constrained Defence Budgets it is necessary to consider very carefully and objectively the cost justification of the proposed scheme’. VCAS wrote that the then defence plan foresaw Victors flying for 109,000 hours and Vulcans for 102,000 hours: with an accident rate of 2 per 100,000 hours, four V-Bombers would be lost of which only one would benefit from rear ejection seats. The Air Force Board concurred, noting also that there had been no Parliamentary interest since January 1968.

And what actually happened? The cancellation of Skybolt (a long-range stand-off nuclear missile) by President Kennedy in late 1962, so the replacements for the Vulcan and Victor as delivery vehicles for the strategic deterrent were never required.

Vulcan with Skybolt aerodynamic test dummy

Because it was recognised that it was no longer credible that manned bombers could reach Moscow – even with short-range Blue Steel missiles – the strategic nuclear deterrent was transferred in 1969 to the Royal Navy’s nuclear-powered SSBN submarines carrying Polaris Inter Continental Ballistic Missiles. Victors became air-to-air refuelling tankers and Vulcans switched to a short-range tactical nuclear role within NATO. Vulcans had one last swan-song in Operation Corporate’s Black Buck missions – bombing the Falkland Islands in 1982, finally being withdrawn from RAF service in 1984. Whilst the Victors soldiered on until Operation Granby (Gulf War 1) in 1991, being withdrawn shortly thereafter. A mere 26 years after they were first forecast for withdrawal. And between the last decision not to fit ejection seats in 1969 to 1991, a total of 4 V-Bombers crashed (exactly as statistical assumptions): with the loss of 19 aircrew. Of the pilots/co-pilots with ejection seats, 3 of 8 survived but none of the 14 rear seat crew escaped.

Author’s Note 1: Martin-Baker Aircraft Co Ltd and RAF Museum have kindly provided some photographs but the opinions expressed herein are those of the author alone.

Author’s Note 2: this article is a very much abbreviated version of the original which appeared in the November 2022 edition of Magna (the magazine of the Friends of The National Archive). Readers seeking greater detail are referred to this, which contains many detailed extracts from and references to original documents held by The National Archives.

Credit: IWM

In the first of a new series of blogs, we’ll be taking a deep dive into the stories of the 29 RAF personnel whose valour earned them the Victoria Cross. Published on the day they won their medal, we’ll be revealing the circumstances the award was won, the aircraft they were flying in and much more. Our first post covers Flight Sergeant George Thompson who started 1945 by earning the Victoria Cross on 1 January.

Location: January 1st 1945, over Germany
Who: Flight Sergeant George Thompson (13707000) VC 23 October 1920 – 23 January 1945
Role: Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve

On 1 January 1945, Fl Sgt Thompson was a member of the crew of 9 Squadron Lancaster PD 377 (Captain Flying Officer Harry Denton RNZAF), based at RAF Bardney, Lincolnshire, and part of 5 Group, Bomber Command. At dawn that morning, his aircraft was one of 100 other bombers of 5 Group assigned to make a daylight attack on the Dortmund-Ems Canal.

A Lancaster Bomber like the one Thompson worked in as a wireless operator.

The LONDON GAZETTE reported on 20 February 1945:

‘The KING has been graciously pleased to confer the VICTORIA CROSS on the undermentioned airman in recognition of most conspicuous bravery:— 1370700 Flight Sergeant George THOMPSON, R.A.F.V.R., 9 Squadron (deceased). This airman was the wireless operator in a Lancaster aircraft which attacked the Dortmund-Ems Canal in daylight on the 1st January, 1945. The bombs had just been released when a heavy shell hit the aircraft in front of the mid-upper turret. Fire broke out and dense smoke filled the fuselage. The nose of the aircraft was then hit and an inrush of air, clearing the smoke, revealed a scene of utter devastation. Most of the Perspex screen to the nose compartment had been shot away, gaping holes had been torn in the canopy above the pilot’s head, the inter-communication wiring was severed, and there was a large hole in the floor of the aircraft. Bedding and other equipment were badly damaged or alight; one engine was on fire. Flight Sergeant Thompson saw that the gunner was unconscious in the blazing mid-upper turret. Without hesitation he went down the fuselage into the fire and the exploding ammunition. He pulled the gunner from his turret and, edging his way round the hole in the floor, carried him away from the flames. With his bare hands, he extinguished the gunner’s burning clothing. He himself sustained serious burns on his face, hands and legs. Flight Sergeant Thompson then noticed that the rear gun turret was also on fire. Despite his own severe injuries he moved painfully to the rear of the fuselage where he found the rear gunner with his clothing alight, overcome by flames and fumes. A second time Flight Sergeant Thompson braved the flames. With great difficulty he extricated the helpless gunner and carried him clear. Again, he used his bare hands, already burnt, to beat out flames on a comrade’s clothing. Flight Sergeant Thompson, by now almost exhausted, felt that his duty was yet not done. He must report the fate of the crew to the captain. He made the perilous journey back through the burning fuselage, clinging to the sides with his burnt hands to get across the hole in the floor. The flow of cold air caused him intense pain and frostbite developed. So pitiful was his condition that his captain failed to recognise him. Still, his only concern was for the two gunners he had left in the rear of the aircraft. He was given such attention as was possible until a crash-landing was made some forty minutes later. When the aircraft was hit, Flight Sergeant Thompson might have devoted his efforts to quelling the fire and so have contributed to his own safety. He preferred to go through the fire to succour his comrades. He knew that he would then be in no position to hear or heed any order which might be given to abandon aircraft. He hazarded his own life in order to save the lives of others. Young in years and experience, his actions were those of a veteran. Three weeks later Flight Sergeant Thompson died of his injuries. One of the gunners unfortunately also died, but the other owes his life to the superb gallantry of Flight Sergeant Thompson, whose signal courage and self-sacrifice will ever be an inspiration to the Service.’

ADDITIONAL DETAILS

His Victoria Cross is held by the Scottish United Services Museum, Edinburgh Castle, Scotland.

The aircraft crash-landed near Eindhoven inside Allied territory. Flight Sergeant Thompson, grievously wounded, was taken to No 50 Military Field Hospital, where he died of his wounds on 23 January 1945.

He is buried in the Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemetery of Brussels Town.

Grave headstone: The War Graves Photographic Project www.twgpp.org

Credits:

Citation: London Gazette 20 February 1945

Additional biographical details: For Valour: The Air VCs Chaz Bowyer, Grub Street Publishing.

Source: Norman Brice, RAF Museum London

One exhibit in the Hendon museum which is often either overlooked or misunderstood is the Alsatian dog sometimes found by the entrance to the Avro Vulcan or by the Blue Steel missile.

From the late 1950s until April 1969, Britain’s independent nuclear deterrent was provided by the RAF’s V-Bomber fleet – the Vickers Valiant, Avro Vulcan and Handley Page Victor. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, on airfields across eastern England, there were always a dozen or more V-Bombers on Quick Reaction Alert, fully fuelled and armed with live nuclear weapons, their crews permanently in flying suits in a caravan or hut nearby, ready to launch within 5 minutes of an alert, on what would have been a one-way trip to Moscow, Leningrad [once again St Petersburg] and airfields and submarine depots in the far north of Russia.

A nuclear bomb cannot easily be detonated and certainly not without the appropriate authorisation codes. But at the same time, they had to be protected.

Possible risks to the devices included airmen suffering mental health crises – and there is a story of just one such incident at RAF Sculthorpe when it was used by the United States Air Force;  a sergeant reputedly threatened to blow himself up that way (though strenuously denied by the USAF at the time). Not to mention activists from the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament – think of the “Peace Women” at Greenham Common when cruise missiles were installed. And the theoretical fear of local communist sympathisers and Soviet Spetsnatz (special forces) parachuted in for sabotage.

Source: AWRE

Britain’s first atomic bomb – Blue Danube – had very unusual arming mechanisms. Modern nuclear weapons are complete and self-contained when loaded onto submarines (or in the USA, also aircraft and missiles). But Blue Danube was different. The plutonium core – the nuclear heart of the bomb – was no bigger than a grapefruit and had to be inserted separately immediately before take-off, a process known as “Last Minute Loading”.  If the Vulcan was on 5 minutes readiness to launch, the core had to be stored right by the aircraft, out in the open on the dispersal pan. So was vulnerable to theft or malicious damage.

Source: AWRE

Hence the need for an RAF policeman and his Alsatian dog to guard the weapons. Guards were issued with photographs of the only seven personnel permitted to enter the aircraft: the Station Commander, five aircrew and NCO Crew Chief. All others approaching were to be challenged and the guards were armed and authorised to use lethal force as a last resort to protect the bombs.

Source: AWRE

The alertness of these guards was often tested, including sometimes by members of rival V Bomber squadron aircrew from nearby airfields, who were not above using sausages as a decoy (for the dog, not the Corporal)!

When the klaxon went and the Tannoy broadcast the dreaded order:

“ATTENTION, ATTENTION, ATTENTION. This is the Bomber Controller for bomb      list Delta. SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE . Authentication WHISKEY NINE JULIET E-            Hour One Zero Zero Zero Zulu”

the duty crew would grab their “Go Bag” from the secure vault, containing their routing map, target details and that day’s authentication codes, then jump into their vehicle to race out to their aircraft and take off. To ensure the car would always start, even in the depths of a snowy winter’s night, it was permanently connected to a battery charger and sump heater. Many times were they in such a hurry, they “forgot” to disconnect the cables, leaving the long-suffering Crew Chief to rewire them.

Source: Norman Brice, RAF Museum London

Dogs and passenger cars do not have the glamour of a shining white Vulcan – or Hendon’s in its low level wrap-around camouflage colours. But they played their own crucial part in Britain’s defences.

The Royal Air Force Museum is saddened by the news that Squadron Leader Lawrence ‘Benny’ Goodman has died at the age of 100. Squadron Leader Goodman enjoyed a distinguished RAF career spanning 24 years, during which he completed a full tour of operations as a wartime bomber pilot with No. 617 Squadron, the celebrated ‘Dambusters.’ On retiring from the Service, he dedicated himself to supporting RAF charities, promoting reconciliation with Germany and educating younger generations about the realities of war. More recently, he offered untiring support to the RAF Museum’s ‘Jewish Hidden Heroes’ project, which highlights the vital role played by Jewish people, like himself, in the RAF’s battle against Nazi tyranny.

Lawrence Goodman was born in Maida Vale, London, and volunteered to join the RAF, aged 18, at the outbreak of war in September 1939. Called up the following year, he began training as a pilot on the De Havilland Tiger Moth biplane, advancing without difficulty to more powerful aircraft. Benny was ultimately rated ‘Above Average’ (that is, ‘very good’) and, to his dismay, he was retained as a flying instructor. In January 1942, he travelled as part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan to Ontario, in Canada, to teach RAF and Fleet Air Arm pupils to fly the North American Harvard. While there, he also experienced the novelty of introducing the naval trainees to dive bombing and deck landing techniques. Benny liked Canada and liked instructing, but he was determined to see operational flying and eventually persuaded his commanding officer to post him back to the UK. His ship was torpedoed on the voyage home, forcing a detour to an American port, but he crossed the Atlantic safely soon afterwards.

In December 1942, Benny began converting to night bombers, learning to fly the Vickers Wellington and the four-engined Short Stirling before progressing, in August 1944, to the more capable Avro Lancaster. His pilot rating remained ‘Above Average’, and in recognition of his superior ability, he was offered a posting to No. 617 Squadron, the RAF’s crack precision bombing unit. Although proud to be selected, Benny was conscious of being the first pilot without operational experience to join the ‘Dambusters.’ He and his crew were, however, welcomed by the veterans when they arrived at the squadron’s base at RAF Woodhall Spa. The newcomers now underwent a period of intensive training, familiarising themselves with the state-of-the-art Stabilised Automatic Bomb Sight (SABS) and the 12,000 lb (5,400 kg) Tallboy ‘earthquake’ bomb designed by Barnes Wallis. Benny was soon ready to take his modified Lancaster to war; and as a young, Jewish bomber pilot, he was fully aware of the implications of being shot down over Nazi Germany.

Beginning on 18 August 1944, Benny, now a flight lieutenant, participated in 30 operations with ‘617’ against key objectives including the U-Boat pens at La Pallice; the battleship ‘Tirpitz’ moored at Tromso in Norway; and the synthetic oil refinery at Politz. On 19 March 1945, he demolished the Arnsberg railway viaduct with a 22,000 lb (10,000 kg) Grand Slam bomb. This followed several failed attempts on the target by USAAF squadrons that caused substantial civilian casualties in the town. Benny continued to fly operationally until the end of the war, and his last foray was the attack on Hitler’s ‘Eagle’s Nest’ at Berchtesgaden on 25 April 1945. Curiously, during a daylight raid on Hamburg two weeks before, a Messerschmitt 262 jet fighter formated with his aircraft. Surprised, but unafraid, Benny thought that the German pilot had run out of ammunition and was simply curious to see a Lancaster close to.

After VE Day, Benny transferred to No. 51 Squadron, Transport Command, and was tasked with delivering men and cargo to India and South-East Asia in converted Stirlings. Compulsorily demobbed in 1946, but still keen to serve, he became the first non-fighter pilot to join the part-timers of No. 604 Squadron (Auxiliary Air Force). Benny thoroughly enjoyed his weekends flying Spitfires from RAF Hendon (now the Museum’s London site) but voluntarily rejoined the regular air force with the onset of the Berlin Blockade in June 1948. During the crisis, he piloted Handley Page Hastings transports into airfields in Germany; and was subsequently employed with No. 53 Squadron on air trooping flights to the Middle East and casualty evacuation from Korea. From 1953 to 1955, he served as a liaison officer at the Embassy in Vienna, and was later engaged on intelligence duties with the Air Ministry in London. He resumed flying two years later, and after converting to English Electric Canberras, was posted to No. 80 Squadron, which operated the type on photo-reconnaissance sorties from RAF Bruggen. In 1960, he returned from Germany for a second stint with the Air Ministry, finally retiring as a squadron leader in 1964, in order to help run the family business. While with the RAF, Benny logged over 3,500 hours on 22 different types of military aircraft; and he continued to fly a Piper Comanche for pleasure until he was 93.

Benny Goodman was a kind, moral man with a strong sense of duty, and these qualities were reflected in his selfless work for charities that included the RAF Club, the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight and the 617 Squadron Association. He also worked hard to bring about reconciliation with Germany, accepting, in 1995, an invitation to attend a ceremony in Arnsberg commemorating the civilians killed there by Allied bombing 50 years before. Benny duly travelled to the town, and speaking in German, he explained Britain’s perspective on the war and the reasons for the RAF’s attacks on the railway viaduct in 1945. He then closed his powerful, courageous, speech by appealing to his German audience for closer international understanding. Benny’s words were warmly received by his hosts, and there began a friendship between the veteran airman and the people of Arnsberg that would last for more than 25 years. Travelling at his own expense, he returned to the town as a formal guest on numerous occasions, giving presentations about war and reconciliation to local groups; and he also graciously hosted Arnsbergers visiting the UK. Benny would write that he considered his friendship with Arnsberg the most important in his life, and this friendship stands as an enduring testament to his wisdom and generosity of spirit.

Benny Goodman was the embodiment of what is sometimes called ‘the greatest generation’, and recognising this, the Republic of France appointed him a Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur in 2017. Despite his many achievements, however, he remained a modest, genuinely humble man who more than once asked:
‘Why am I being honoured? I’m not a hero…I was only doing my duty just like everyone else.’
As the UK’s last surviving wartime RAF pilot from No. 617 Squadron, Benny understood the importance of remembrance; and in November 2019, he made a video marking the 75th anniversary of the sinking of the ‘Tirpitz’ for a German, Norwegian and British audience. He was also strongly committed to educating younger people, and whether lecturing officers attending the UK Defence Academy or giving presentations to schoolchildren, he shared his experiences, ethos and values with enthusiasm.

In recent years, Benny became an excellent friend to the RAF Museum. When the ‘Jewish Hidden Heroes’ project was launched in March 2018, he readily agreed to be interviewed by author and Museum Ambassador, Joshua Levine. Furthermore, he shared his remarkable story at a special event at the Museum that November, travelling to Hendon alone despite his advanced age. Benny was also an enthusiastic supporter of the RAF Museum’s partnership with Chelsea FC and of the Club’s campaign to challenge anti-Semitism and racism through education. The partnership was formally launched at Chelsea’s ground at Stamford Bridge on 4 December 2019, and he was introduced to an appreciative crowd before the game that afternoon. It is also thanks to the relationship with Chelsea that Benny’s testimony will feature in the Augmented Reality displays planned for the Museum’s forthcoming Bomber Command exhibition.

Despite the challenges presented by COVID-19, in September 2020, Benny joined us at the Museum, along with Chief of the Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Mike Wigston, to mark the 80th Anniversary of the Battle of Britain and his own 100th birthday. And earlier this year, he agreed to be the face of the virtual Lancaster Challenge, helping the Museum to raise funds by encouraging participants to maintain their physical fitness during the COVID crisis. Sadly, Benny was to have been the guest of honour at the Battle of Britain gala in September this year.

Maggie Appleton MBE, CEO of the RAF Museum, concludes:
‘So many of us will be mourning Benny, while celebrating his outstanding contribution during the Second World War and his faultless RAF Service. The RAF Museum has been fortunate to call Benny a friend. He supported us in sharing the incredible story of Jewish servicemen and women during the war, and the brave airmen who were in a particularly perilous situation should they have been captured. Benny was a special man who lived a long and fruitful life and brought joy and inspiration to many. He will be sadly missed by his friends at the RAF Museum, but we will ensure that his stories live on to inspire generations to come.’

With sincere thanks to Dr Robert Owen, Official Historian of the 617 Squadron Association.

On 14 May 1947, Philip Noel-Baker, the Labour Secretary of State for Air, was questioned by MPs in the House of Commons about the number of enemy aircraft shot down during the Battle of Britain. The Minister confirmed that recently opened German records showed that the RAF’s claims for most of the air campaign were much higher than the losses the Luftwaffe sustained. Between 10 July and 31 October 1940, the official dates of the Battle, the RAF estimated that a total of 2,692 enemy aircraft had been destroyed. Luftwaffe records, however, showed that only 1,733 aircraft were lost and 643 damaged. Noel-Baker stressed that Fighter Command’s claims had been made in good faith and added that the revised figures:
‘[did] nothing to diminish the achievements or to dim the glory of the men who fought so bravely against great odds.’

Further examination of the German records revealed that in the fighting on 15 September 1940 –generally considered to be the climax of the campaign, and duly commemorated as ‘Battle of Britain Day’ – the RAF’s celebrated tally of 183 combat victories was in reality only 56. Overclaiming is always likely when large numbers of fighters are deployed against enemy formations; and the defending forces were unusually large on that beautiful Sunday afternoon.

During the course of the day, the Luftwaffe launched two major raids on London, but both were fiercely repulsed. Air Vice-Marshal Keith Park’s 11 Group, defending the capital and the south-east, was reinforced by squadrons from Sir Quintin Brand’s 10 Group in the west, and Trafford Leigh-Mallory’s 12 Group to the north. Flying from Duxford, in Cambridgeshire, Leigh-Mallory’s five squadrons operated together as a ‘Big Wing’ and were led by the disabled and pugnacious Douglas Bader. In the first action, 25 Dornier Do 17 bombers, escorted by 120 Messerschmitt Me 109s, were intercepted by over 250 Hawker Hurricanes and Supermarine Spitfires. And in the second, 114 Dorniers and Heinkel 111s, shielded by 490 Messerschmitt Me 109s and 110s, were attacked by 275 defending fighters.

Outnumbered for most of the campaign, the RAF pilots enjoyed the novelty of fighting in strength, but the downside was that they got in one another’s way, and claims were inadvertently duplicated in the heat of battle. By way of illustration, historian Dr Alfred Price refers to a Dornier, brought down in central London during the first German raid, that was claimed by nine pilots from five different squadrons. All of the claims were allowed by their respective Intelligence Officers, who then dutifully passed them to 11 Group Headquarters at Uxbridge. There, they were logged as nine separate victories on Fighter Command’s overall tally for the day. Dr Price makes the point that the RAF had neither the time nor the resources to research the accuracy of the claims. Furthermore, it was left to a squadron leader and a flight lieutenant at Uxbridge to collate all of the claims submitted by 7.00pm, so that they could be vetted and then passed to the BBC to broadcast on the Nine O’clock News.

As the German records show, Fighter Command had had a good day, although they actually shot down more aircraft on the 15th and 18th August. The RAF were convinced, however, that they had had a great day, and that was what was presented to the country, to the Empire and Commonwealth, and to the press of the neutral, but increasingly sympathetic, United States.

In addition to being popular with several RAF fighter pilots, the Dornier that fell to earth in the first raid on 15 September has a particular connection with RAF Hendon, now the site of the Royal Air Force Museum. We know quite a lot about Hendon during the Battle of Britain thanks to Joan Bawden, a 21-year-old member of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force who came from Claygate in Surrey. Aircraftwoman Bawden was stationed at Hendon from October 1939 to May 1941 and kept a personal diary. She later said:
‘We weren’t supposed to keep diaries, so it was rather naughty…mine was a secret and I had to be very careful about it.’

We are very grateful that she was, because, as well as being well-observed and entertaining, Joan’s diary is an invaluable record of social history. Through its 180 plus entries, we get to know, and to like, a lively, independent-minded young woman experiencing the exhilaration, fear and camaraderie of war.

On 5 September 1940, Joan wrote:
‘…a fighter squadron has arrived at Hendon, making it operational and consequently more alive and exciting…’

Hendon, in north-west London, was the RAF’s most famous flying station, and home to the hugely popular inter-war air displays; but by 1940, it was out of date. Too small for high-performance aircraft like the Hurricane and the Spitfire, the airfield had no hard runways and the surrounding area was heavily built-up. Nevertheless, as the Battle neared its climax, it was decided to transfer No. 504 (County of Nottingham) Squadron there from its base at RAF Castletown in Scotland. Most of the Squadron’s Hurricanes arrived on Thursday 5 September, as Joan described, and were placed under the command of 11 Group. Six of the Hurricanes were being modified at Castletown and reached Hendon two days later. These aircraft were led in by Sergeant Ray Holmes.

Born at Wallasey, Cheshire, on 20 August 1914, Raymond Towers Holmes grew up to love sport and fast cars, and eventually became a crime reporter on the ‘Birkenhead Advertiser.’ His connection with flying began in September 1936, when a friend suggested he apply to join the newly-formed RAF Volunteer Reserve. This part-time ‘citizens air force’ attracted extraordinary young men from ordinary backgrounds, and it provided roughly one third of Fighter Command’s pilots for the Battle of Britain.
Having passed the medical, Holmes became the 55th volunteer to enlist; and in February 1937, he travelled to Prestwick, in Scotland, to begin his flying instruction. He proved to be a good pilot, and on 18 June 1940, he was posted to fly Hurricanes with No. 504 Squadron.

On 7 September, the Squadron commenced operations with a combat patrol south of the Thames Estuary. They were ‘bounced’ by five Me 109s out of the sun, and Flying Officer Kenneth Wendel, from Auckland, New Zealand, was shot down. Wendel was badly burned and died, aged 24, the same day. On hearing the news, Joan wrote in her diary:
‘I am grateful I haven’t a husband or a lover as a pilot, it must be apprehension all the time. I understand now why they are so hard and self-sufficient and untender; it’s the only way they can endure living the way they have to live, each time going out with so little prospect of return.’

At dawn, on Sunday 15 September, the pilots of No. 504 Squadron were at readiness. The weather was fine and clear and enemy raids were expected, but the radar stations dotted around Britain’s coastline reported nothing. The Squadron was stood down and the pilots returned to their dispersal area to await instructions. Ray Holmes decided to return to the Sergeants’ Mess to take a bath. At about the same time, the radar stations on the south coast began to pick up activity over the Pas de Calais, and soon a formation of bombers with a heavy fighter escort appeared on their screens.

Back at Hendon, Sergeant Holmes was no sooner in the bath than, predictably, the telephone rang ordering the Squadron to readiness. Still soaking wet, he pulled on a blue sports shirt and his uniform trousers and ran barefoot out of the Mess to the waiting Humber Snipe. By the time the car reached the dispersal area at the airfield, a squadron ‘scramble’ had been ordered. Holmes only had time to seize his life jacket and flying boots before dashing out to his Hurricane, P2725. The pilots of ‘504’ were unusual in that they ‘scrambled’ to musical accompaniment. The music was always the same: the stirring finale to Rossini’s ‘William Tell Overture’, which the fighter pilots understood as ‘William Tell: Run like Hell!’

At 11.23 am, less than five minutes after the alert, the Squadron was airborne. Northolt control ordered the 12 Hurricanes to combine with those of No. 257 Squadron, and the two units rendezvoused at 15,000 feet over North Weald. The wing of RAF fighters, now 20 strong, was then directed to join the air battle developing over London. At ten minutes past twelve, the Hurricanes intercepted a formation of Dornier Do 17 bombers of Kampfgeschwader 76 at 17,000 feet over south-east London. The Dornier crews were flying slowly, but with great discipline and determination, on their mission to bomb the railway viaducts at Battersea.

Excited to be in his first combat, Sergeant Holmes headed straight for three Dorniers flying apart from the main formation, braving their return fire. He attacked the bomber on the left-hand side, pressing the gun button at a range of 400 yards, but as he approached, it sprayed oil all over his windshield, temporarily blinding him. It later transpired that the Dornier was fitted with an experimental flame thrower which had malfunctioned. Describing the combat in an interview, Holmes said:
‘Then as the windscreen cleared, I suddenly found myself going straight into his tail. So, I stuck my stick forward and went under him, practically grazing my head on his belly.’

Both of the bomber’s engines had stopped, and it began gliding downwards. Holmes then opened fire on the second Dornier and saw a white canopy appear:
‘…before I knew what had happened this bloody parachute was draped over my starboard wing. There was this poor devil on his parachute hanging straight out behind me… All I could do was swing the aeroplane left and then right to try to get rid of this man. Fortunately, his parachute slid off my wing and down he went.’

Over Hyde Park Corner, Holmes saw that the third Dornier was on fire and heading towards Buckingham Palace. What he didn’t know was that the crew of the bomber had already bailed out. The Dornier had been intercepted over London by the Hurricanes of No. 310 (Czechoslovak) Squadron, and the observer, Hans Goschenhofer, and gunner, Gustav Hubel, had been killed. After ordering Ludwig Armbruster and Leo Hammermeister, the surviving crew members, to bail out, the pilot, Robert Zehbe, also took to his parachute. He landed near the Oval Cricket Ground in Kennington, only to be attacked by a mob of enraged civilians, including several women wielding pokers and kitchen knives. Zehbe was eventually rescued by the Home Guard but died of his injuries the next day. He was 26.

Oblivious of the German pilot’s misfortune, Sergeant Holmes was determined to shoot down the Dornier, but on pressing the gun button, he discovered he had run out of ammunition. There was only one thing for it. In his own words:
‘His aeroplane looked so flimsy, I didn’t think of it as solid and substantial. I just went on and hit it for six.’

The wing of P2725 cut through the Dornier’s slender rear fuselage, neatly severing the tail section. The aircraft immediately broke up and plunged to earth, the forward fuselage landing in the forecourt of Victoria Station, and the tail section coming to rest on a rooftop in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. As it dived, two of the Dornier’s 110 lb bombs and a canister of incendiaries broke loose and fell on Buckingham Palace nearby. One of the bombs went through the roof and landed in a bathroom in the royal apartments two floors below. It failed to detonate, as did the other bomb, which fell into the Palace grounds; but the incendiaries started a fire in the gardens that singed the lawns. Fortunately, the King and Queen were at Windsor that day.

The controls of Sergeant Holmes’ Hurricane were damaged in the collision and he was himself forced to bail out over Pimlico. He landed, minus his flying boots, in an open dustbin in a garden in Hugh Street. Surprised, and grateful, to be alive, Holmes found he was being peered at by two young women in the neighbouring garden. In true ‘fighter boy’ style he leapt the fence and kissed them both.

After telephoning Hendon to say he was safe, Holmes was invited by the local Home Guard to inspect the spot on the Buckingham Palace Road where his Hurricane had ploughed into the ground at over 400 miles per hour. The aircraft had made a deep hole which was filling with water. Holmes paused to pick up a fragment of his aircraft’s Merlin engine as a souvenir while a crowd of well-wishers patted him on the back. A news reporter appeared, and on discovering that Holmes was a fellow journalist, offered to send a message for him. ‘Tell Dad I’m okay, will you?’, Holmes replied, before being led to the Orange Brewery on Pimlico Road for a restorative brandy.

From the pub, he was escorted the short distance to Chelsea Barracks, where he was examined by an Army doctor and then invited to the Sergeant’s Mess for more drinks. They were joined in the Mess by the Commanding Officer who eyed Holmes’ sports shirt and socks and asked ‘Do you always fly dressed like that?’

The Army ordered a taxi to take Holmes back to Hendon but, before he left the barracks, he was called to the main gate where, he was told, a young woman wanted to speak to him. To his surprise, the woman handed him a tin of fifty cigarettes as a gift for making his aeroplane ‘miss her baby’, who had been in his pram nearby. Holmes didn’t think she could afford the cigarettes and politely refused, but she insisted, so he took them, thanking her for her kindness. Touched by the gesture, the young fighter pilot didn’t tell her that he had been completely unaware of her baby, nor did he tell her he didn’t smoke. Sergeant Holmes returned to Hendon in the taxi in the mid-afternoon, where it was discovered that in bailing out he had chipped a shoulder bone. Despite his protests, he was grounded by the Squadron Medical Officer.

No. 504 Squadron had done remarkably well over London, claiming five enemy aircraft destroyed and a further four damaged. However, Pilot Officer John Gurteen from Haverhill, in Suffolk, had been killed. He was 24-years-old. Later that afternoon, ‘504’ was again scrambled, and claimed three more enemy aircraft for the loss of Flying Officer Michael Jebb. Flying Officer Jebb, who was from Chester, was badly burned and would die in hospital four days later, aged 22.

At ten minutes past four, a combat report, compiled by the Squadron Intelligence Officer, was sent to 11 Group HQ which summarised ‘504’s fight over central London. The only reference to Sergeant Holmes’ extraordinary exploit is the line ‘Sgt. Holmes baled out and landed safely.’ This document is now held in the Archive of the RAF Museum.

On Monday 16 September, Joan Bawden recorded Pilot Officer Gurteen’s death in her diary:
‘[Another] one of them is dead: John, who was large and tall and young and so very attractive. John who called me ‘pie face’ and when I protested went down on his knees and called me his ‘darling love…Oh, the wicked, pointless destroying of life.’

Sergeant Holmes’ combat with the Dornier had taken place over Hyde Park Corner in full view of hundreds of appreciative Londoners. What was more, the action had been captured by the Pathé newsreel company, and by several photographers, making it probably the most famous single incident of the Battle of Britain. Ray Holmes was now a celebrity. He was invited to meet the King and Queen and was interviewed by the BBC. He also received over 130 letters from a grateful public, each one of which he answered personally. The press lionised Holmes as the pilot who got ‘the Buckingham Palace raider’ and presented the bombs that fell on the Palace as a premeditated attack on the Royal Family. A number of the papers carried Holmes’ message ‘Tell Dad I’m okay, will you?’

The fight went on, and over the next ten days, No. 504 Squadron was scrambled on seven more occasions. On 24 September, RAF Hendon was bombed and, the next night, Colindale underground station was hit by a parachute mine, killing 13 people and injuring many more. On 26 September, after three successful weeks defending London, No. 504 Squadron departed for Filton, near Bristol, and thus ended RAF Hendon’s existence as a Battle of Britain station.

On 17 September 1940, Hitler indefinitely postponed ‘Operation Sealion’, the invasion of Britain. ‘Sealion’ had always been an impossibility without Hermann Goering’s Luftwaffe first winning air superiority over south-east England, and it was clear that it was unable to do this. For historian Stephen Bungay, the Battle of Britain was won not on 15 September 1940, but in late August and the first days of September when Fighter Command survived the Luftwaffe’s onslaught against its airfields. The fighting on Battle of Britain Day was thus less important militarily than psychologically, because it was on that day that the Germans were served notice that the RAF was not only still in business, but remained fully capable of mounting a highly-effective defence of Britain’s airspace.

Throughout the 16-week campaign, the Luftwaffe was also guilty of serious overclaiming, and its intelligence officers consistently underestimated the size of the RAF’s fighter force. In consequence, the appearance of Leigh-Mallory’s ‘Big Wing’ over London, though of questionable military value, had a damaging effect on the morale of the German flyers who had been assured that the RAF was down to its last 50 fighters. Furthermore, the ferocity of the RAF’s attacks in defence of the capital, with pilots willing, if necessary, to ram the Dorniers and Heinkels, was deeply unsettling.

Before the Battle, the Luftwaffe enjoyed great success supporting the German Army, but it proved incapable of fighting a strategic air campaign against Britain. The German air force was also poorly led, and hampered throughout by confused objectives and faulty intelligence. It was opposed by a system of air defence that was efficiently organised, well-equipped and operationally flexible, and which allowed Fighter Command to make the best use of its outnumbered squadrons. This system was put in place by Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, the head of Fighter Command.

Winston Churchill chose 15 September to visit Keith Park at 11 Group HQ at Uxbridge. The Prime Minister was alive to the significance of the drama being played out in Park’s state-of-the-art Operations Room and would later write:
‘The odds were great; our margins small; the stakes infinite.’

Thanks to Sir Hugh Dowding, the RAF’s margin of victory was perhaps not as narrow as it may once have appeared.

Ray Holmes survived his celebrity and survived the war, leaving the RAF as a Flight Lieutenant. The ‘best blue’ uniform he wore had belonged to Flying Officer Michael Jebb, killed on Battle of Britain Day. It had never been worn, and Michael’s parents kindly gave it to him when he was commissioned. Ray returned to journalism in Liverpool and retired at the age of 80. In 2004, a year before he passed away, his Hurricane, P2725, was excavated by aviation archaeologists Chris Bennett and Steve Vizard from its resting place 12 feet below Buckingham Palace Road. On live television, Ray was presented with the control column he had last held on the afternoon of Sunday, 15 September 1940. The gun button on the joystick was still set to ‘FIRE.’

Joan Bawden left Hendon in May 1941 to train as a photographic interpreter. She was commissioned as an officer and subsequently posted to the Middle East. There she married Hugh Rice, a British Army officer, and after the war she became a writer. Joan’s wartime diaries were published to great acclaim as ‘Sand in My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War’ in 2006, when she was in her late eighties. Joan’s son is the lyricist Sir Tim Rice.
On 10 October 2018, Mrs Anne Holmes, Ray’s widow, and his daughter, Mrs Kate Whitworth, visited the RAF Museum at Hendon with Squadron Leader Andy Ham, Flight Lieutenant Jill Harrison, Warrant Officer David Dundas and Sergeant Nick Woolmer, four serving members of No. 504 (County of Nottingham) Squadron. They had come to see the RAF Museum’s replica Hurricane gate guardian which had been repainted in the markings of P2725, the aircraft Ray flew for 45 minutes on Battle of Britain Day. Anne and Kate later saw the wreckage of the engine of Ray’s Hurricane displayed in the Museum’s RAF Stories gallery. Interviewed by Museum staff, Anne said:
‘I am very proud to be connected through Ray to 504 Squadron. The visit was amazing and moving. A day I shall never forget. Everyone was so kind, even the sun. I wish I could rewind and go through it all once more.’

The Battle of Britain may have been waged in the air, but there was a lot happening on the ground and at sea in order to keep the aircraft fighting. The RAF Museum collection contains a number of vehicles that served during the period of the Battle of Britain, and these highlight some of the vital roles that were undertaken.

Bedford OXC with Taskers 5-Ton Long Low Loading Articulated Trailer (Queen Mary)

This iconic piece of equipment came about after the Air Ministry requested tenders in 1938 for a trailer that could transport an entire fighter aircraft. Taskers of Andover, in Hampshire, responded within 10 days, submitting not only the tender, but also a full-size prototype. The design was sound enough that nearly four thousand were built in both 3, and 5 ton, versions. Due to the large size of the trailers they soon gained the nickname Queen Mary, after the passenger liner.

Thompson Three Wheeled Refueller

First introduced in 1935, Thompson Brothers Ltd, marketed their unique three wheel design as the ideal solution for manoeuvring around aeroplanes and it was employed by many civilian airport. The RAF found the Thompson design to be ideal for use at flying schools and University Air Squadrons, where large numbers of smaller aircraft were in near constant use. Later versions carried both fuel and oil, ensuring that the training aircraft were able to keep flying. During the Battle of Britain, one of the prime concerns of the RAF was ensuring the supply of new pilots kept up with demand; unsung heroes like the Thompson and the Tiger Moth training biplane helped to keep that supply going.

Fordson Model N Roadless

Based on the famous Fordson Model N agricultural tractor, some vehicles were converted by the Roadless Traction Company to turn them into half-tracks. The tracks provided greater traction and allowed the Roadless tractor to operate in areas that other tractors would struggle with, such as boggy fields and on wet slipways. The RAF operated a small number of Roadless tractors, finding the type to be very good at pulling small craft and flying boats up slipways, and rescuing aircraft in thick mud.

During the Battle of Britain, the airfields of Fighter Command were little more than grass fields so the Fordson Roadless would have been valuable for retrieving aircraft that came to grief during take-off and landing.

Ruston & Hornsby 44/48HP, AMW165

RAF Chilmark was originally a limestone quarry near Chilmark in Wiltshire that closed in 1935. Purchased by the Air Ministry, it was used to store bombs and other munitions deep underground. In order to transport the explosives between the storage tunnels and the loading platforms for mainline trains, Chilmark had a narrow-gauge railway equipped with small Ruston and Hornsby diesel shunters.

The internal combustion engines were seen as safer around explosives than similar sized steam locomotives as there were no open flames or sparks that could cause an explosion. The Battle of Britain saw a huge demand for ammunition to keep the aircraft fighting, should any airfield have run out the consequences could have been disastrous. AMW165 entered RAF service in 1939 and served throughout the war shuttling munitions into storage. She can currently be seen on the Leighton Buzzard Light Railway.