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After the Fall of France, in June 1940, thousands of airmen from occupied Europe escaped to the United Kingdom to continue the fight against Hitler’s Germany. The largest contingents came from the east, and by August that year, there were some 8,400 Polish and 900 Czechoslovak personnel stationed here. For the Poles, who had been driven from their homeland in 1939, only to be forced to flee again, Britain was the ‘Island of Last Hope.’

Prime Minister Winston Churchill was happy for the continental airmen to join the Royal Air Force. He sought to show the world, and especially the neutral United States, that Britain and her Allies were committed to continuing, and winning, the war. He also knew that after suffering heavy losses in the Battle of France, the RAF was short of trained pilots and needed all the help it could get. For reasons of national prestige, the governments-in-exile established in London were also keen for their airmen to see action. This was all very well, but few of the Poles or Czechoslovaks spoke any English, and they came from countries with cultures, customs and traditions very different to those of their new hosts.

The first Polish airmen had arrived in Britain in December 1939. They were enlisted in the RAF Volunteer Reserve and took an oath of allegiance to the King. This was later amended under the terms of the Allied Forces Act of August 1940, which afforded the Polish Air Force independent status and allowed its personnel to swear loyalty to their homeland. In practice, the Poles remained fully integrated within the structure of the RAF with regard to operational control and in matters of organisation, training and discipline. The Czechoslovaks also joined the RAFVR, and there they stayed, principally because their small numbers necessitated the support of RAF ground crews.

The Slavs knew next to nothing about the British. One Czech pilot had read that they:

‘…. wore bowler hats and striped trousers, carried brief-cases and took no notice of anyone unless they were ill-treating a dog.’

While a Polish flyer was under the impression that:

<‘…the typical Englishman [differed] little in temperament from a fish.’

Pilot Officer Wladyslaw Nowak was invited to a lavish party, complete with orchestra, only to be asked by his well-meaning hostess if ‘Polish people lived in houses.’ Amused, he and a friend borrowed two violins and established their cultural credentials by playing a Brahms duet. It should be said that Nowak’s country had not enjoyed a good press in Britain before the war, being presented as a prickly, militaristic state determined to preserve its independence at any cost. Now, however, British propaganda sentimentalised the Poles, portraying them as romantic cavaliers who lived only to fly and fight.

The Czechoslovaks, for their part, had been memorably dismissed by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain as a people ‘in a far-away country…of whom we know nothing’; but while there may have been residual guilt in Britain at having let them down at Munich, in Whitehall, Czech refugees were viewed as politically suspect.

In fairness, the exiles presented very real political, social and administrative problems at a time of grave national peril. At all levels, the language barrier had a profound effect on interaction between the East Europeans and their RAF comrades; and it raised doubts about the wisdom of attempting to integrate them into Fighter Command’s complex system of command and control. The authority of Polish and Czechoslovak leaders, both civil and military, had been compromised by defeat, and it was by no means certain that they commanded the loyalty of their men. Furthermore, the presence in Slav units of communists and fascists was a disruptive element alarming to the British with their traditional mistrust of politicised fighting forces. Worse, although the exiles had been screened by British Intelligence, at least one Gestapo agent, the Czech Augustin Preucil, managed to infiltrate Fighter Command and there may well have been others. It is perhaps understandable in this context that neither the Poles nor Czechoslovaks were initially entrusted with detailed information about the workings of radar.

There were other issues to address. Conflict between the relatively relaxed discipline of the RAF and the disciplinary codes of the exiles surfaced; and on one occasion RAF officers were forced to intervene to prevent the execution by firing squad of a Czech pilot whose ‘crime’ had been to damage his Hurricane in a clumsy landing. Meanwhile, a full-blown fire-fight flared at Northolt between Polish airmen and a detachment of the Irish Guards in which, by some miracle, no one was killed. While this and other episodes were smoothed over by the RAF, they seemed to confirm the stereotype of the Slavs as difficult and a little wild.

The greatest cause for concern, however, was the morale of the Poles and Czechoslovaks; many of whom had been twice defeated by the Luftwaffe. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, the head of Fighter Command, had misgivings about employing them as he doubted their commitment and feared their presence in RAF squadrons would damage the morale of his men. Indeed, he appears to have envisaged the creation of Polish and Czechoslovak national squadrons as a ‘cordon sanitaire’ to isolate the contagion of defeatism he suspected they carried. It is worthy of note that he had no objection to exiles from Western Europe joining his squadrons.

On coming to Britain, Czech airman, Pilot Officer Tomas Vybiral, recorded his immediate impressions:

‘8th August 1940, arrived in England: this is the only…country that really wants to fight. Cannot compare with what has happened in France. The RAF is the best air force ever organised.’

Pilot Officer Stanislav Fejfar, another young Czech, agreed, writing in his diary:

‘We arrive at RAF Cosford, the buildings and organisation are perfect…I am impressed by the…RAF, these people are business-minded.’

He added: ‘I just want to get on with it and get into a British fighter cockpit.’

Fejfar’s last comment typifies the frustration so many Polish and Czechoslovak airmen felt at being, as they saw it, side-lined into attending language classes and studying King’s Regulations, when they were both ready and willing to fight.

Despite Dowding’s reservations, the shortage of trained fighter pilots eventually forced him to accept the introduction of Slav airmen into British squadrons. A total of 145 Poles fought in the Battle of Britain, nearly 100 of whom served with the RAF. They were joined by 88 Czechoslovaks, roughly half serving in British units. Four national fighter squadrons – Nos. 310 and 312 (Czechoslovak) and Nos. 302 and 303 (Polish) – were quickly formed and equipped with Hurricanes. Each was led by an RAF officer and RAF flight commanders with Polish or Czechoslovak understudies. One such flight commander, Canadian Flight Lieutenant John Kent, described his disappointment at being posted to No. 303 Squadron.

‘All I knew about the Polish Air Force was that it had only lasted about three days against the Luftwaffe and I had no reason to suppose that they would shine any more brightly operating from England.’
He was to be pleasantly surprised as the Slavs set about the task of defending Britain’s airspace with courage, skill and a will to win.
The first Polish victory came on 19 July 1940 when Pilot Officer Antoni Ostowicz of No. 145 Squadron shared in the destruction of a Heinkel He 111. Sadly, on 11 August, he became the first of his countrymen to be killed in the Battle. The first victory by a national unit – a Junkers Ju 88 – was achieved by No. 302 (Polish) Squadron on 20 August.

And on 24 August, Sergeant Antoni Glowacki of No. 501 Squadron despatched three Messerschmitt Me 109s and two Ju 88s, in three sorties, becoming ‘an ace in a day.’ The Royal Air Force Museum is privileged to hold his flying log book in its Archive.
Flight Lieutenant Gordon Sinclair, a flight commander with No. 310 Squadron, later described his men in battle:
‘The Czechs were totally disciplined. They did what was expected of them, though not necessarily what they were told to do, because they knew…instinctively what they were supposed to do.’

The story of No. 303 Squadron’s baptism of fire is probably familiar. On 30 August the Squadron was on a routine training flight near RAF Northolt, led by Squadron Leader Ronald Kellett, when Pilot Officer Ludwick Paszkiewicz spotted a formation of enemy aircraft being attacked by Hurricanes. Paszkiewicz alerted Kellet’s attention to the fight but, on receiving no reply, he broke formation and promptly shot down a Messerschmitt Me 110. When they landed, the Pole was reprimanded for his indiscipline and then congratulated on his success. That evening, Paszkiewicz, deeply religious and a teetotaller, got drunk for the first time in his life. The following day, No. 303 Squadron was declared operational.

Whether serving in RAF squadrons or in their national units, the East European airmen flew and fought superbly. They loved their high-performance Hurricanes and Spitfires and they relished meeting the enemy on equal terms. Miroslaw Feric, another 303 Squadron pilot, described the experience of shooting down an Me 109:

‘I caught up with him easily, he grew in my sights… it was time for firing. I did it quite calmly and I was not even excited, rather puzzled and surprised to see that it was so easy, quite different from Poland when you had to scrape and try until you were in a sweat, and then, instead of you getting the enemy he got you.’

The Poles and Czechoslovaks reinforced the squadrons of Fighter Command in the crucial five weeks between 24 August and 30 September when the shortage of pilots had become critical, and it appeared that the RAF might well lose the Battle. The statistics make interesting reading. The 145 Polish pilots, representing some five percent of Fighter Command’s overall strength, claimed 203 German aircraft for the loss of 29 of their number killed. This amounts to 15 percent of the Command’s total score or 1.4 enemy aircraft for every Pole engaged. Nearly three-quarters of the Polish pilots served in 11 Group, and, at the height of the Battle, they constituted 10 percent of the Group’s total strength. On 15 September 1940, now celebrated as ‘Battle of Britain Day’, one in five of the pilots in action was Polish. The Poles were ably assisted by Czechoslovak pilots serving in British units and in No. 310 Squadron based at Duxford in 12 Group; the Czechs being credited with destroying 59 enemy aircraft.

When they heard how well the exiles were fighting, the delighted British were generous with their praise. The King visited ‘303’ at Northolt and signed their Squadron chronicle (it was an unofficial diary so, technically, His Majesty was in breach of King’s Regulations); in Cabinet it was said that:
‘the morale of the Polish pilots is excellent and their bravery much above the average’;
and the British ground crews of 310 Squadron took to wearing Czech buttons on their tunics. Air Chief Marshal Dowding admitted he was wrong about the Poles, and would later write:
‘Had it not been for the magnificent material contributed by the Polish squadrons and their unsurpassed gallantry, I hesitate to say that the outcome of the battle would have been the same.’

Over the summer, the people of Britain took the East Europeans to their hearts, and young British women competed for the honour of dating a dashing Czech or Polish ‘fighter boy’. Indeed, such was the appeal of the Poles, British airmen acquired ‘POLAND’ shoulder flashes and spoke in broken English in the hope of improving their chances.

After an uncertain start, the RAF had trusted the exiles and they had repaid that trust with interest. More Polish squadrons were formed, and by VE Day, there were 15 PAF fighter, bomber, coastal and special duties units served by a force of 14,000 men and women. A total of 2,408 Poles were killed and they are commemorated on the Polish War Memorial at RAF Northolt.

Due to recruiting difficulties, the Czechoslovak contingent remained small, with only four squadrons, but the quality of the men engaged might be summed up by the motto of No. 312 Squadron: ‘Not Many but Much.’ Czechoslovaks served with distinction in all commands and out of 2,500 flying personnel, 511 were killed.

Sadly, whereas the airmen from Western Europe returned to their homelands as liberators, the Poles, and later the Czechoslovaks, watched helplessly as their countries were taken over by the communists. As those that returned home risked death or imprisonment, most opted to remain in Britain or to begin new lives abroad. A few hundred of the Slavs were readmitted to the peacetime RAF where some, such as such as Air Vice-Marshal Alec Maisner, a Pole, continued to serve into the 1970s.

The contribution of the Polish and Czechoslovak airmen to victory in the Battle of Britain was disproportionate to their numbers. What made them so good? Three main factors may be identified: their training; their experience; and their motivation. Though small and poorly-equipped, the pre-war Polish Air Force boasted some of the best trained pilots in the world. Entry into the Air Force Academy at Deblin was extremely competitive, and cadets underwent a rigorous medical examination which eliminated all but the very best. Training was demanding for the cadets and conditions austere: it toughened them up physically and mentally. As one pilot later wrote, ‘Those four years gave me a lifetime’s armour plating.’

The gunnery of PAF fighter pilots was exceptional and, for maximum effect, they were trained to fly very close to the enemy before opening fire. Pilots also practiced flying straight at one another, only breaking at the last possible moment, as a way of gauging distance and developing nerve. Though traditionally individualistic, the Poles placed emphasis on team fighting, and on the importance of going to the aid of a comrade in danger. Incidentally, Sergeant Frantisek’s notorious lack of discipline was not appreciated by his comrades, who only hit on the solution of letting him fly as a guest of ‘303’ as an option to having him posted off the Squadron altogether.

Pilots were above all trained to use their eyes, and in combat, the Poles’ extraordinary vision usually made them the first to see the enemy and the first to respond. A pilot explained the phenomenon:
‘The British have efficient radio telephony. We had not. Therefore, we had to make eyes do the work of ears.’
The pre-war Czechoslovak Air Force was also highly selective, and in 1933, only 22 cadets from the military academy at Hranice progressed to advanced aircrew training. The syllabus at the Central Flying School at Prostejov was divided equally between aviation theory, flying training and athletics, and discipline was stern. Those that stayed the exacting year-long course found themselves posted to the highly motivated, and relatively competitive, Czechoslovak Air Force. By the time of the Munich Crisis of September 1938, the CzAF comprised six regional Air Regiments and was equipped with more than 1,500 aircraft, 800 of which were front-line types. With the German occupation, in March 1939, the CzAF was disbanded, but 470 airmen escaped to France and were temporarily enlisted in the French Foreign Legion. A further 93 airmen, including Sergeant Frantisek, were accepted into the ranks of the Polish Air Force.

With the outbreak of war, on 1 September 1939, the Polish Air Force’s 300 mostly obsolete aircraft were opposed by the German Luftwaffe equipped with over 1,300 modern fighters and bombers. The PAF’s squadrons were not, however, destroyed on the ground in the first days of the campaign, as is often thought, but had been intelligently dispersed to forward airfields located around the country. The Polish pilots fought well, and in the brief campaign managed to shoot down 126 enemy machines for the loss of 114 of their own.

Following the Soviet invasion and German victory, most of the airmen left Poland and were interned in camps in Rumania, Hungary and elsewhere before escaping to France to continue the war. Once there, their superior training and that most precious commodity – combat experience – stood them in good stead. Although only engaged in the latter part of the Battle of France, Polish pilots destroyed 56 German aircraft.

The Czechoslovak airmen were allowed to leave the Foreign Legion to join the French Air Force. They acquitted themselves well in the Battle of France, claiming 100 enemy aircraft for the loss of 18 killed. A fair few of these were shared victories, however. Some of the Czechoslovaks serving with the Polish Air Force, such as Josef Frantisek, also saw action in 1939.

By the time they reached this country, the Slav pilots had undergone what has been characterised as a process of ‘natural selection.’ In other words, those that had experienced Blitzkrieg twice – and survived – clearly had something going for them. Of course, flying with the RAF was very different to anything they had experienced hitherto, and their poor English impeded their progress. In addition, the novelty of Imperial, rather than metric measurements, and aircraft with retractable undercarriages, caused a number of minor accidents. Nevertheless, in spite of these problems, the word coming out of the Operational Training Units in July 1940, was that the Slavs were very good, and that they were flying their Spitfires and Hurricanes to the limit.

The exiles knew they were good, and they were, moreover, highly critical of the RAF’s outmoded battle formations and tactics. Rather than adopting the inflexible parade ground ‘Vic’, they had learned to fly in more open formations. Their tactics were also more versatile – and more deadly – than the RAF’s clumsy Fighting Area Attacks. Trained to get in close, the Poles made the most of their eight rifle-calibre machine guns. All of the Hurricanes on 303 Squadron had their guns harmonised to converge at 200 yards, rather than the standard RAF 400 yards spread, or the 250 yards favoured by more experienced British pilots.

However, while the Poles and Czechoslovaks fought with aggression, they were far from the suicidal cavaliers of legend. They had both the confidence, and the ability, to take calculated risks, but they were not reckless. Indeed, ‘302’ and ‘303’ each lost only eight pilots in the campaign, a casualty figure much lower than that of most other squadrons. The Czechoslovaks, for their part, suffered only nine pilots killed.

Polish ground personnel were also highly skilled and their dedication, efficiency and capacity for hard work made for high rates of serviceability on the two national Squadrons. The ground crews’ ‘finest hour’ came after the fighting on 15 September, when 303 Squadron’s Flying Officer Wiorkiewicz, and his team, managed overnight to restore nine apparently un-repairable Hurricanes for the next day’s operations.

As for motivation, the contribution of the Polish and Czechoslovak airmen must be seen against the backdrop of the Nazi occupation of Eastern Europe and its attendant horrors. The exiles received enough information from their homelands to know that those they loved lived under constant threat of arrest, deportation and execution. To protect people at home, the airmen used assumed names or covered their faces when posing for photographs.

Hitler’s plan was for Poland to be wiped from the map and its people to act as slaves until their eventual elimination as a race in about 1975. Some statistics: Poland lost 6.5 million souls, the highest proportion of any of the combatant nations. Warsaw alone, suffered 700,000 dead, more than the death tolls of the UK and USA combined. Overall, the country is estimated to have lost 38 per cent of its national assets. Britain, in comparison, lost 0.8 per cent and France 1.5 per cent. After the war, a Polish writer commented:

‘The Germans worked long and hard to impart to the Poles an emotion largely alien to their character – hate. They succeeded in the end.’

Czechoslovakia suffered less in comparison, but in excess of 350,000 people were killed by the Germans – most infamously the entire populations of the villages of Lidice and Lezaky. Nazi Germany’s long-term aim was to deport and murder most of the Czech population.

Hate drove some of the Slavs to shoot enemy airmen in their parachutes: a habit they had learned from the Germans in 1939. On 31 August, Squadron Leader Alexander Hess of 310 Squadron attacked a Dornier which crash-landed near Epping Forest. He had recently received the news that his wife and daughter in Czechoslovakia had been killed, so he followed it down, determined to finish off the crew. Three Germans emerged from the wreckage who, on seeing him, held up their hands. He told a comrade:

‘I hesitate, then it was too late, so I go around again to make sure I kill them – they wave something white – again I do not shoot – then I think it is no use – I am become too bloody British!’

Many of the Slavs found comfort and strength in religion; and for all the pain and suffering they had experienced, few doubted that God was on their side. On 27 September, Ludwick Paszkiewicz was killed. His friend, Pilot Officer Jan Zumbach, ordinarily a cynic with a sharp wit, wrote:

‘He gave his life high up there, somewhere, where earthly matters are so distant, the rays of the sun so pure, and God so close.’

On 2 September 1940, No. 303 Squadron was involved in a combat near Dover in which one pilot, Sergeant Jan Rogowski, demonstrated the qualities that set the Eastern European airmen apart. According to the Combat Report, now held in the Archive of the RAF Museum, the Squadron was patrolling at 19,000 feet, when Rogowski saw a formation of nine Me 109s at 22,000 feet, diving down on them out of the sun. Instantly assessing the situation, he delivered a head-on attack, which broke and dispersed the Germans. In a fierce battle over the Channel, Rogowski and Sergeant Frantisek each shot down a Messerschmitt, Pilot Officer Henneberg probably destroyed another, and Pilot Officer Feric damaged a fourth. In doing so, Feric’s engine was disabled, and so, shutting it down, he prepared to attempt to glide back across the sea to England. Sergeant Rogowski immediately took station as his escort. Both were in turn covered by other pilots until Feric effected a forced landing at Eythorne.

Typically, it was a Pole that saw the enemy first: the RAF officers leading the Squadron are not mentioned in the report. Typically, Rogowski had the courage, the skill and the confidence to take a calculated risk, which, on this occasion, paid off handsomely. Typically, he then made the most of his advantage, shooting down a Messerschmitt himself while the others successfully engaged the enemy. And, typically, he stayed with a stricken comrade until he was sure he was safe. The Squadron’s British Intelligence Officer, Flying Officer Hadwan, was suitably impressed writing:

‘The Polish pilots showed up very well in this action, working in intelligent combination and pressing their attack right home. Sgt Rogowski deserves special commendation for his quick and courageous attack which probably saved the Squadron from what might have been a disastrous surprise.’

It would be easy to portray Jan Rogowski and his Polish and Czechoslovak comrades as supermen, but this was far from the case. They were, however, highly trained, highly experienced and highly motivated professionals on top of their game. To its credit, the RAF was quick to recognise the calibre of the men serving with them, and it should be congratulated for allowing the exiles their head. The RAF was also meritocratic, and it is perhaps enough to say that it encouraged the best and the brightest of two principled, courageous and resourceful nations to participate fully in the defence of Britain, and of what remained of European civilisation.

Let the last words be those of Johnny Kent, who, you will remember, had been reluctant to serve with the Poles. On leaving ‘303’ he added the following to the Squadron Chronicle:
‘Best wishes and all the luck in the world. To the finest Squadron in the whole world, and with profound thanks for keeping me alive and teaching me to fight…’

He appears to have meant it, for not long after he broke the nose of a British Army officer unwise enough to refuse to stand for the Polish national anthem.

Recommended Reading

‘The Forgotten Few: The Polish Air Force in the Second World War’, Adam Zamoyski (John Murray, 1995)
‘Airmen in Exile: The Allied Air Forces in the Second World War’, Alan Brown (Sutton Publishing, 2000)
‘Poles in Defence of Britain: A Day-by-Day Chronology of Polish Day and Night Fighter Pilot Operations, July 1940-June 1941’, Robert Gretzyngier (Grub Street, 2001)
‘No. 310 (Czechoslovak) Squadron, 1940-1945’, Tomaš Polák (Aero Editions International, 2006)
‘303 (Polish) Squadron Battle of Britain Diary’, Richard King (Red Kite, 2010)
‘Squadron Leader Wladyslaw Jan Nowak: Biography’ (Ed. Wojtek Matusiak, 2012)
‘Blood on Their Wingtips: A Second World War Timeline for No. 303 (Kosciuszko) Polish Squadron at RAF Northolt’, Nina Britton Boyle (BookTower Publishing, 2016)
‘One of the Few’, John Alexander Kent (The History Press, 2017)

Following the end of the War in Europe, America and Britain now focused their efforts on the defeat of Japan. By July the Americans had occupied the island of Okinawa, the last step of their island hopping campaign before the invasion of the Japanese mainland. The Burma campaign had almost come to an end and, Commonwealth troops were preparing for Operation Zipper, an amphibious landing on the coast of Malaya. It was expected that the war against Japan might continue well into 1946 if conducted by conventional methods. However, the successful detonation of an atomic bomb in New Mexico on 16 July changed everything. In this blog post, I will illustrate through the use of archive documents and memoirs how a few men of the RAF in the Far East heard of the Japanese surrender and how VJ (Victory against Japan) Day was celebrated.

On 26 July at the Potsdam Conference, Britain, America and China made the Potsdam Declaration calling for the unconditional surrender of Japan. The declaration had stated that failure to comply would lead Japan to face ’prompt and utter destruction’. The Japanese rejected the ultimatum and so it was on the 6 August that the US Army Air Force (USAAF) dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima to be followed three days later, on the same day the Soviet Union declared war on Japan, with another on Nagasaki.

The next day the Japanese government, through Swiss intermediaries sought to accept the Potsdam Declaration, news of the potential surrender lead to premature celebrations to the end of the war. The headlines in the ‘The Rangoon Liberator’ of 11 August announced ‘Japan Surrenders: Rangoon goes wild with joy’. It was reported that British and Indian serviceman were celebrating and singing in the street, British soldiers shouting ‘Roll on the ship home’ and the Indian troops ‘Angris-ki Jai’ which reportedly means ‘Up the British’, although the newspaper goes on to report that the White House and Downing Street had not confirmed the news.

No. 79 Squadron which was stationed at Meiktila in Burma, operating Republic Thunderbolts in the ground-attack role, were also premature in their celebrations of VJ Day as their Squadron diary recorded

After five days of background negotiations the ceasefire was agreed to and on 15 August at 12.00 Japanese Summer Time the Emperor addressed his people on the radio, for the very first time, to announce the surrender.

It is unlikely that No. 31 Squadron could have gone ‘madly gay’ as although the war was over the Douglas Dakota transport aircraft they flew were still required to support the Army and Special Operations Executive Force 136 . Likewise, No. 356 Squadron operating Consolidated Liberators from the Cocos Islands recorded no celebrations in their unit diary and no let-up in their operations flying four to five sorties a day throughout August dropping Red Cross supplies and humanitarian aid across Malaya and Sumatra.

Also serving on the Cocos islands was Buster Honour, who was caught by the surprising speed with which the war came to an end. In a letter of 16 August to his mother he wrote:

The war finishing so swiftly really shook me, and all the rest of the boys too I never expected to see an end for at least another nine months. We out here, were only just beginning to start the war. That’s of course with the exception of the Burma boys. Of course everyone here is eager to get back as soon as possible.

For others like Corporal George Newman, who was to about to enter the theatre onboard His Majesty’s Troopship Empress of Australia. A member of No. 5358 Airfield Construction Wing, they had just sailed from Hawaii in order to construct and maintain airfields on Pacific islands from which RAF heavy bombers of ‘Tiger Force’ would operate against Japan, when news of the Japanese surrender came through. The ships printing press quickly produced a souvenir air mail letter on which Newman writes to his mother ‘…our plans are now likely to be revised and our destination changed, not yet a while to go home, but almost certainly to a healthier spot than the original one. ‘

Instead of the Pacific islands , HMT Empress Australia sailed straight for Hong Kong and No. 5838 Wing set about making RAF Kai Tak operational again. Others like Cpl L Ransom, who had spent four years in the Far East as a driver, were just eager to get home, as he wrote in his memoir that he ‘…was browned off and totally exhausted and I just longed for my boat ticket to arrive…’ . On 12 August he received news that he was to go home, along with two other colleagues from his unit they were at a transit camp in Rangoon on the night of VJ Day

The offices of the Burma Railways-devoid of everything, even the odd chair-served as the transit camp. There was no lighting, no nothing in fact. So, on a night when the 3 of us might have been celebrating VJ Day, there we were, with one bottle of beer we had managed to obtain, squatting on the floor with just the light of a candle to brighten proceedings.

However, dismal Cpl Ransom’s surroundings may have been they were better than the Prisoner of War camp in which Wing Commander Humphrey Sullivan was incarcerated in. Sullivan had been the Air Officer Commanding, Hong Kong at the time of its capture in 1941. Sullivan’s diary records on 5 August ‘Have got my fifth dose of amoebic dysentery for which there is no Emetine. Weight now 123lbs (56kg)’. On 10 August Sullivan writes ‘Red letter day’ it is unclear if this is hearing the news of the possible surrender of the Japanese or of the dropping of the second atomic bomb. On 16 August the news of the surrender reaches the camp and Sullivan writes ‘After 5 days of dreadful suspense of rumour and ? we have heard the wonderful news.’

The news of the surrender reached Sullivan quickly, for some the news took longer to filter through James McEwan, was an RAF Prisoner of War on the Japanese mainland where he was imprisoned at Ohama, here prisoners of war were forced to work in a coal mine. After many months of malnutrition and over work in the mines, McEewan was placed on the sick list and set to work in the camp’s garden. On 9 August a fellow prisoner pointed out something strange in the sky

All work had come to a stand still. The men leaned on their chunkals…Every eye was fixed on something that had just made its appearance in the sky. …a gigantic column of smoke was rising swiftly into the high heavens , its outer skin glowing with a nacreous iridescence, within it something writhing as if alive and struggling to get out.. Its head bulged out, spreading like a mushroom in the sky. Fascinated and awestruck, each man continued to gaze, saying nothing.

The two officers returned to camp worried that their bluff might be called, then at noon the camp gates opened and the Japanese trooped in to surrender their arms, the healthiest prisoners taking the most modern looking weapons and forming a guard. Two days later a Japanese officer appeared with an interpreter to inform the prisoners that the war was over and that they would soon be under the Allied authorities.

As was witnessed by McEwan it took time for the news of the surrender to filter across the expanse of Japanese occupied territories in South East Asia and the Pacific islands. The final official surrender was not signed until 2 September onboard the USS Missouri, the day that America recognises as VJ Day and also the date that the two British campaign medals for the Far East, the Burma and Pacific Stars, have as their end qualifying date.

With the war over priorities suddenly changed and some forces were redirected into the three new tasks facing South East Asia Command – the recovery and repatriation of Allied prisoners of war and internees; the rounding up and repatriation of Japanese occupation forces and the return of much of the territory to colonial rule. The war was over but there was still much work to be done.

Sources

Operations Record Books of Nos. 31, 79 & 356 Squadron, The National Archives
Rangoon Liberator, 11 August 1945
‘A Goldstar Century’ by Ian Hall
‘The Remorseless Road’ by James McEwan
Papers of Cpl John Oliver Payne, 1942-1948 , X008-5312
Letters written by LAC V.K. “Buster” Honour, X003-6707/008
Letter from Cpl G H Newman to his mother, X002-9325/001
Prisoner of War diary of Wg Cdr Humphrey Sullivan, B573
‘Where there’s a Wheel’ memoir by L Ransom, B4270

Following the twin successes in 2018-2019 of ‘Hidden Heroes: The Unknown Story of Jewish Personnel in the Royal Air Force’ and ‘Hidden Heroes: RAF Gibraltarian Stories’, the RAF Museum is now committed to highlighting the South Asian contribution to Britain’s flying services. The Museum is undertaking this project because we are entrusted with telling the story of the RAF Family, which has strong and vibrant branches all over the world. Moreover, we are conscious of the need to provide exhibitions and outreach that are inspiring and relevant to all of our visitors, including growing numbers of British people of South Asian heritage.

The South Asian initiative was launched at an enjoyable and highly successful event at the RAF Museum London on the evening of 23 January 2020. Organised in partnership with Mackrell Solicitors, the event attracted eighty guests; among them senior RAF and Indian Air Force officers and the CEOs of Indian businesses and British firms operating in the subcontinent. The media coverage was very positive, with Indian television’s CNN-News 18 and UK-based weekly ‘Asian Voice’ running features.

Air Commodore Prashant Mohan VM, Air Adviser at the Indian High Commission, opened proceedings with a speech honouring the enduring relationship between the Indian Air Force and its parent Service. Maggie Appleton MBE, CEO of the RAF Museum, then gave a presentation about the South Asian people who have chosen to serve in, and alongside, the RAF over time. The first part of Maggie’s thought-provoking and well-received paper examined the Indian volunteers who served during the First World War.

On 4 August 1914, Britain and her Empire declared war on Germany. Over the next four years, 1.3 million volunteers enlisted in the Indian Army, serving on the Western Front, at Gallipoli, in the Middle East and in Africa. Some 74,000 of these men lost their lives and 67,000 were wounded. India bore the cost of this huge army, while offering Britain generous financial loans and gifts and providing vital raw materials and foodstuffs. Indian people also purchased presentation aircraft for the British flying services, such as the RAF Museum’s De Havilland DH9a, one of 18 gifted by the Nizam of Hyderabad.

Why did Indians volunteer to fight for Britain? Like young men all over the Empire, some enlisted for economic or personal reasons or to seek adventure. There were those, however, that considered Britain the ‘mother country’ and identified with her culture, institutions and professed ideals. For them, the war was being fought to defend civilisation, and they were prepared to travel over 4,700 miles to play their part. What is more, they hoped that by proving their loyalty on the battlefield, they would show Britain that they deserved better treatment and ultimately independence from colonial rule. Indian nationalist and spiritual leader Mahatma Gandhi supported the war for this reason, writing: ‘The gateway to our freedom is situated on French soil.’

The British Armed Forces, for their part, maintained a ‘colour bar’ and few BAME volunteers were accepted. Officer commissions were also denied to anyone not of ‘pure European descent.’ However, as the forces expanded, and casualties rose, this restriction was relaxed and a small number of South Asian volunteers joined the Royal Flying Corps (RFC), Royal Naval Air Service and, from 1 April 1918, the unified Royal Air Force.

Shri Chanda Welinkar was born in Mumbai (Bombay) on 24 October 1894 and read History and Law at Jesus College, Cambridge. He later learned to fly privately at Hendon, receiving RAeC Certificate 3327 on 10 August 1916. While training, Welinkar stayed in Booth Road, Colindale, a two-minute walk from the RAF Museum today.

Welinkar applied to become an RFC pilot, but despite his qualifications, was rejected. The young Indian instead joined the Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry in February 1917 but was finally commissioned into the RFC in March.

On 10 April 1918, Lieutenant Welinkar was posted to fly Sopwith Dolphins with No. 23 Squadron at Bertangles, in France, during Germany’s massive Spring Offensive. On the morning of 27 June, he attacked an enemy reconnaissance aircraft that had crossed the lines, but his fighter was then shot down by a Fokker Triplane of Jasta 40 and crashed at Peronne. Three days later, Shri Krishna Welinkar died of his injuries in the field hospital at Rouvery. After the war, a headstone was placed on his grave in the Hangard Communal Cemetery inscribed ‘To the Honoured Memory of One of the Empire’s Bravest Sons.’

After training, Second Lieutenant Malik was sent to Belgium to fly Sopwith Camels with No. 28 Squadron. His flight commander was Captain William Barker, a Canadian pilot who would later win the Victoria Cross for gallantry. On 26 October 1917, Barker took him across the lines on an ill-thought out attack on an enemy airfield in poor weather. They were surprised by a large formation of German fighters, and although Malik shot one down, his Camel was peppered with 400 bullets. While he escaped with his life, bullet fragments would remain lodged in his knee for the rest of his life.

Soon afterwards, No. 28 Squadron was despatched to Italy where Malik became allergic to the castor oil lubricating the engine of his Sopwith Camel. Posted back to the UK in February 1918, he joined No. 141 Squadron, which flew two-seat Bristol F2b Fighters on Home Defence duties. While Malik was defending Britain from the menace of German Zeppelins and Gotha bombers, his unique flying helmet earned him the nickname ‘The Hob-Goblin of Biggin Hill.’

Malik was undoubtedly popular with his brother officers, but he described an ugly incident in his memoirs:

‘One night in the mess a South African pilot asked what we were coming to, having Indians in the air force. My Observer, a Scot, lunged across the table and gripped his throat till he apologised. The South African left the squadron.’

In the summer of 1918, Lieutenant Malik went to France and again flew ‘Brisfits’ with No. 11 Squadron until the Armistice. After the war, he enjoyed a distinguished career as a civil servant and diplomat, and was involved in the discussions that, in 1932, led to the creation of the Indian Air Force. Hardit Singh Malik, the ‘Flying Sikh’, died in New Delhi on 30 October 1985.

Errol Suvo Chunder Sen was born in 1899 at Alipore in Kolkata (Calcutta). Educated in England, he worked in a bank until he was old enough for military service. Sen joined the RFC on 24 April 1917, and learned to fly Sopwith Camels. On 25 August, he was posted, with the rank of Second Lieutenant, to No. 70 Squadron at Poperinghe, Belgium, during the Third Battle of Ypres. On 14 September, Sen shot down an Albatros fighter, but was himself attacked by another enemy aircraft, which damaged his Camel forcing him to land on the German side of the lines. He was captured and sent to Holzminden, a prison camp notorious for the mistreatment of its inmates.

 While at Holzminden, Sen was involved in the mass escape by tunnel of 24 July 1918, in which 29 officers escaped and 10 managed to make it safely back to Britain. Sen was, however, unable to break out and remained at the camp until the end of the war.

Lieutenant Sen returned to his family in England in December 1918 and was released from the RAF in May the following year. According to author Somnath Sapru, those close to him noticed that he had been changed by the war: ‘there was a deep hurt, a melancholic look in his eyes which silently said: I have seen enough.’ After the war, Errol Sen joined the Calcutta Police and then held a variety of jobs in Rangoon in Myanmar (Burma). He appears to have found it hard to settle. With the Japanese invasion of Myanmar in December 1941, Sen decided to walk out of the country and was never seen again.

Indra Lal Roy was born into a close and loving family in Kolkata, West Bengal, on 2 December 1898. Nicknamed ‘Laddie’, Roy was a pupil at St Paul’s School in West London when war broke out in 1914. Laddie was fascinated by aviation and determined to become a fighter pilot like his hero, Captain Albert Ball VC. As soon as he was old enough, he joined the RFC and was commissioned as an officer on 5 July 1917. While training at the British Flying School at Vendome, in France, he wrote to his sister, Leila, promising to buy her an RFC sweetheart brooch. His letter is held in the Museum’s archive.

Second Lieutenant Roy joined No. 56 Squadron in France on 30 October 1917, but on 6 December, he crashed his SE5a fighter and was injured. Roy was sent back to England for remedial training and while there, was classified as medically unfit to fly. Laddie refused to give up on being a pilot, however, and on 19 June 1918, he was posted to No. 40 Squadron in France. One officer remembered him as: ‘…a thorough little gentleman, handsome and as full of guts as a gamecock.’

Laddie Roy’s flight commander was the gifted Irish fighter ace, Captain George McElroy, who had himself been a slow-starter and prone to accidents. McElroy taught him all he knew about air fighting and Roy proved an excellent pupil. In an extraordinary run of success from 6 – 19 July 1918, he shot down 10 German aircraft; a rate of scoring comparable to those of the greatest aces of the war. Sadly, on the morning of 22 July, just three days after his last victory, Roy was killed, aged 19, when his SE5a was shot down in flames by Fokker D VIIs of Jasta 29.

On 21 September 1918, Lieutenant Indra Lal Roy, India’s first fighter ‘ace’, was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. The citation described him as ‘A very gallant and determined officer.’ Although Laddie’s mother, Lolita, was beside herself with grief, she was content for her son’s body to rest in the cemetery at Estevelles in France. She later explained that he: ‘had offered his life as a sacrifice for the Peace of the world and it had been accepted.’

Lieutenants Welinkar, Malik, Sen and Roy were educated, skilled and brave. Yet, they were forced to contend with prejudice and discrimination, and despite their achievements, the restriction against non-European enlistment in the British Armed Forces was quietly restored after the war.

Nevertheless, a precedent had been set, and future generations would look to the four pioneer air fighters for inspiration. Subroto Mukerjee, Laddie Roy’s nephew, served as a pilot during the Second World War and later rose to become the first South Asian commander of the Indian Air Force. And, today, exactly 102 years after Indra Lal Roy’s death in action, the RAF is considered one of the very best employers of BAME people.

Not long before he died, Hardit Singh Malik wrote:

‘Much of the tension that exists in the world today is due to this arrogant nonsense of racism. It constitutes one of the major problems of our time and undoubtedly is one of the greatest dangers to world peace.’

Perhaps we are at last heeding the Indian hero’s warning.

I am indebted to historian Andrew D. Bird for the information about Francis Urquhart, H.S. Malik’s tutor at Balliol and for supplying the image of Lieutenant Jeejeebhoy Piroshaw Bomanjee Jeejeebhoy.

Further reading:

‘Skyhawks’, Somnath Sapru (Writer’s Workshop, India, 2006)

www.cwgc.org:Lieutenant Shri Krishna Chanda Welinkar

https://aiucentre.wordpress.com/2015/06/10/a-camel-for-india-hardit-singh-malik/:Hardit Singh Malik:A Camel for India

https://balliolarchivist.wordpress.com/2014/08/14/ww1-hardit-singh-malik-balliol-1912//:Hardit Singh Malik

On 28 June 1940, the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) was a year old. It had certainly been a challenging but formative first year.

Rapid growth

The WAAF was established to support the RAF in a time of war. When the Second World War began it was just a few months old. Recruitment got underway at an accelerated pace.

The call for volunteers went out and the response took the authorities by surprise. A London policeman is reported to have said to the Director of the WAAF, Jane Trefusis-Forbes: ‘But have you seen them Madam! The queue stretches from Victory House, down Kingsway, through the Aldwych and along the Strand almost to Whitehall.’

Pre-war estimates had suggested that the WAAF would be limited to 5,000 personnel during the conflict. On 3 September 1939, the WAAF already numbered 1,700 (the pre-war members of the RAF Companies of the Auxiliary Territorial Service). In the first month of the war, this had risen to over 8,000 women.

Due to this overwhelming response it was decided to pause recruitment until 1 April 1940. When it resumed, volunteers continued to enrol. With conscription being introduced during 1941, WAAF strength continued to rise with a peak of 183,000 reached during 1943.

Challenges

This rapid growth and the timing of the recruitment placed tremendous pressure on the preparations being made for running the new organisation, setting up facilities and obtaining supplies.

With echoes of the First World War and the Women’s Royal Air Force (WRAF) experience there were plenty of issues to resolve. This included shortages and delays in terms of accommodation, the supply of uniform and training. All of which had an impact on those women who had volunteered to serve. However, through hard-work, ingenuity, and dedication, progress was made. On one occasion, staff from the WAAF Directorate were sent on shopping trips to the West End shops in London and warehouses in the East End to try and source items to fill the gaps.

Gradually during the year major obstacles were overcome. This included a clearer understanding of how the WAAF would be run, in relation to the RAF. Some issues however continued to be debated within the Air Ministry.

Volunteers

During the first year of the war there was a strong enthusiasm to be involved and to contribute. Women aged between 18 and 43, from all walks of life, backgrounds and different parts of society joined the WAAF. Their motivation for doing so, as well as an acceptance of some hardships in support of the war effort, certainly helped many WAAF to overcome the uncertainties and challenges they personally experienced during the ‘nightmare winter of 39-40’ – one of the coldest on record – and the rest of that first year.

Support was available from different sources including voluntary services, and the RAF Comforts Committee. Lord Nuffield provided financial funds to the WAAF during the whole war as well as a Christmas gift in 1939 of wireless sets. Donated items such as furniture and curtains also helped the women to make bare barrack blocks more homely. Alongside work commitments and communal living, shared activities such as the establishment of unit/station bands strengthened camaraderie and helped with morale.

Establishing basic aspects of active service life like a fulltime rate of pay and allowances (although 2/3 and 4/5 respectively of the male rates) certainly helped and the financial compensation payments for the lack of uniform items were welcomed. For some however it proved too much, and many women left the service. As the WAAF was not subject to the Air Force Act at this time, there was nothing stopping them from doing so, and requests when received were not refused.

Contribution

Against this backdrop of challenging circumstances those serving in the WAAF got to work in the UK.

The main purpose of the WAAF was to substitute men for women so RAF personnel could undertake other duties. During its first year, this had been established initially for six trades. Traditional roles which involved clerical and domestic duties were heavily substituted but innovative trades such as mechanical transport drivers and radar operators were also available and popular among the recruits. More trades were gradually opened up so that by the Spring of 1940 the WAAF could work in 15 trades.

Unfortunately, during the year, Aircraftwoman II Yvonne Rockingham became the first WAAF to die during active service in the Second World War. She was a 39-year old cook and married to an Air Ministry driver. She passed away in December 1939 after a week’s illness and was buried with military honours.

Daphne Pearson became the first WAAF to receive a bravery award – the George Cross – for her actions on 31 May 1940. She was serving as a Sick Quarters Attendant at RAF Detling when she rescued a pilot from a crashed aircraft and protected him from an exploding bomb. To find out more: https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/blog/personal-stories-from-our-new-exhibition/

The first year for the WAAF was a challenging one while it not only established itself as an organisation but also as one of value to the RAF during wartime. The experiences of those who served were varied but sharing difficult experiences can help to form strong bonds. By the time the WAAF had its first birthday a ‘esprit de corps’ within the WAAF had been created which would be crucial in the years to come.

This blog was prompted by my cataloguing of the papers of Air Vice Marshal Sir John Whitworth-Jones and his son Flight Lieutenant (Flt Lt) Michael Whitworth-Jones, which included two photographs albums of Michael’s service with No. 77 Squadron Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) during the Korean War. This also being the 70th anniversary year of the outbreak of the Korean War in June 1950, I thought I would research the contribution made by the small number of pilots who served with No. 77 Squadron in Korea.

No. 77 Squadron had an eventful war, in a little over three years the Squadron flew over 18,600 sorties, over 15,000 in the Gloster Meteor, 30 aircraft had been lost to enemy action, 22 to accidents, 40 pilots were killed, during which the squadron had destroyed ‘3700 buildings, 1408 vehicles, 98 railway trains and carriages, sixteen bridges and at least five MiGs’[1], expending over 34,000 rockets and 700,000 rounds of 20mm ammunition.

China had been sending signals that it would not tolerate American Forces on its border, however, the warnings went unheeded and it came as a complete surprise to UN forces when they encountered the Chinese, not only on the ground but also in the air. Until this time UN air forces had enjoyed air supremacy, this all changed on 1 November when MiG-15s were sighted for the first time. The MiG-15 was a swept wing jet, technologically superior to any UN aircraft then in theatre. Its appearance shocked the UN air forces. 

The RAAF and the Australian government were concerned about the safety of No. 77 Squadron’s pilots and aircraft in the face of the new threat. Air Marshal George Jones, the RAAF’s Chief of the Air Staff stated that it was ‘suicidal’ to allow Mustangs to face MiGs in air-to-air. The Australians quickly sought to reequip No. 77 Squadron with a jet aircraft, their preference was for the North American F-86 Sabre, however, no F-86s were available as all production was required by the United States Air Force (USAF). The Australian Air Board were advised ‘that you re-equip No. 77 Squadron with jet aircraft from British sources as early as you can do it ‘. [2]

The British Government quickly approved the sale of 36 Meteor F8s and four T7 Trainers on 6 December and arrangements were made for the despatch of the first aircraft to Japan. In the interim No. 77 Squadron continued operating the Mustang in ground attack operations in Korea.

In preparation for the arrival of the Meteor a technical team visited Britain and a training team of four experienced RAF Meteor pilots was sent to Japan to assist in the conversion to the Meteor. The first to arrive were Flt Lt Frank Easley from No. 63 Squadron and Flt Lt Colin ‘Joe’ Blyth of No. 203 Advanced Flying School (AFS) who joined the squadron on 1 March 1951, they were described as

‘An adventurous pair, bursting with enthusiasm and energy, and quickly talked the commanding officer into letting them fly the Mustangs in combat over Korea…. Because, at the time, there was a shortage of Australian Mustang pilots, and a lot of close air support work was called for from the “ground pounders”, they managed to get in a lot of missions.’ [3]

Flt Lt Max Scannell from HQ 12 Group and Flight Sergeant (FS) Reg Lamb also from No. 203 AFS arrived a little later. Max Scannell, the leader of the team, was a New Zealander who had joined the RNZAF in the Pacific theatre. He joined the RAF in 1947 and was posted to No. 247 Squadron with Meteor F4s, Scannell was an exceptional pilot and represented the RAF in aerobatic competitions. Scannell and Lamb were equally keen to gain combat experience and they ‘flew every day they could get a ride’. No. 77 Squadron’s commanding officer, Dick Creswell recalled ‘we had four excellent bloody RAF instructors, they were marvellous’ [4]

Joe Blyth recalls the nature of operations in which he flew the Mustang,

‘We mainly carried out close-support and interdiction. I also did escort to photo reconnaissance planes and was involved in support of downed pilots… We carried, most often, rockets and napalm. It was usually necessary to light the dropped napalm with machine-gun fire, since they did not explode… I picked up some damage from ground fire but was lucky not sustain anything too harmful.’ [5]

So keen was Blyth to fly on operations in Korea that he was mentioned in a song,

Now one newcomer’s keen to fly,
It’s Flight Lieutenant Joey Blyth
Two hundred hours a month he’d try,
It’s foolish but it’s fun [6]

On 6 April 1951, No. 77 Squadron flew their last Mustang operations and the squadron left Korea for Iwakuni, Japan to begin conversion training to the Meteor. Conversion comprised a series of lectures given by the RAF team and the engineers who had travelled to Britain earlier in the year. Flying training began with two flights in the T7 with an RAF instructor before a pilot soloed on the F8. In addition to learning to fly and operate the Meteor, pilots took time to practice asymmetric flying should an engine fail and also were required to develop instrument flying and ground controlled approach an area that Cresswell had noted was not being taught adequately to Australian pilots but an essential skill due to the poor weather often experienced in Korea.

By July 1951 it was felt the Squadron was ready to return to operations in the air-to-air fighter role, the work of the RAF training team now over and they became exchange pilots serving as members of the squadron and like their Australian colleagues were eager to see how the Meteor would compare in combat with the MiG. A fighter sweep along the River Yalu on 29 July 1951, marked No. 77 Squadron’s return to operations. The Yalu river was the boundary of UN air action, UN military action was confined to the Korean peninsula only, limiting air operations as was noted by another RAF exchange pilot with the USAF, Flt Lt R Lelong

‘The Yalu restriction allows the communist airforce complete freedom of action north of the river. They can take off, climb to altitude on their own side of the river, choose their own time and place to cross and engage in air battle. It appears that they are always GCI (Ground Controlled Interception) controlled, which enables them to come across the river with an altitude advantage over the patrolling United Nations planes who are not GCI controlled.’ [7]

It also allowed communist aircraft the ability to dive for sanctuary over the border if required. However, the communists limited their action to the north of the 38th Parallel, these self-imposed limitations concentrated a lot of jet air operations in an area of North West Korea which became known as MiG Alley.

The next meeting with MiGs occurred four days later when conducting a fighter sweep in the Chongju area along with 16 F-86s, after making a diving attack on the F-86s, the MiGs entered cloud and when they re-emerged they sighted the Meteors flying at 35,000ft (10,668m), the flight commander, Dick Wilson, then spotted two MiGs below him and decided to attack, as he closed on the MiGs his aircraft began to receive hits, the two lower MiGs it was thought had been decoys for this manoeuvre. Wilson managed to break away, while the other two members of the flight chased Wilson’s attacker away, meanwhile the other flight of four Meteors had turned to attack a flight of MiGs heading for the border, 5000ft below, as they turned to attack the last man of the flight WO Guthrie was jumped from above and behind, with his aircraft controls unresponsive he ejected and became a prisoner of war.

A week later the Meteors clashed again with MiGs on the 5th September while escorting two RF-80s near Sinuiju in MiG Alley. Two flights lead by Joe Blyth of the RAF and Vic Cannon, were attacked by a larger formation of MiGs who dived from 39,000ft (11,887m) in well-disciplined passes one of the Meteor’s was badly damaged but managed to return to Kimpo. Four of the Meteors including Blyth had managed to get shots at the fast moving MiGs but with no observable results.

Gordon Steege, the squadron’s new commanding officer, was greatly concerned for his pilots safety following these engagements that he visited 5th Air Force Headquarters on 6 September to discuss the future role of the Meteor. 5th Air Force agreed that No. 77 Squadron would no longer operate in MiG Alley, it would fly no further north that the Chongchon River, limiting itself to bomber escort, combat air patrols over aircraft attacking main supply routes, some fighter sweeps and an increased role in the air defence of Kimpo.

Despite the change in role No. 77 Squadron were still busy as all aircraft were needed in response to growing MiG activity which had expanded south from MiG Alley and was contesting the skies south of the Chongchon river. The fight for air superiority in North Korea now meant that the Meteors were still coming into regular contact with MiGs and nearly always heavily outnumbered. Two large air battles took place in late October when Meteors in conjunction with Republic F-84 Thunderjets flying escort to Boeing B-29 Superfortresses encountered formations of between 70 and 90 MiGs. Although outnumbered and fighting off sophisticated attacks, the fighter screen was not penetrated and no aircraft were lost, Joe Blyth reported hitting a MiG in the encounter on 24 October.

The RAF Training team’s time with the Squadron was now coming to an end, Frank Easley left in September, Joe Blyth after completing 105 sorties on 18 November and Max Scannell the last to leave after flying 107 sorties (21 on Mustang) on 7 December. The Squadron had a celebration not only to farewell Scannell and Vic Cannon on completion of their tours but also to celebrate the shooting down of two MiGs, the Squadron’s first MiG victories, however, these victories came at a cost.

The victories came on 1 December, a date that the Squadron’s diary described as ‘a disastrous day for the squadron’. It has come to light with the end of the Cold War that a plan was devised by the Soviet Air Force to ambush No. 77 Squadron and use the superiority of the MiG in an effort to destroy the Squadron and cause damage to Australian and British prestige and relations between these countries and the United States.

12 Meteors in three flights were flying a fighter sweep near Sunchon, at 19,000ft (5,791) when 24 MiGs dived from 30,000ft (9,144) onto the formation, there ensued a fast and confusing air battle, Max Scannell who was a flight commander quickly found himself under attack from two MiGs and he climbed into the sun forcing the MiGs to break off, turning back into the battle to assist a Meteor under attack. He himself was attacked again this time. He dived down to 10,000ft (3,048m) to escape the attention. In the battle Bruce Googerly shot down one MiG, another was claimed by the Squadron but for the loss of three Meteors.

No. 77 Squadron could not know that they had been singled out for attention, but the attack on 1 December led to another re-evaluation of the role of the squadron, with growing numbers of F-86Es arriving in theatre the following day it was decided that the squadron would no longer fly fighter sweeps or combat air patrols over North Korea. Due to the Meteor’s excellent climbing abilities, the squadron was assigned the role of airfield defence for the remainder of the month.

Airfield defence required two pilots being sat in their aircraft at five minutes readiness at all times of the day from 30 minutes before dawn to 30 minutes after dark, waiting for a possible scramble that would almost inevitably be a friendly aircraft. Having been such an active squadron, the switch to airfield defence in the cold of a Korean winter was not welcomed and consequently morale fell.

After a seven-month hiatus since the departure of Max Scannell, No. 77 Squadron was experiencing a shortage of trained pilots coming from Australia and it was agreed that the RAF would supply volunteer exchange pilots to help man the squadron. The first six of 26 pilots who would eventually serve with No. 77 Squadron arrived at Kimpo on 20 July, flying their first familiarization sorties the following day, they were Oelof Bergh, Ernest ‘Martin’ Chandler, James Cruikshank, Bill Holmes, Albert ‘Butch’ Hoogland and Jon Mellers.

The new ground attack role, kept Meteors for the most part away from MiGs, ground fire was now the main threat, as one RAF pilot, John Price, remembered,

‘Pilot losses… came almost entirely from ground fire, often untrained, but always heavy, from the Chinese and North Korean troops, who were present in very large numbers, around every target-and everywhere else, for that matter.’ [8]

Price reiterates how important was the ‘flak map’ which would be updated daily

Keith Williamson, remembered the risk taken by the pilots involved in rocket attacks.

‘…the gyro gunsight required, I remember, us to have five seconds continuous tracking of the target before releasing the rockets from about 2000ft down to 800ft, which was just the most lethal range of the enemy anti-aircraft fire.’ [10]

On 27 August, Oelof Bergh, a South African serving with the RAF, became all to aware of ground fire

‘As we swept in low over the target, the enemy put up a fierce barrage from the ground. My Meteor was hit in the starboard engine… then a shell shattered the side of the cockpit…I pulled her out of the dive, and as I did so, there came a sudden roar, the starboard engine had exploded. Despite slight burns, I managed to bale-out. As far as I can recall, I must have gone through or out with the canopy as the aircraft was nearly on its back. My parachute opened about five seconds before I hit the deck.'[11]

Without food or water, Bergh managed to evade capture for eight days. He was eventually caught and became a Prisoner of War. Bergh was deemed by his captors to be ‘uncooperative’ and he spent five months of his captivity in solitary confinement which he described as a hole in the ground in which he could neither stand up nor lie down properly.

Despite intense ground fire, the Squadron was still encountering MiGs on occasion. On 2 October, a formation of 16 Meteors had just completed a rocket attack on a troop concentration and were returning to Kimpo, when a MiG, possibly two, made a climbing attack on the formation. Targeting the aircraft of Yellow section which included RAF pilot Oliver Cruikshank, the section broke away, one Meteor received hits, but damage was slight. The MiGs made only one pass and the Meteors continued their flight south. Cruikshank became detached from the formation during the break, he reported he was low on fuel but his aircraft was not damaged. The last that was heard from Cruikshank was his engines had cut and he was baling out over the sea, a Grumman Albatross on rescue duties observed Cruikshank eject but tragically his parachute failed to open.

Michael Whitworth-Jones, the prompt for the writing of this blog, joined No. 77 Squadron on 7 November 1952, during which he would fly 123 sorties, 84 of which were ground attack. John Price recalls

Sgt Billy Hicks, an Australian pilot recalled that Whitworth-Jones was always keen to press on ‘when all others reported that they were low on fuel, he would always want to make another pass on the target, and always counted twice as many trucks than were actually present.’ [13]

Michael was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his service with No. 77 Squadron, his citation noting

‘Despite extreme hazards of ground fire, mountainous terrain and treacherous weather, this officer has always displayed a conspicuous determination to inflict damage on the enemy and, through his skill and personal courage, has been outstandingly successful.’ [14]

On 20 July 1953 the Squadron flew its last operation of the war, a rocket strike on buildings, a quarter of the pilots on this operation being RAF exchange officers, seven days later the armistice was signed. John Price recalled talking to a senior RAF officer in the 1980s who said to him, ‘Of course, the RAF pilots only got to 77 when the war was over and you just sat around for six months.’[15] The evidence proves otherwise, of the 30 RAF pilots who flew with No. 77 Squadron, five were killed on operations, one became a prisoner of war, six were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and seven mentioned in despatches, five would achieve air rank, including Keith Williamson a future Chief of the Air Staff.

The RAAF and RAF benefited from the experience of those who served with No. 77 Squadron, in providing their air forces with a cadre of experienced fighter pilots who would help develop fighter tactics in the coming years, their experiences would also inform future aircraft requirements. Tragically Michael Whitworth-Jones was killed just over a month after returning to Britain in July 1953 when the de Havilland Venom he was flying broke up in the air at Holbeach Range.

Nominal roll of RAF pilots who served with No. 77 Squadron (RAAF) in Korea.

Footnotes

1. 1.Hurst, D. (2008). The Forgotten Few, Crows Nest, Allen & Unwin, p.229
2. 2.White, T. (1950). Proposal to purchase Meteor Aircraft from the United Kingdom for re-arming of No 77 Fighter Squadron RAAF in Korea. National Archives of Australia, NAA: A4639, 236. Canberra
3. 3.Odgers, G. (1953). Across the Parallel. Melbourne, William Heinemann Ltd, p.231
4. 4.Cresswell, R. (2006). Wing Commander Richard C (Dick) Creswell DFC (Ret) discusses his career in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), 1938-1957, in a talk to the Australian Aviation Club. Australian War Memorial, S04239, Canberra
5. 5.Cull, B. (2000). With the yanks in Korea. London, Grub Street. P.119
6. 6.www.pprune.org, (2012). Obituary for Sqn Ldr Joe Blyth DFC* AFC*, joined up at 15 [online] Available at: https://www.pprune.org/archive/index.php/t-482195.html [Accessed 2/6/2020]
7. 7.Lelong, R.(1952) Report on temporary duty with the 4^th Fighter Interceptor Wing, Kimpo, Korea. The National Archives, AIR 20/10169. London
8. 8.Price, J. (2000). With the RAAF in Korea. Royal Air Force Historical Society Journal, Volume 21, p.66
9. 9.Ibid
10. 10.Williamson, K (1988). RAF CASPS Historic Interview | Sir Keith Williamson.

    Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcM7zbf4-Cw [Accessed 2/6/2020]

11. 11.Bergh, Oleof (1954). Captive in Korea. RAF Flying Review, January 1954, p.21
12. 12.Price, J. (2000). With the RAAF in Korea. Royal Air Force Historical Society Journal, Volume 21, p.71
13. 13.Wilson, D. (1994). Lion over Korea. Belconnen, Banner Books, p.139
14. 14.Whitworth-Jones, J. (1842-1980) Distinguished Flying Cross-Flight Lieutenant Michael Edward Whitworth-Jones. Royal Air Force Museum, AC81/1. London
15. 15.Price, J. (2000). With the RAAF in Korea. Royal Air Force Historical Society Journal, Volume 21, p.72

‘After all, not a lot of chaps had started the war flying and were still alive and flying at the end.’ Raymond Towers Holmes, 1989

Ray Holmes was standing in a bookshop when he heard the war with Germany was over. The shop was in the market town of Wallingford, only a ten-minute drive from RAF Benson, in Oxfordshire, where the likeable Merseysider was stationed. Flight Lieutenant Holmes was a reconnaissance pilot on the strength of No. 541 Squadron; and for the last three months, he had been flying long, chancy, photographic missions, deep into enemy airspace, in a powerful blue-painted Spitfire.

Holmes had had a long and active war and, at 31, he was that rarest of things: an “old bold” pilot with over 2,000 flying hours logged. He had flown throughout the war; and whether intercepting enemy bombers, teaching novices to fly, or taking aerial photographs, his professionalism and skill were apparent, to say nothing of his nerve. His natural kindness and warm humour were also usually in evidence and he was considered good company. Ray Holmes was an asset to the Service, and an outstanding example of what is sometimes called “the greatest generation.” He might have smiled at that, but he was unarguably a veteran of proven ability; a survivor with a knack for being in the right place at the right time.

Born at Wallasey, Cheshire, on 20 August 1914, Raymond Towers Holmes grew up to love sport and fast cars, and he 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 Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. This part-time ‘citizens air force’ attracted extraordinary young men from ordinary backgrounds, and it would provide 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 protracted flying instruction. He proved to be a good pilot, and on 18 June 1940, was posted to Wick, another Scottish station, to fly Hawker Hurricanes with No. 504 (County of Nottingham) Squadron. The German air offensive against Britain commenced the following month, and ‘504’ flew south to RAF Hendon, in north-west London, and the front line.

On 15 September 1940, the Luftwaffe attempted to force a decision in the air by launching a massive assault on London. By the end of that unforgettable Sunday, the course of the battle had changed, and with it the course of history. Henceforth, Britain and the Commonwealth would celebrate ‘Battle of Britain Day.’ Furthermore, Sergeant Ray Holmes’ very public brush with a Dornier bomber over Hyde Park Corner would become, for many, the defining moment of the 16-week campaign.

Exactly one year later, Ray Holmes, now a Pilot Officer, was in Murmansk in north-west Russia. He was serving with No.151 Wing, the RAF formation tasked with delivering Hurricanes to the Soviet Union, and teaching Russian pilots to fly them. Despite the grim reality of Stalinism, and the biting cold, Holmes got on well with his Soviet counterparts and they appreciated his talent as an instructor. He also managed to shoot down a Messerschmitt 109F while he was there.

Holmes returned to the UK in December 1941 and qualified as a flying instructor. Over the next two years, he taught scores of pupils to fly, and later trained pilots to become instructors themselves. In February 1945, he returned to operational flying with No. 541 Squadron; and for the rest of the war, he flew a sleek, sky-blue Supermarine Spitfire Mk. XIX, taking photographs of vital importance 30,000 feet above the Reich.

On the afternoon of 8 May 1945, the news that Germany had surrendered came over the radio in the bookshop in which Holmes was browsing. For weeks he had imagined a huge victory bash at the station, but now, instead of rushing back, he found himself lingering in the shop, scanning the shelves in search of the first book he would read in peacetime. A feeling of anti-climax was a common reaction that day.

Holmes described the VE Day celebration at RAF Benson in his memoirs:

‘One by one they turned up. There was a forced cheerfulness everywhere. The truth of the matter was that we had all been at full stretch for so long we could not relax when the tension suddenly went. Reaction. We talked about when we were likely to be demobbed, what we would do in civvy street, whether to apply for long service commissions in the RAF and, inevitably, of the fellows who had not lived to see victory.”

The ice was well and truly broken, however, when the Mess secretary announced that the Mess was opening its cellars and the cost would be shared equally. Ray wasn’t a drinker, but he drank that night, and his inexperience showed when he toasted the Allied victory with glasses of champagne, sherry, port, gin, whisky, vodka and beer. He had to be put to bed.

Ray was dismayed to be woken the next morning with the appalling news that ‘541’ had been ordered to photograph the French coastline; a task no doubt devised to keep the pilots on their toes. Although he was severely hung over, he knew the unwritten law of the wartime Air Force ‘that no matter how drunk you get the night before, you fly next morning.’ Shortly afterwards he found himself climbing unsteadily into the cockpit of his Spitfire and setting off for France. Switching on the aircraft’s oxygen supply was the pilot’s time-honoured way of dealing with a hangover and Ray breathed deeply.

The oxygen helped a lot and Ray Holmes took photographs of the coastline around Cherbourg competently enough using new infra-red film. He then flew the 150 miles back home to Benson with a heavy head, a dry throat and his whole life ahead of him.

Recommended Reading:

‘Sky Spy: From Six Miles High to Hitler’s Bunker’, Ray Homes (Airlife Publishing, 1989)

‘The Most Dangerous Enemy: A History of the Battle of Britain’, Stephen Bungay (Aurum Press, 2000)

2020 marks eighty years since the Battle of Britain, the events of which still form an iconic image of the RAF and fighter pilots. June – September 1940 was however not the first time that the skies over England had been the site of battle between two rival nations. This first occurred 105 years ago. This is part one of a two-part blog looking at this period.

As archivist for the RAF Museum, I am naturally drawn to the documents we have on display. One caught my eye as it is a drawing by a child. It is on display in Hangar 2 as part of our First World War in the Air exhibition.

This drawing is part of a letter by a boy aged 8, dated 3 September 1916. It marks the shooting down of SL11, a ‘Zeppelin’. This was an airship made by Shütte-Lanz rather than the Zeppelin Company. However all German airships were commonly called Zeppelins.

While investigating this in the archive collection, I discovered a contrasting image of a crashed Zeppelin.

The pencil inscription on the reverse of this postcard reads, ‘This card is much for sale in the North Sea parts. It is the King Stephen case’. On further investigation, I found this referred to the airship L19 of the Imperial German Navy. Returning from a bombing raid on England on 31 January 1916 it came down in the North Sea.

The English fishing boat the King Stephen found the wreck of the airship with the 16 German crew clinging to it in the ocean. Captain William Martin of the King Stephen refused to rescue the crew worrying that his small unarmed fishing crew would be overpowered and they would be forced to sail to Germany. Although they were promised that the crew would behave and even offered money Martin sailed away. The men clinging to the fabric of the airship placed messages in bottles to their friends and families and threw them into the sea. These would be found some six months later. The crew and the remains of L19 were never found although the Royal Navy conducted a search for them. It was later revealed that Martin was illegally fishing and had given the Royal Navy false co-ordinates. A body of one of the crew washed up on the shores of Løkken in Denmark, four months later.

On the night of the 2-3 September 1916 2nd Lieutenant William Leefe Robinson of the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) was flying a Royal Aircraft Factory BE2c fighter which was armed with new incendiary bullets designed to set alight the hydrogen gas in the airships. He attacked and shot down the Shütte-Lanz SL11. This was part of a mass attack of 16 airships. The explosion and the fall to earth of this giant from 11,500 feet (3,505 metres) lit up London for miles around. The Zeppelin crashed in Cuffley, Hertfordshire and it burned for two hours. This was the first time an airship had been shot down over Britain. 2nd Lt. Robinson was awarded the Victoria Cross and would be instantly famous. He would be presented with the Victoria Cross (VC) by King George V at Windsor Castle on 8 September 1916.

Robinson was shocked by his level of fame and wrote to his parents on 22 October 1916;

‘As I daresay you have seen in the papers – babies, flowers and hats have been named after me also poems and prose have been dedicated to me – oh it’s too much.’

Items that belonged to him including his cigarette case are on display in Hangar 2 in the RAF Museum, London. 2nd Lt. Robinson’s VC was unique as it was awarded for an act of military valour in the air over Britain. The first to be awarded for action in this new area of combat over Britain.

In the drawing is captured the relief and joy that the shooting down of this ‘Zepp’ caused across the country. The awe of an 8-year-old and the sense of adventure, danger and fear of airships is also present in this simple sketch. Fear had been instilled in the British public since January 1915.

On 19 January 1915 the way that war was viewed in Britain changed. Wars no longer happened overseas confined to designated battlefields the events of which would be read about in the newspapers of the day. War came to your doorstep in the form of bombing. In 1915 giant lighter-than-air airships, commonly known as Zeppelins (named after Count Ferdinand Graf von Zeppelin who initiated the development of airships in Germany in 1900) would deliver these bombs. Of course the Zeppelins were not designed originally for war but as passenger craft.

Two Zeppelins, L3 and L4 (which were respectively the twenty-fourth and twenty-seventh airships manufactured by Luftschiffbau Zeppelin) armed with 24 bombs took off from a base at Fuhlsbüttel, Hamburg at approximately 11.30am on Tuesday January 19 1915. They arrived over the East Anglian coast nine hours later at around 8.30pm. The cover of darkness being one of their greatest weapons. This would be the first Zeppelin raid. Due to the weather conditions, the Zeppelins would bomb Great Yarmouth and Kings Lynn.

Martha Taylor aged 74 and Samuel Smith aged 53 would be the first two British civilians killed in an air raid. Four people would be killed in total and another 16 injured in this raid.

When these monsters of the skies appeared, Britain had no real effective form of defence although German airships had been viewed with suspicion in Britain for many years. Further incursions into British airspace would occur and attacks would mostly be confined to coastal areas as Kaiser Wilhelm was unwilling to give permission to attack London.

London would however soon be targeted as the major city. Part permission was given and London ‘east of the Tower of London’ was approved as a legitimate target by the Kaiser on 5 May 1915. On the night of 31 May – 1 June 1915, a dark moonless night, the first London focused raid took place by airships. Bombs fell from Stoke Newington to Stepney and caused 41 fires. This was due to the incendiary bombs used. The police recorded 91 incendiary devices, 28 explosive bombs and two grenades dropped.

In September 1914 Britain’s air defences had been trusted to the Royal Navy and First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill set to work in this new arena. New airfields were laid out, searchlights and anti-aircraft guns coordinated and night flying training undertaken. Civil defence measures included a partial black out. However, all these measures counted for nothing. 15 Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) aircraft were launched against the intruder but only one pilot saw the airship and he was forced to land due to engine trouble before he had a chance to gain attitude and engage.

The reality was that an airship, some 157 metres in length had dropped bombs over London for 20 minutes and then returned home. None of the airships carried navigation or bomb aiming equipment accurate enough to ensure civilian targets were not hit so this was inevitable. The victims of this London bombing were 7 killed and 35 injured. Among the dead was a three-year-old girl, Elsie Leggatt. This earned the ‘Zepps’ another title, ‘Baby-Killers’.

Newspapers such as The Daily News and The Daily Chronicle offered advice on what to do when the Zeppelins came and both offered free insurance against Zeppelin bomb damage if you subscribed to their paper.

A public warning poster appeared from 1915 illustrated with diagrams of both British and German airships and aircraft. The text read:

‘Public Warning: The public are advised to familiarise themselves with the appearance of British and German Airships and Aeroplanes so that they may not be alarmed by British aircraft and may take shelter if German aircraft appear. Should hostile aircraft be seen, take shelter immediately in the nearest available house, preferably in the basement and remain there until the aircraft have left the vicinity: do not stand about in crowds and do not touch unexploded bombs.’

This speaks volumes as to the novelties of air raids such as the warnings to crowds not to gather and watch and not to touch any unexploded bombs. Crowds would also be attracted to the wreckage of the enemy airships.

London would be targeted again (the Kaiser agreed to unrestricted bombing of London on 20 July 1915) along with other cities such as Hull which suffered a raid that caused 24 deaths and over 40 injuries and substantial damage.

The largest raid carried out by airships against Britain in the First World War took place on the 7-8 September 1915. London, Middlesbrough and Norwich were all targeted.

The log of L224, one of the airships that participated in the attack illustrates that little major precautions were being undertaken,

‘Navigation from Kings Lynn to London was straightforward because the landscape was completely dark and most of the cities were still lit up, London was still very brightly illuminated..’

(Quoted in Charles Stephenson, Zeppelins: German Airships 1900-40, Osprey Publishing, 2010)

In response to these bombings hate crimes occurred. People with German sounding names were attacked and shops with German names, particularly in the East End of London would also be targeted, robbed and windows smashed and owners beaten up. Many individuals who had German sounding names would anglicise them. Shop names would also be changed. All of this must have played a part in Captain Martin’s decision regarding the fate of the crew of L19.

In February 1916, the British Army took over the control of the Home Defence and in April No. 39 Squadron RFC was formed. Its role was specifically to defend London, it was armed with new incendiary bullets and explosive bullets. This was Robinson’s Squadron.

The shooting down of SL11 so graphically recorded by an eight-year-old proved that these airships could be destroyed. There immense size made many believe they were invulnerable. Two more airships would be shot down in the following weeks, using the techniques pioneered by 2nd Lt Robinson. The official history states that the shooting down of the airship in 1916 by Robinson, ‘was the beginning of the end of the airship menace.’

Robinson did not wish to rest on his fame and wanted to be an active fighter pilot and was soon in action in France. While leading a reconnaissance flight in March 1917, he encountered a flight led by Leutnant Manfred von Richthofen, ‘The Red Baron’ and was shot down. It took several weeks for it to be confirmed that he was still alive and was a prisoner of war for the rest of the war, where he was badly treated as he was known to have been the pilot who shot down the airship. He attempted to escape on numerous occasions but was unsuccessful. When the armistice was signed on 11 November 1918, 2nd Lt. Robinson VC was released. He returned to Britain in December 1918. Robinson would fall victim to the flu pandemic that would kill 50 million people worldwide due to his weakened state. This was an enemy that he could not out fly. He died on New Year’s Eve 1918 at the age of 23.

1915 and 1916 saw the peak of airship raids although they carried on throughout the First World War. In total German airships flew some 208 missions over Britain, causing some 528 deaths and 1,156 wounded, although these figures vary. London was attacked a total of 9 times (although 26 had targeted the capital) with the majority of the raids taking place between 1915 – 1916 causing 181 killed and 504 people injured. Twenty airships were destroyed by British forces during the First World War and their aircrews, who could be as many as 28 on one airship killed. This was war at its rawest.

There is one more important figure to mention when investigating the ‘Zepps’ and that is the lesser known figure of Flight Sub Lieutenant RAJ Warneford of the RNAS who was responsible for shooting down the first airship in the air. This occurred during an operation to bomb Zeppelin sheds known to be located at Evere in Belgium on 6-7 June 1915. Sometime before Robinson’s encounter, Warneford flying a Morane Saulnier saw an airship in flight, LZ37 and released his bombs above the airship, one exploded causing the airship to burst into flames and crash.

The explosion caused Warneford to lose control of his aircraft which flipped out of control. He had to land it behind enemy lines and effect repairs, mainly on his fuel line, restart the aircraft (which usually took three men) and finally return to his base. He was awarded the Victoria Cross.

Sadly Warneford would not have any time to enjoy his fame and is very much forgotten today. A memorial to him can be found in Brompton Cemetery as he was killed less than ten days later in an accident when demonstrating a Farman biplane in Paris. His first test flight went well but he then agreed to give a joy ride to an American journalist, by all accounts a thrill ride. The Illustrated London News reported that the aircraft made ‘several large circles and several rapid descents’. It then broke up in the air and the men fell to the ground to be killed instantly. He was the same age as Robinson, 23.

More then 50,000 went to Warneford’s funeral at Brompton Cemetery in 1915. Such was his fame at the time. One of the largest floral tributes was from the officers and men of the British Hospital in Paris in the shape of an aircraft. Warneford is one of 13 holders of the Victoria Cross buried there.

Those who crewed the ‘Zepps’ are also resting in England. In the German Military cemetery at Cannock Chase, Staffordshire, the remains of the crews of the airships SL11, L31, L32 and L48 are buried. Twenty-two men are named on the memorial.

The fame that the men who shot down the airships achieved at the time reflected the threat of these seemingly behemoths of the skies who could rain down chaos, death and destruction on to the innocent. War was no longer confined to armies in the field. Airships were first seen as invincible, coming silently in the night and causing death and destruction, seemingly without discrimination. Pilots would at first rarely detect them and if they did would be unable to climb to their attitude to attack.

By shooting these down, the men of the RNAS and the RFC had shown that the new battlefield, the sky, was defendable. For the first time, but not for the last, the ‘Few’ had seen off a threat. The next menace they were to face was to come in March 1917 in the shape of an aircraft 40 feet long and with a wing span of 77 feet. This was the bomber the Gotha G. IV. The ‘Few’ would be called on again. This will be the subject of my next blog post.

With thanks to Peter Devitt, Curator, RAF Museum for sharing his expertise knowledge in this subject.

At Montrose Air Station Heritage Centre, a particularly poignant object on display is a framed photograph of a young woman. While giving guided tours there, I would tell visitors about the owner of this romantic keepsake, Irish aviator Lieutenant Desmond Arthur. The young woman in the photograph is Winsome Lt Ropner, Arthur’s sweetheart. He took the photograph with him on his training flights. On 27 May 1913, his Royal Aircraft Factory BE2 No. 205 crashed, cracking the glass and killing Lt Arthur.

For hundreds of years, exchanging letters and mementos has kept military personnel serving overseas connected with loved ones at home. A fashion for ‘sweetheart jewellery’ emerged in the late nineteenth century. Some pieces were specially made by jewellers while many thousands were mass-produced in factories. Others were handcrafted by the men themselves. For the women at home, they were a tacit show of support and romantic devotion. Their material value is not high but these are emotive objects which tell powerful stories. To mark Valentine’s Day, I will look at some of the tokens of love in the RAF Museum collection.

Above is a sweetheart brooch gifted by Lt Leonard Herbert Phillips to his sweetheart Florence Murray. In a letter from Len to Floss on 12 June 1917, he asked her to accept ‘this small present’, thought to be the sweetheart brooch. Len survived the war and the couple were married in 1924.

This locket is associated with courageous First World War aviator Sergeant Thomas ‘Tom’ Mottershead VC. It was presented to his wife and childhood sweetheart, Lilian Bree, whom he married in 1914.

From Widnes in Lancashire, Tom was awarded the Victoria Cross for a final act of bravery which saved another man. He originally enlisted with the Royal Flying Corps as an Air Mechanic but nurtured an ambition to become a pilot. Tom trained at the Central Flying School at Upavon and went on to fly FE2 fighters over the Western Front. On 7 January 1917, he was on a routine patrol over Ploegsteert Wood with his observer, Lt WE Gower, when their FE2d A39 encountered a group of Albatros fighters. Hit by enemy fire, the fuel tank immediately exploded in flames. With his clothing alight, Tom resisted the urge to crash. Pieces of fabric and wood fell off until it nose-dived into the ground. His observer was thrown clear, saving his life. Tom suffered severe burns and died on 12 January 1917. He was the only non-commissioned officer of the aerial forces to receive the Victoria Cross.

Sweetheart brooches were not only gifted to wives and sweethearts. They were also presented to other significant women in a serviceman’s life, a fact highlighting how young they often were. The then 19-year-old Indian aviator Lt Indra Lal ‘Laddie’ Roy sent an affectionate letter to his sister from the British Flying School at Vendôme, France. In the letter dated 14 July 1917, he promised her a sweetheart brooch and wrote enthusiastically about his training.

The RAF Museum Archive contains transcripts of letters from Gertrude Richardson to her son, Lt Robert Harold Richardson, a Royal Flying Corps observer with No. 6 Squadron. Awaiting news, she wrote on 22 February 1918 “Gilbert has given me a lovely brooch – an Observers wing in diamonds. Thank you very much Harold dear for your kind thought. With best love oh if only I could see you”. Sadly, Harold had been killed on active service in November 1917. The sweetheart brooch became a last tangible reminder of his presence. It remains with the family.

Many other tokens of affection were carried by the airmen themselves. Captain Theodorus Daniel Potgeiter, a South African Air Force pilot, kept a photograph of his sweetheart Olive inside his log book.

Another poignant document is the final missive from WO Charles Walter ‘Wallie’ Gentry to his ‘darling wife’ Phyllis telling her how much he loves her. The letter begins ‘Should you read this before hostilities cease, it will be because I had no chance to say goodbye to you in person’. He reflects on the difficulties of being apart during wartime but feels it is a sacrifice he must make:

‘You brought into my life something worth living for, and, if necessary dying for – love for a woman, the sweetest of all…However, we must remember that if the cost of freedom is high for many of us…that price must be paid for the benefit of the children of this world, that they might not know the anguish and suffering of war for years to come.’

Wallie flew Supermarine Spitfires with No. 155 Squadron in the Far East and went missing on 5 November 1944. This final letter was kept by his unit and sent to Phyllis when his death was confirmed almost two years later.

Squadron Leader Derek William Arthur Stewart DFC gifted a sweetheart brooch to WAAF Section Officer Jean Mackie Milne. They met at RAF Swinderby, where Jean worked with No. 5 Group. By this time, Derek had survived two perilous tours of operations. In Bomber Command, 51% of men were killed on operations during the Second World War. His crew’s missions with No. 90 Squadron included secret arms drops to the French resistance. With No. 514 Squadron, the crew flew bombing missions in the lead up to D-Day, followed by longer night raids into France and Germany. One day, Derek flew Jean back with him for a special occasion. The couple were wed on 7 June 1946 at Thurlby in Lincolnshire. He recorded the flight and their wedding day in his log book. Derek and Jean were happily married until his death in 1977.

Birmingham-born Aircrafthand LAC Thomas Walter Fisher of No. 605 (County of Warwick) Squadron carried his own piece of sweetheart jewellery. It was a handmade heart crafted from Perspex, a material used for aircraft canopies. It’s easy to imagine Walter making the heart during quieter periods on the ground. On it he painted the names of his children, Ethel and Geoffrey. When serving with the RAF in the Far East, he was reported missing and became a prisoner-of-war of the Japanese. His personal archive, held by the RAF Museum, details his period in captivity, malnourished and enduring terrible living conditions. From a prison in Java, he wrote:

‘To this noble band of
Martyrs in England
One day will arrive
Clad in Bits and Rags,
And tatters
Full of thanks to have survived’

Eventually, Walter was liberated after 3 and a half years as a prisoner-of-war and could return to his family.

On display in our ‘First World War in the Air’ exhibition in Hangar 2 is another token of love and friendship. This is a piece of the tailfin fabric from Sopwith Camel B6316 flown by Lieutenant Colonel William George ‘Billy’ Barker VC DSO MC, and shows his personal insignia. The day he left, the Canadian fighter ace is said to have removed the fin fabric with a knife and handed one side each to his mechanics, saying ‘Little Souvenir, fellas. Thanks for everything’.

I got a wonderful response to my last post and received further information regarding William McKnight from Mr Timothy Dubé. This next post looks at another story from the archive.

I have now been in post for over three months. One of my most memorable meetings recently was when, with Museum Librarian Gordon Leith, we met with John Richards and his wife Dena. They were visiting us from the United States and depositing with the Museum some digital archival records of his late mother Evelyn Richards (née Hudson) who John described as ‘Hawaii’s Amelia Earhart’ and who I immediately developed a fascination with. I was in awe of her life and achievements and she introduced me further to the world of the Air Transport Auxiliary.

Evelyn’s life was full of adventure to say the least. At the age of two, Evelyn and her family emigrated to Canada. Her father Frank’s motivation was to be a cattle rancher, he was originally a butcher in Yorkshire. Evelyn was one of six children at the time, a seventh was born in Canada.

Evelyn excelled at sport from a young age, particularly swimming and diving. Evelyn won the Alberta Provincial championship in 1925, 1927 and 1929. In 1930, following a previous holiday, Evelyn aged 21 and her sister Winnifred aged 23, relocated to Hawaii.

Evelyn took part in further swimming events which included appearances alongside a childhood hero of mine, ‘Buster’ Crabbe, who I remember from old reruns of Flash Gordon on TV. Evelyn would begin going higher in the sky with flying lessons in August 1931. By November 1931, Evelyn had become the first woman to be granted a private pilot’s license in Hawaii. Evelyn would attract a lot of press attention throughout her career.

A year later, Evelyn would be undertaking commercial flying trips around Hawaii, undertaking mostly sightseeing tours. She would continue to train and in 1935, gained a Transport Pilots license and was the first woman in Hawaii to be granted one. Later that year in July, Evelyn would relocate to Los Angeles. It was here that she would take part in air derbies, stamina flying (at one time flying continuously for 19 hours and 57 mins, picking up fuel via special machinery from moving cars and making repairs to her Aeronca NC 15287 while in the air), and high attitude flying, in 1939 reaching the height of 18,000 feet in a Security NC18967.

This would all stand her in good stead in 1942 when she joined the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA). The ATA was formed in 1939 following an initiative from Gerard d’Erlanger (Director of British Airways), with its headquarters at White Waltham, Maidenhead. The idea was to use the ATA initially to transport aircraft and undertake missions such as flying VIPs and ambulance cases. In May 1940 the ATA would take over transporting all military aircraft from factories to maintenance units and by August that year they were transporting all military aircraft including fighters and bombers.

The Air Transport Auxiliary employed pilots that would be exempt from service due to age and health. Due to this, it received the nickname ‘Ancient and Tattered Airmen’ but would soon prove worthy of the nickname ‘Anything to Anywhere’. Its work was vital in the war effort ensuring that combat aircraft were available in the correct locations. This would free up RAF pilots whose services where much needed elsewhere. Its estimated that in total the ATS delivered more than 309,000 aircraft and members of the ATA logged 415,000 flying hours.

The ATA is rightly famous for women also being able to join and fly planes. Women were first recruited on New Year’s Day 1940, by Pauline Gower, a commercial pilot in her own right with 2,000 flying hours logged.

Women still suffered restrictions in the early years of the ATA. This included them not receiving equal pay until 1943. Women were also initially not allowed to fly fighter aircraft. This changed on 19 July 1941 when Winnie Crossley become the first woman to fly a Hurricane. Later in 1942, First Officer Lettice Curtis would become the first woman to fly a four-engine bomber. In total, the ATA employed 168 women during the war.

Air Transport Auxiliary pilots would deliver new aircraft straight from factories to squadrons and those aircraft in need of repair were taken to and from maintenance. The ATA was vital in ensuring that the Royal Air Force and the Fleet Air Arm had aircraft when needed. The pilots of the ATA had to be highly skilled to fly a wide variety of aircraft often with little, if no, prior experience in the aircraft. One of the most famous members of the ATA was Amy Johnson, who would die in service in January 1941 while transporting a plane, crashing into the Thames estuary. Thus highlighting the dangers of the job. ATA crew would often have to fly in bad weather without instruments or radio. Many of the aircraft that were picked up would not have been flight tested and lacked instruments that the finished aircraft would have.

Evelyn Hudson highlights the diverse nationalities represented by the members of the Air Transport Auxiliary. A pamphlet in the RAF Museum Library on the opening of the ATA Memorial Museum located at White Waltham Airfield, Pennsylvania (R021791) lists the countries those who served in the ATA originated from. In addition to Britain they came from;

Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, China, Chile, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Estonia, Ethiopia, France, Holland, India, Mauritius, New Zealand, Poland, Russia, Spain, Sri Lanka, South Africa, Thailand and the United States of America. It is estimated that this diverse group would fly 150 different types of aircraft in its years of operation from 1939 – 1946 and undertake some 309,011 aircraft movements. These were vital to the war effort and enabled squadrons to operate at full strength for as long as possible. When the United States declared war on Japan on 8 December 1941, Evelyn was a highly experienced pilot and teacher with some 2,679 hours logged.

Evelyn arrived in England in March 1942 after being transported on the troopship Halifax. In her role with the ATA Evelyn would fly Hurricanes, Spitfires, Wellingtons and Beaufighters. However, Evelyn’s invaluable work in the ATA would be cut short in March 1943. While hitching a ride back to RAF Cosford in a Wellington, the aircraft would suffer an engine failure during take-off. This resulted in the plane crashing into power lines at the end of the runway. Evelyn would be thrown out the plane from a hole in the fuselage. Her son John memorably recalls that his mother’s ‘most vivid memory of the crash was thinking about the geodetic construction of the Wellington’s fuselage as she was being projected at it.’ No other members of the crew were hurt in the crash but Evelyn would spend six months in a full body cast in a Canadian military hospital.

By this point Evelyn had 2,916 hours flying logged. Evelyn would never pilot a plane again. Her ATA service was terminated in August 1943 and she would return to Los Angeles and her sweetheart Mario Richards. Evelyn would marry Mario soon after her return. Perhaps both realised how lucky she had been to survive the crash and Mario was due to see action in the Far East soon and was undertaking glider pilot training. John stated in our meeting that he was sure that to date Evelyn one had to be flying or willing to learn! Although she never flew again Evelyn would take commercial flights and in 1971 she and Mario were passengers in a Piper Cherokee Arrow 200 for a sight-seeing flight over her home in the Hollywood Hills. The pilot was her son, John W. Richards.

The RAF Museum Archive and Library Archive holds over a thousand personal files of members of the Air Transport Auxiliary, including Evelyn’s, all with a tale to tell. There is an ongoing project by one of our hardworking volunteers Jack Taylor to list this material to make them more accessible.

https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/default/archive-collection/air-transport-auxiliary

An online exhibition showing some of the highlights of the ATA collection in photographic form can be viewed here.

https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/online-exhibitions/air-transport-auxiliary

Some of their memorable stories can also be found on the RAF Stories website

https://rafstories.org/

The ATA also has a museum based in Maidenhead Heritage Centre.

https://atamuseum.org/

The ‘Golden Age’ of aviation of which Evelyn was obviously a part is recorded on this website.

http://ata.afleetingpeace.org/

I will leave the last word to Molly Rose, as quoted in The Women’s RAF by Yona Zeldis McDonough, published in Air & Space, April/May 2012. Molly joined the ATA in 1942, when asked if she was scared, she replied;

‘When you are 21 or 22, you feel very capable, very sure of yourself … you think you know all the answers and if you think you know the answers, you simply get on with the job. I don’t like the over-glamorisation of what we did back then. It was a job, and we did it as well as we could. But everyone was doing their part for the war. Ours was just a more interesting job than most’

Molly delivered 273 aircraft during her ATA career, she died in November 2016 at the age of 95. Like Evelyn she lives on in the Royal Air Force Museum Archives.

Few people visiting the RAF Museum London realise that it holds a large Archive and Library. Hidden away on the top floor of the main building, the Archive and Library are available by appointment for anyone wishing to do research. They are also essential to the Museum itself when conducting research for new exhibitions as well as the maintenance of vehicles and aircraft on display.

The Library holds tens of thousands of printed works with our earliest volume dating from 1783 and new material being added almost daily. The collection ranges from memoirs and historical studies to the more technical aspects of aviation even including a copy of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ issued to British Prisoners of War in the First World War and a section of the Bible on microfilm which has orbited the Moon!

When people think of a library they imagine racks upon racks of books, and the Museum’s Library is no exception. However, in addition to this the Library also holds a considerable collection of periodicals. These range from commercially published magazines from the early twentieth century (such as Flight and The Aeroplane) to RAF stations and unit magazines, which provide a fascinating insight into service life. This blog post will have a look at some of those periodicals.

There are thousands of periodicals, precisely catalogued and neatly arranged on the shelves of the Library. Some of them form an extensive series, dating back more than a century taking up many shelves. Some magazines had a limited print with the surviving copies being quite rare, and without the proper context, quite obscure. Most of the periodicals fall under these four categories:
– Commercial
– Specialist
– Official RAF
– Station / Unit

The commercial aviation enthusiast type magazines

Although the first controlled and sustained flight of a powered heavier-than-air aircraft took place on 17 December 1903, the quest for man to take to the skies predates this heavily. The industrial revolution was a turning point in turning this dream into reality and at last gave man the possibility of powered flight with much being written on the subject. The idea of powered flight was considered by many at the time to be nothing more than a fever dream and it is hard to imagine the excitement and ingenuity of the people involved at the very start. This is rather clear when perusing old newspaper articles as well as the first weekly aviation magazines – such as Flight and The Aeroplane – which were published in Britain. The former claims to be the first aeronautical weekly in the world. It first appeared on 2 January 1909 as the official journal of the Aero Club of the United Kingdom. The Aeroplane launched in June 1911 and as Aeroplane Monthly is still being produced today, as is Flight.

Reading these early magazines and their editorials are extremely interesting. They reveal an exciting world of constant developments and new inventions. Revolutionary for the time, some of the developments now seem just historical anachronisms, or would we still be amazed by the very first aircraft with a Morse radio or the first mail delivered by aeroplane?

Self-proclaimed experts – always men as women were still a curiosity in the world of aviation – wrote hefty editorials in which they envisaged the future of aviation. Editorials were full of speculation about the future of aviation and what that might mean for the world and humanity. Some correctly predicted developments in which continents would be united, whereas others incorrectly saw a world in which owning an aircraft would be as common as an automobile. These and many other magazines continue to be popular today, reporting on ongoing developments in the broad area of aviation, although many are now supplemented or even replaced by electronic versions.

Another popular aspect reflected in the collection are those magazines dealing with the world of model aircraft. For the uninitiated, the lengths that some modellers go to, to produce a historically accurate model are extraordinary. Hobbyists conduct extensive research into the correct camouflage colours and ancillary details of aircraft. These magazines provide a world of information, not only technical, but also a historical background information of the aircraft and squadrons.

Small scale specialised magazines

These periodicals tend to have a particular focus and can be commercially available, often to paying members, or with a limited circulation. For instance, ‘The Growler’ is the magazine for the Shackleton Association. The Avro Shackleton was a maritime reconnaissance aircraft which served in the RAF from 1951 to 1991. Although this long service period naturally meant many RAF personnel have a connection with this aircraft, the subject is specialist and only available to association members. Such periodicals form a great resource as it provides an in-depth picture of a specified research topic, in this case the service history of the Avro Shackleton and its personnel.

Other examples are periodicals of the many research institutes and museums, which deal with aviation history and anything related. For example, the Journal of the Canadian Aviation Historical Society is a high quality and richly illustrated periodical which is also available in a digital form. Although not directly focusing on the RAF itself, it provides information on the period until 1945 when the RAF and Canadian military aviation were closely aligned.

Officially sanctioned RAF periodicals

A very broad category is that of periodicals sanctioned by the RAF. These range from official publications, such as the monthly Air Force Lists (which lists all the officers in service with the RAF), Air Ministry Orders, Aircrew Training Bulletins, to the many station and unit magazines for RAF personnel, such as Rafters.

Air Ministry Orders (from 1918 to 1964) were printed routine directives given to units for information, guidance and actions. Originally, they were issued weekly and split into four series: A (Administrative or Standing Orders); N (Temporary Orders); E (Equipment Orders) and B (complementing the Air Ministry Confidential Orders, but discontinued in 1943). The bureaucratic range of the Orders is quite bewildering: from a revised colour pattern on RAF personnel vehicles to the renaming of an exercise book. Nevertheless, they are a most valuable primary source for researchers. With the creation of the Ministry of Defence in 1964, the Orders were replaced by Defence Council Instructions (RAF).

Some journals are more academic in nature. One was the Air Power Review, but now literally reaching for the stars as it has been given the upgraded name the Air and Space Power Review. They feature contributions by experts and researchers about all topics varying from air power theory, artificial intelligence to researching events in the past, such as air control during the Battle of Britain.

Some of the more popular magazines for RAF personnel combine educational purposes with a lighter entertainment. The best-known example of the latter is Tee Emm (Short for Technical Memorandum) illustrated with the hapless Pilot ‘Officer Prune’. The inclusion of his amusing antics made light of several serious subjects helped make air crews aware of important messages which has been regarded as a clever decision by the Air Ministry. Anyone in the RAF during the Second World War would instantly have recognised Prune.

Locally produced station magazines

The final category are the Station magazines. Unlike the top-down RAF publications, these were locally written and often produced magazines from and for the personnel of a specific RAF station or squadron. Many stations had such magazines which offered a combination of practical information with funny stories, which probably made more sense to those from the station than to outsiders. Probably the oldest station magazine predates the RAF was The Quirk. This magazine was the magazine of the Royal Naval Air Service (the air service of the Royal Navy which later merged with the Army’s Royal Flying Corps to form the RAF) at the Royal Naval College Greenwich. Most RAF stations still publish periodicals today, such as RAF Valley, an important fast-jet training station on the island of Anglesey in Wales. These publications are professionally made and have a slicker and corporate feel to them compared to the cruder yet more entertaining publications in the past.

During the Second World War, the further away from the UK, the more numerous are the periodicals that have survived, for example ‘Oasis’ pocket magazines which was begun by members of No. 136 ‘The Woodpecker’ Squadron, based in India, fighting the Japanese in Burma. Proving to be popular, they were also distributed to other RAF personnel in this rather forgotten theatre of war, far away from Britain. It featured varied content from entertaining personal stories, ‘tasteful’ nudes, film reviews – often going so far as to reveal the plot – and images of peaceful British countryside scenes. I suppose these photographs were to reduce any homesickness, but in my opinion, it would probably have only exacerbated the feeling. Peculiar are the funny cartoons although the humour is, 75 years later, often lost on today’s reader. They are also obviously written for a male audience with a tone which would be inappropriate for our modern emancipated world. Nevertheless, it does show a revealing insight into the world of the RAF serviceman in this period.

A final example I would like to share is in a way also a station magazine, but quite different, is the Barb Magazine. At first sight, it looks like an ordinary station magazine with eloquent editorials and images of RAF theatre shows, until one realises this was made in a prisoner-of-war camp in 1918. All too surprising as the quality of the content and images as well as the refined style would suggest otherwise. The existence of such a high-quality periodical sheds a different light on the concept of prisoner-of-war camps. The magazine does clarify that certain subjects were taboo and that there were many difficulties of producing a publication in the English language in Germany. However, the content shows a side of prisoner life which seems careless, no doubt to keep morale up in a situation which was, undoubtedly, troublesome.

This blog post is a quick overview of the periodicals collection in the Museum Library. It is astounding that so much information is available in these volumes, yet much remains hidden. The reason for this is the rather inaccessible nature of many magazines, especially the older ones. As most were not written as reference documents, unlike monographs or modern publications they do not contain indices or tables of contents. The sheer volume of periodicals collection would require a huge amount of time and effort to extract the historical information they hold in abundance. Any volunteers?

The role of ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ in the Arab Revolt is arguably the most well-known aspect of the Middle East theatre during the First World War. Beyond the celebrity of TE Lawrence, thousands of Royal Flying Corps and later Royal Air Force personnel served in the Sinai and Palestine campaign. These men included Air Mechanic 3rd Class (A Mech 3) John Roscoe, an ordinary RAF mechanic for whom serving in Egypt was a completely new experience.

The RAF Museum Archive holds a collection of letters written by A Mech 3 John Roscoe to his family, one of which is featured in our ‘Letters Home trail’ event. In it, he describes Christmas Eve 1918 at the Government Hospital, Suez in Egypt:
“…I am staying in dock for Christmas, which is just as well. A tree has been fitted up in the yard, and electric lights arranged on it, while every night for the last week I have heard the staff and some of the patients [are] downstairs singing Christmas carols. I suppose they intend to come [a]round and Xmas waits. The music is mostly provided by the gramophone!”

An Apprentice Fitter in civilian life, John was conscripted into the Royal Flying Corps on 4 February 1918 at the age of 20 years and eight months. His rank was Air Mechanic 2nd Class, reclassified to Air Mechanic 3rd Class at the establishment of the Royal Air Force on 1 April 1918.

A Mech 3 Roscoe’s service began with initial training in aircraft and engine fitting at Halton Camp in Buckinghamshire. There the men were accommodated in overcrowded conditions, enabling the spread of infectious diseases. After being treated in separate compounds, disease-ridden recruits had to be vaccinated and isolated for a period before being posted. John described his experiences of the daily routine at Halton:
“This afternoon we were all fumigated again, walking into a large room with steam jets spraying disinfectant all round. The mist thus caused was very dense, & we had to remain in it for about 5 minutes. We have to wander round in the mist with tunics unbuttoned, shirts open at the neck, & caps off. We come out soaked and sneezing & with blackened brasswork”.

A few months later, A Mech 3 Roscoe travelled thousands of miles overseas to Egypt. One historic feat puts this distance into perspective. On 28 July 1918, Brigadier General Amyas Eden Borton, commander of the Palestine Brigade, and Major Archibald Mclaren made the first flight from Great Britain to Egypt in a Handley Page O/400. They arrived after 11 days on 8 August 1918, but a serviceman’s journey by sea would have been much longer.

A Mech 3 Roscoe arrived in Egypt on 5 July 1918. The Middle East was a challenging environment for air mechanics dealing with the effects of sand and dust on the aircraft, as well as maladies associated with the hot climate. He felt his initial training at Halton Camp did not adequately prepare him for his new duties:
“We started work in the fitting shop in Headquarters’ Flight, this morning at 6 a.m. I was handed over to a fitter as assistant and started to build up a Clerget engine. This is a rotary engine, so I will have to start learning again, as there seem to be very few stationary engines here. The training we got at Wendover appears to be of very little use here”.

The Headquarters’ Flight was situated at No. 32 Training Wing in Ismailia near the Suez Canal. This unit was part of a new structure introduced as the Royal Air Force expanded its training organisation overseas. Egypt was favoured for flying instruction due to its warm winter climate and clear skies. No. 32 Training Wing consisted of three training squadrons, each with a half aeroplane repair section: Nos. 18 and 20 Training Depot Stations and No. 58 Training Squadron. Each Training Depot Station was equal in strength to three squadrons in the UK: consisting of 565 personnel and 56 aircraft. In August 1918, A Mech 3 Roscoe was posted to No. 20 Training Depot Station at Shallufa.

No. 20 Training Depot Station and other units were gradually introducing the rigorous new methods of the Gosport system developed by Major Robert Smith-Barry. Many accidents occurred in training, as A Mech 3 Roscoe notes in one of his letters:
“I sometimes feel glad they didn’t let me be a pilot, when I see the accidents (very seldom fatal) which happen frequently on the aerodrome. This morning a cadet on his first solo trip tried to turn without banking, and got into a flat spin, and fell about 30 ft. His machine was wrecked, and he crawled out with a few bruises and a graze on one knee. The Ambulance set off with such haste that one of the R.A.M.C. [Royal Army Medical Corps] men fell off the back and his mate went driving on in ignorance that his friend was running after the motor”.

It was the developing conflict in the Middle East which first drew the Royal Flying Corps to Egypt at the beginning of the First World War. The Suez Canal was a key strategic asset situated between British Empire possessions in India and the Far East. Threatened by the prospect of war in Europe, Britain rushed to secure it against aggressive enemy action. War was declared in November 1914.
Writing and receiving letters was a morale boost for A Mech 3 Roscoe, who asked for news of his siblings while his mother sent him gifts from home such as magazines and food. He wrote from No. 20 Training Depot Station on 3 December 1918:
“PS a chap in our tent received a tinned plum pudding (not homemade of course) and when he opened the tin the pudding was coated in mildew! Hard luck, wasn’t it? Anyhow, please take the hint, and don’t send me any tinned stuff because you never can tell how it will go on”.

While writing his later letters, Roscoe was afflicted with amoebic dysentery, an illness caused by the ingestion of a parasite. Amoebic dysentery was prevalent among military personnel in warmer climates and exacerbated by poor sanitation. His treatment necessitated prolonged hospital stays and periods of isolation.
The letters were not only a means of sharing information with family. They were in themselves, a diversion from the tedium of hospital life. When reading his letters, one can imagine A Mech 3 Roscoe holding the same papers while confined in his hospital bed. From there he recorded his impressions, adding cartoons to his accounts of daily events.

The Armistice of Mudros ended hostilities between the Ottoman Empire and the Allies in October 1918, and peace in Europe came in November. A Mech 3 Roscoe was re-categorised as a walking case the following spring. Still, he waited to hear of when the war would be over for him so he could return to civilian life. He wrote in March 1919:
“I don’t know the result yet but the chief obstacle to going home is the scarcity of ships. Some chaps marked for home have been knocking around for 3 months”.

Celebrations were a welcome interruption from the monotony of his everyday experiences. In letters he described recreational activities at the Mustapha Convalescent Depot in Alexandria such as concert parties and football games.
Meanwhile updates on current affairs took some time to reach Egypt. In January 1919, A Mech 3 Roscoe asked for news on the outcome of the 14 December 1918 General Election:
“Please let me know how the election has gone, as I should like to hear that the Labour man got in”.

He travelled back to England in May 1919 and was immediately sent to Bethnal Green Military Hospital for further treatment and onwards to the Disposal Centre at Halton Camp. Thankfully he was discharged by September and returned to Stretford near Manchester. Finally, he was home and could celebrate Christmas 1919 with his family.

The RAF Museum always has aircraft being worked on at the Michael Beetham Conservation Centre, and one of the important jobs is making sure the correct colour scheme is applied. Two of the aircraft that can be viewed this week are the Westland Lysander, R91254, and L.V.G. C.VI, 7198/18.

The RAF Museum collection is quite sparse on first-hand material relating to the colour schemes of Special Duties aircraft. In his book “We Landed by Moonlight”, Group Captain Hugh Verity claims to have come up with the scheme used for SD Lysanders stating that the all over “black” (Night) was too dark when viewed from above, so he had his aircraft painted with “light grey and dark green”. The description he gives indicates his scheme was similar, if not the same, as that worn by Mosquitoes employed in the intruder role. This scheme consisted of a disruptive pattern of Dark Green and Medium Sea Grey painted on the top surfaces of the wings, all tail surfaces and the upper surface of the fuselage; the undersides of the wings, tail planes and the lower fuselage were painted Night.

Very few wartime photographs of R9125 are known to exist, in fact we are aware of only two, one in the museum’s collection and one in the hands of a private researcher who has studied the Lysander for many years. Whilst our Lysander is alleged to be the aircraft used in the wartime produced film “Now It Can Be Told” the footage isn’t of a quality high enough to make out all the detail.

The photograph in our collection confirms the scheme described by Hugh Verity as well as the identification codes but highlights a few small details we would otherwise not have been aware of. At some point the cooling gills on the cowling had been removed and replaced; however, two of them had been swapped around. Another thing that would otherwise have been missed is that the upper surfaces of the undercarriage legs and wheel spats were painted in Dark Green or Medium Sea Grey.

L.V.G. C.VI was one of many prize aircraft evaluated at the end of the First World War, however it was repainted by the RAF in a spurious scheme to take part in the 1937 RAF Pageant at Hendon. Luckily some photographs prior to the repaint exist, such as that above, which together with the standardisation within the Imperial German forces mean we can be reasonably sure of the colour scheme.

At the time 7198/18 entered service the wooden portions of the fuselage would have been given a coat of clear varnish, with the tail painted white. Metal panels on the fuselage, the interplane struts and the wheel covers were painted a grey-green colour. The wings and horizontal tail surfaces were covered in the distinctive lozenge fabric used on many German aircraft, in this instance L.V.G. commonly used the 5 colour pattern on the C.VI.

The photographs showed us that our example carried a number 5 on the fuselage sides, in a distinctive style.

Bibliography:

Verity, Hugh (2000). We Landed by Moonlight. Crecy Publishing. ISBN 0947554750.
Kightly, James (2006). Westland Lysander. Stratus Publishing. ISBN 9788391717844.
Grosz, Peter (1989). L.V.G. C.VI. Albatros Productions. ISBN 0948414219.
Rimell, Ray (2009). L.V.G. C.VI at War. Albatros Productions. ISBN 9781906798055.

In the collection of the RAF Museum is a piece of metal decorated with the ominous words ‘gegen Engeland’ (Against England) illustrated with the Kriegsmarine flag and silhouettes of a battleship and U-boat.

This piece of metal which you can view in Hanger 5 at the RAF Museum, London, was once part of a secondary gun bulkhead of one of the world’s most feared battleships. One that could cause havoc and panic just by leaving its moorings without firing a gun in anger. This was the Kriegmarine’s battleship Tirpitz, the sister ship of the more famous Bismarck. The Tirpitz had a top speed of 62 km/h (34 knots), armed with 38 cm guns with a range of just over 35 kilometres (22 miles) and powerful anti-aircraft defences, including 16 10.5 cm guns mounted in eight twin turrets, these went alongside 16 3.7 cm medium flak guns and numerous 20 mm light flak guns. She was 52,600 tons when fully loaded and, at the time, the heaviest ship ever built by a navy in Europe. A piece of the anchor link chain of the Tirpitz displayed nearby gives an idea of the size of this behemoth.

It was on 12 November 1944 that this battleship was finally sunk in a joint operation by No. 9 Squadron and No. 617 Squadron. About a thousand German sailors would lose their lives in this sinking. This was the result of Operation Catechism and the conclusion of an ongoing hunt to seek and destroy this feared battleship. Since July 1940 attacks by the Fleet Air Arm and the Royal Air Force had been ongoing. In 1940-41 alone 19 attacks were attempted. Two operations, using human torpedoes known as chariots (Operation Title, October 1942) and midget submarines (Operation Source, September 1943) were memorably recalled in the film Above us the Waves (1955).

The Tirpitz influenced Royal Navy policy by the sheer fear of what it could potentially do and this meant that it was a drain on resources, ships were assigned to be near it due to its potential. This threat was particularly significant to arctic convoys due to it being moored in Norway. This was seen in July 1942 when arctic convoy PQ-17 was ordered to scatter and the cruiser escort to return west when it was discovered that the Tirpitz was located a few hours away. This resulted in most of the merchant men being picked off by German U-boats and the Luftwaffe. 11 ships made it to Russian ports out of the 35 that started, 154 crew would perish and thousands of tons of much needed food would end up at the bottom of the ocean. The Tirpitz had caused this just by being close by. This threat was also present when another convoy was delayed after reconnaissance found that the Tirpitz was not at its moorings and its location was unknown. The monster was out of its lair.

The wreckage of one Halifax from an attack on the Tirpitz in April 1942 can also be viewed in Hanger 5 and highlights these operations. This is Halifax W1048 and was recovered from Lake Hoklingen in Norway in 1973. It stands as a silent reminder to all those who were killed in the attempts, and those shot down. Five of the six man crew of this particular Halifax evaded capture, after landing on the frozen lake. The sixth became a prisoner of war.

Operation Catechism on 12 November 1944 was the climax of a series of operations by the Royal Air Force when Bomber Command was tasked with destroying the Tirpitz in 1944. Although suffering from the damage caused by midget submarines and Fleet Air Arm attacks the Naval Intelligence Division reported that the battleship was operational and could carry out limited operations against arctic convoys. This made the Tirpitz a priority target. To destroy this target the RAF had access to weapons that the Fleet Air Arm did not, Tallboy and Johnny Walker or JW mines.

The Tallboy was another invention of Sir Barnes Wallis, most famous for his bouncing bomb, used by No. 617 Squadron. Tallboy was a 12,000 lb deep-penetration bomb. If impacted on concrete it would penetrate up to five metres and then explode. It was the subsequent shock wave generated by this that caused the most damage. JW mines were a smart type of bomb. When dropped near a ship, via parachute, it would move along under the surface of the sea, and attach itself to the target before exploding.

The first mission to use these weapons would be Operation Paravane in September 1944. Two squadrons would join on the attack. No. 617 Squadron, who had experience of attacking unusual targets were led by Wing Commander J. B. ‘Willy’ Tait DSO DFC and No. 9 Squadron whose Lancasters were also had experience of precision bombing. These would be led by Wing Commander James Bazin DSO DFC.

Operation Paravene would involve each Lancaster flying 4,905 miles and using Russian support. On 15 September 1944 after being based at Yagodnik, a Russian naval air station, the squadrons launched their attack against the Tirpitz which was known to be located at Altenfjord. The attack was divided into two forces, Force A which consisted of Lancasters armed each with a single Tallboy and Force B with JW mines. The defences of the Tirpitz included anti-aircraft fire and a smokescreen which was the more problematic as it hid the ship from the bomb aimer’s view. Two Tallboys however did hit the Tirpitz, the first dropped by Wing Commander Tait penetrated and caused extensive internal damage, another hit on the main deck penetrated with major damage resulting to the hull. It is believed this was one dropped by Flight Lieutenant Doug Melrose of No. 9 Squadron.

Following Operation Paravene Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz, supreme commander of the Kriegsmarine, was informed that repairs would take nine months to complete before Tirpitz would be fully operational once more. British naval intelligence however was not aware of this. When the Tirpitz was moved south to Tromsø off the small island of Håkøya, to serve as a gun battery and act as a deterrent to invasion in the area, naval intelligence thought it had gone there to be fully repaired. As it was now in the range of stripped down Lancasters based in Scotland it became even more of a target.

No. 9 Squadron and No. 617 Squadron would launch Operation Obviate on 29 October 1944. The Lancasters were just within flying range although they had to be modified to carry more fuel and made lighter. One area stripped out was the armour protecting the underside of the cockpit. 37 Lancaster’s would drop Tallboys at the Tirpitz but cloud cover would hide the target and none would hit. Wing Commander Tait circled around and around in flak watching the attacks go in, hoping for a hit but eventually gave the order to withdraw.

Due to the predicted weather in Norway and Artic winter very much on its way Bomber Command knew that their time was limited in targeting and destroying this feared battleship that was assumed to be being repaired. Their biggest concern was that it would be repaired over the Arctic winter and be operational once again. After reports of good weather and reconnaissance confirming broken cloud over the target area, Operation Catechism was launched. This time there was an added threat, a Luftwaffe fighter squadron was known to now be located near Tromsø.

Due to the experience of the crews, who had participated in the other attacks, Wing Commander Tait’s briefing before the raid was short. The objective was the same as before, target and sink the Tirpitz. Along with the Lancasters equipped with Tallboys there would also be a Lancaster filming the attack. This was specifically converted and had no weaponry. This footage is some of the most powerful footage of a bombing raid against a battleship that still exists.

On 12 November 1944, just after eight in the morning the crew of the Tirpitz spotted the oncoming Lancasters. Although the alarm was raised and, reportedly, there was a direct line to the Luftwaffe no fighters appeared. This gave No. 9 Squadron and No. 617 Squadron time to strike. In those few minutes, the attack hit home. Through anti-aircraft fire and explosions caused by the heavy guns of the Tirpitz, which rocked the Lancasters, the crews pressed their attack. In only 1 minute and 30 seconds 28 Tallboys were dropped. Two, possibly three, hit home. The near misses also caused damage. Explosions and shock wave after shock wave caused by Tallboy near misses caused the Tirpitz to capsize.

The unsinkable Tirpitz, as it was deemed by Hitler, was sunk by the Royal Air Force and the bravery and determination of the men of No. 9 and No. 617 Squadrons.

The monster of the seas was no longer a threat.

My name is Gary Haines and am honoured to say I am the newly appointed archivist for RAF Museum London. I work within the Collections Department and under my care in the archives are over 650,000 items.

The archives records the history of the Royal Air Force from before its foundation on the 1 April 1918 to the present day through a variety of collections all of which have personal stories at their core.

On my second day Nina Hadaway, Archive, Library and Research Manager, gave me a tour of the archive. Almost the first thing I was shown was an example of our extensive log book collection. Logbooks were issued to all aircrew trades and not just pilots and offer a highly valuable record of day to day activities.

https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/default/archive-collection/aircrew-logbooks

One particular log book I was shown belonged to one of the most famous Battle of Britain aces, Group Captain Sir Douglas Bader.

Douglas Bader’s life was immortalised in the film Reach for the Sky (1956) which told the tale of his heroism and active service as a fighter pilot ace with 20 confirmed victories . His story is even more remarkable as following a crash in 1931 he had lost both his legs. Through sheer determination he flew again and become one of the most well-known aces of the Second World War.

While browsing through the pages of the log book and getting very excited about the stories waiting to be told in the archive (something which as an archivist always appeals to me) I spotted a note in Bader’s handwriting, underlined for emphasise and reflecting RAF slang of the time, it read simply, ‘McKnight killed strafing Huns’.

This note accompanied an entry for 12 January 1941 – ‘with F/LT Turney, raided E. Boats off Dunkirk. Shot them up.’

To learn more about the sources we hold in the library and archive and to familiarise myself with them I decided to do more research into ‘McKnight’ as this entry intrigued me. The best way to know what’s in an archive in my experience is to investigate and therefore activate it.

Flying Officer William Lidstone McKnight DFC was born in Edmonton, Canada on 18 November 1918 and during his service he saw action over Dunkirk in 1940. He was awarded a DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) on 14 June 1940. McKnight also took part in the Battle of Britain (with six confirmed victories ) for which a Bar was added to his DFC.

By the 12 January 1941 Fg Off McKnight had achieved a total of 17 confirmed victories , two shared destroyed and three unconfirmed destroyed. Marking him firmly as an ace.

On this date, the date of Bader’s entry in his logbook, it is recorded that McKnight took part in one of the first ‘Rhubarb’ sorties. These were attacks carried out at low-level usually by a pair of fighter planes and usually in bad weather to harass and disrupt the enemy.

The low-level flying and bad weather were designed to off-set the danger of enemy fighters. However, these operational conditions made ‘Rhubarb’ missions even more hazardous. As did the ever present anti-aircraft fire.

Aces High

It is recorded in Christopher Shores and Clive Williams, (London: Grub Street, 1994) that on his patrol Fg Off McKnight strafed some troops on the ground and turned to strafe them again. It was then that Messerschmitt Bf 109s were sighted. Reports vary but it is generally thought six attacked McKnight’s Hurricane. It has not been established if he was killed by the Bf 109s or by ground fire but Fg Off McKnight vanished. The wreckage of his aircraft has never been found. He was 22 years old. His name appears on the RAF Memorial at Runnymede, opened in 1953 it commemorates airmen and women who died in Western Europe and have no known grave.

Also killed on this day was Pilot Officer John B Latta, another holder of the DFC and another ace with seven confirmed victories. He was 27 years old and had been a salmon fisherman in Canada. His name also appears on the memorial.

Of the four Hawker Hurricanes that were sent out in pairs on this early ‘Rhubarb’ patrol on 12 January 1941 only two returned.

McKnight’s death was obviously very significant to Bader, hence the note in his log book, and not just because he was a highly valuable member of Bader’s No. 242 Squadron, which consisted of Canadian pilots but because he was a friend.

‘Some years after the war I visited Calgary which was the home town of William McKnight. In a speech at a Chamber of Commerce lunch, I suggested to the Mayor and some of the senior citizens that they should name some of their streets – and indeed the new Calgary Airport than being built – after some of the Canadian pilots of World War II. I visited Calgary many times in the 1950s and 60s and there is now a new road leading to the airport which is called McKnight Boulevard. Later I unveiled a commemorative plaque to Willie McKnight in the passenger hall of Calgary airport. A fine tribute to a great Canadian pilot….’

Douglas Bader, Fight for the Sky, (London: Sidgwick and Jackson, 1973), pp. 54 – 55.

My next blog will highlight another item held in the archive as I get to know the collection and tell a story from it.