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Air-to-air refuelling in the Falklands War

Operation Corporate

On Friday 2 April 1982, Argentinian military forces invaded and occupied the British Overseas Territory of The Falkland Islands. The following day, the Prime Minister, Mrs Margaret Thatcher, told the House of Commons – on a very rare Saturday sitting – that ‘It is the Government’s objective to see that the islands are freed from occupation and are returned to British administration at the earliest possible moment’.

Roles assigned to the RAF for Operation Corporate were reconnaissance, ground attack, transporting personnel and freight, as well as the aero-medical evacuation of those wounded during the conflict. The RAF also showed the psychological exercise of the demonstration of will and capability.

But whilst these tasks were clear, the assets to deliver them were far less so. The distances were vast. Even from the advance base at Wideawake Airfield on Ascension Island, there was no aircraft which could fly to the Falklands and return unsupported; tankers were vital and self-evidently any aircraft going that far had to be able to receive fuel from a tanker.

This limited the choice to the Avro Vulcan. However, a dwindling number of those Vulcans remained: only those which had escaped retirement to museums or the breakers blowtorch. The RAF Museum London’s own Vulcan was already a museum piece at the time.

The unsung hero : the Handley Page Victor tanker

As for tankers, there were a couple of dozen Handley Page Victor K2s, with the prime tasking of supporting the Quick Reaction Force of English Electric Lightnings, defending Britain’s Air Defence Identification Zone, principally against Soviet aircraft coming round the North Cape into the North Atlantic. VC10 tankers were not yet in service.

Quite simply, without the Victor tankers, Operation Corporate could not have been launched.

The Victor as a V-bomber

The Victor started its career in the 1950s as a strategic bomber, entering Bomber Command service in April 1958. Together with its stable-mates, the Vickers Valiant and Avro Vulcan, its primary purpose was to carry Britain’s atomic Bomb ‘Blue Danube’ (weighing 10,000 lb – 4½ tons, 4,500 kilos) to Moscow. The previous generation of RAF bombers – Handley Page Halifax, Avro Lancaster/Lincoln and Boeing B-29 Washington, which the three V-Bombers were replacing, were low, slow and fitted with guns for self-defence, whereas the 1946 Operational Requirement against which both the Victor and Vulcan were designed followed the same principle as the de Havilland Mosquito. They were to be high and fast to outperform the opposition: 500 mph (800 km/h) at 50,000 feet (15,000 metres). No Soviet fighter or anti-aircraft gun could threaten them. Later Victors achieved 620 mph (1,000 km/h) at 62,000 feet (19,000 metres).

But this invincibility was to be short-lived. On 1 May 1960, a Lockheed U-2 reconnaissance aircraft piloted by Frances Gary Powers, on loan from the United States Air Force to the Central Intelligence Agency, was shot down whilst flying over Sverdlovsk Oblast in the Ural Mountains of the USSR. Soviet air defence technology had caught up rapidly. The Soviet S-75 Dvina missile (NATO reporting name SA-2 ‘Guideline’) could probably reach 70,000 feet. Well above the ceiling of the Victors and Vulcans. The V-Bombers were no longer safe at altitude.

At the beginning of 1963, the Air Council recognised the improved Soviet air defences meant V-Bombers could no longer expect to survive at high level so introduced the need for low level attacks: instead of flying at 50,000 feet, they dropped very low – 100 feet – in heavily defended areas of the Soviet Union.

But Victors were not able to fly at low level, where their more delicate wings could not withstand the stresses of the greater turbulence.

What to do with them all? Convert them to tankers.

The need for tankers

The early 1960s saw the introduction of the English Electric Lightning into Fighter Command (before it became Strike Command). Incredibly fast at twice the speed of sound, it was also desperately thirsty. Tankers were vital to permit the Lightnings on Quick Reaction Alert to chase away the Soviet Tupolev Tu 95 ‘Bear’.

In 1965, with the sudden withdrawal from service of all Valiants due to wing fatigue caused by air turbulence at low level, early Victors were converted to tankers. Some Victors had two hoses and could still carry bombs whilst others, later all, were three-point. The latter had one on each wing and a larger Hose Drum Unit (HDU) in the bomb bay, thereby losing their bombing capability. The wing hoses were suitable only for lighter, fighter-style aircraft whereas heavier bombers and transports had to use the centre-line hose for aerodynamic reasons.

Early Victors were released for tanker conversion as the more powerful B2 variants began delivery in 1962 but in due course 24 of these B2s were themselves converted to K2 tankers – see Timeline below.

Although by Op Corporate all Victors had been converted to tankers, a retro-modified Victor carried out one of the very first offensive operations by flying a radar and visual reconnaissance mission to South Georgia.

During the combat phase of Op Corporate, every aircraft going from Ascension south to Falklands, and fighters coming from UK to Ascension, required multiple tankers. For the intricate refuelling plan for Black Buck Victor sorties, please see a recent Vulcan blog post.

On the receiving end

The following individual types participated in Op Corporate and benefited from AAR to achieve their missions:

Hawker Siddeley Nimrod MR2

The Nimrod undertook reconnaissance missions and provided navigation and Search and Rescue cover for Harriers on their over-water flights from Ascension Island to the Task Force and also for Black Buck sorties. Also providing communications with our nuclear attack submarines going ‘down south’.

These Nimrods had to have refuelling systems installed for the first time for Op Corporate so on 13 April 1982 (just 11 days after the invasion), the Ministry of Defence placed an order with Flight Refuelling Ltd to fit AAR equipment. The first test flight took place on 30 April. Nimrods had not been designed for this, nor were there any spares in stores. Just like the Vulcans, museums and scrap yards were scavenged for parts. Perhaps unbelievably, the Vulcan recently presented to Castle Air Force Base, California, was raided by RAF engineering NCOs in ‘civvies’ for plumbing bits. After the conflict, Castle AFB congratulated the RAF on this spectacular audacity. And demanded the parts be returned.

With AAR, one Nimrod remained on patrol for 19 hours.

Tragically, though, the addition of AAR plumbing was to be a factor in the loss of XV 230 over Afghanistan 24 years later: a fuel leak from refuelling causing a catastrophic fire and the deaths of all 14 service personnel aboard.

Hawker Harrier GR3

RAF front-line combat-capable strike assets in 1982 were limited to the McDonnell-Douglas F-4 Phantom, Blackburn Buccaneer and Hawker Siddeley Harrier GR 3. All three had AAR (air-to-air refuelling) capability. But it would not be reasonable to expect a pilot to fly 8,000 miles over 16 hours – even if they had the navigational capability, which they didn’t. Nor did the aircraft have sufficient oil for their engines over those distances. The only one of these three which were used was the Harrier GR3.

The RAF Harriers were initially assigned to Op Corporate as attrition replacements for any Sea Harriers lost in combat. However, losses were fortunately lower than anticipated. However, integrating these aircraft with a carrier was far from straightforward as some 30 modifications were required. Their Inertia Navigation Systems were designed to be calibrated at a known, fixed location but of course a carrier never stays still. In fact, this mating with the carrier was never achieved so the GR3 pilots relied upon ruler, pencil and ‘Mk 1 eyeball’ for bomb-aiming.

Engines lacked the special corrosion-resistant coatings that the Sea Harriers had to combat the damage from salt-laden air. Magnesium components (aluminium on Sea Harriers) reacted chemically to salt water. Naval transponders had to be fitted, holes were drilled to allow water to drain away, additional tie-down points to cope with the carriers’ rolling and pitching in heavy seas, and the nose steering gear modified. Nevertheless, despite all these modifications, a GR3 could never have been a direct substitute for a Sea Harrier as a fighter jet. Although AIM 9L Sidewinders air-to-air missiles were fitted, the Harrier did not have any radar.

Some flew from England down to the Task Force, stopping at Yandun International Airport, Banjul (Gambia) and Wideawake Airfield on Ascension Island. They used over-size fuel tanks and AAR probes but records suggest they did not fit the extension wingtips designed for just such ferry flights; one batch flew non-stop from St Mawgan to Ascension and then a few days later direct to the Task Force, making their first-ever carrier deck landing in the midst of an air alert.

Lockheed Hercules

The workhorse of the transport fleet. As well as lifting personnel and freight from UK to Ascension, they supported the Task Force by flying south and parachuting equipment not loaded before leaving the UK and key personnel including, it is said, special forces.

Marshalls of Cambridge Ltd fitted refuelling probes to 16 Hercules enabling them to fly all the way from Ascension to Stanley and return; Flight Lieutenant T Locke smashed the endurance record flying for 28 hours and 4 minutes to air-drop electrical components and missiles to a Rapier missile battery positioned around Port Stanley.

Avro Vulcan B2

At the very end of their operational lives, Vulcans were called upon to undertake what was then the longest bombing raids in the world – the nearly 4,000 miles (6,400 km) from Wideawake Airfield, Ascension Island, to Port Stanley, Falklands Islands, a 16 hour round trip – in the famous “Black Buck” raids; it took 13 Victor tankers to put one Vulcan over the target, with 15 air-to-air refuels (AAR) between the sole Vulcan and between Victors (some of the latter flying two sorties that night). As Tim Bracey will point out in his upcoming blog post on the Black Buck Shrike missions, the Vulcans did not need tanker support for their European nuclear role, so most of the plumbing had been removed and had to be replaced from spares and bits and pieces scavenged from museums and junk yards. And the current pilots had not been trained in AAR, so a sixth crew member was added – a Victor Captain qualified as an Air to Air Refuelling Instructor.

The particular Vulcans on Black Buck missions were from a batch of Mark B2s which had a number of modifications with a view to carrying the Skybolt missile (intended to replace Blue Steel but scrapped). They had more powerful Olympus 301 engines, as against the Olympus 201 of the other B2s. And as Skybolt had celestial navigation – so had to see the stars – they had to be mounted on underwing pylons so had the strengthening and wiring left over from that intended role, now enabling ECM (electronic counter measures) and anti-radiation (radar) Shrike missiles.

Although the damage to Stanley Airport in the first of the Black Buck raids was modest (one 1,000 lb bomb on the runway), the psychological impact was profound. If a Vulcan could reach Stanley, it could equally hit the mainland. So the potent Mirage fighters which had been escorting attacks on the Task Force were held back to protect the home country.

Hawker Sea Harrier FRS 1

Colloquially called ‘Shars’, the Sea Harriers were Royal Naval Air Service assets, they are included here as they did benefit from RAF tanker (Victor) and Air Sea Rescue (Nimrod) support on ferry flights.

Aircraft embarked on board HM Ships ‘Invincible’ and ‘Hermes’ did not need tanker support but No 809 Squadron flew from RNAS Culdrose to Ascension, with tanker assistance; an overnight stop was made at Yandun International Airport, Banjul, The Gambia, then onwards to Ascension. Large 330 gallon (1,500 litre) capacity ferry fuel tanks were available for each inner pylon but trials on Royal Naval Air Station Yeovilton’s ski-jump showed they adversely affected trim and stability so the standard 100 gallon (450 litre) combat tanks were used. Again, there is no evidence of the larger ‘ferry wing tips’, which added lift, being fitted.

This flight was not without its moments: a SHAR losing its oxygen system so having to fly at a much lower altitude, with increased fuel consumption; another SHAR and its guiding Victor losing navigation systems so the entire formation relying upon one man in his SHAR for routing; and a Victor being unable to deploy either wing-mounted hoses so the SHARs had to use the main hose deployed from the Victor’s bomb bay: the aerodynamic effects of which were completely unknown as this had never been tested. But as one SHAR pilot said ‘what the hell, this is war’.

Aftermath

The Argentinian forces surrendered on 14 June 1982. However, the problem of the continued protection of the Falklands Islands and their population against a renewed Argentinian invasion, were UK armed forces to withdraw, now came to the fore and so a significant military capability had to remain in place, far in excess of the nominal force of Royal Marines which had been the permanent garrison before the invasion. A very significant logistical and defence challenge.

From the RAF’s perspective, that initially meant establishing a major air bridge.

Victors were being used at a quite unforeseen rate, eating into their fatigue lives. So two, somewhat drastic, measures were needed until the first VC10 tankers were due into service: convert Vulcans and Hercules to tankers.

With the Vulcans, two additional fuel tanks were installed in the cavernous bomb bay and the HDU was inserted where the ECM equipment had been in bays in the tail, aft of the rudder. The single basket was housed in a metal and wooden box below the very rear of the tail. An order was placed with British Aerospace at Woodford on 4 May and just 50 days later, 23 June, XH 561 was delivered to RAF Waddington; it undertook trials the very same day delivering fuel to another Vulcan and a Victor.

Hercules tanker

As for the Hercules, a solution – of the Heath-Robinson variety – was the contract given to Marshalls of Cambridge to convert 4 Hercules to perform the role of AAR tankers, one of which would be based at each of Stanley and Ascension.

Admittedly, the US Marine Corps had been using KC130 tankers since the early 1960s but these had been designed for the task, with additional pylons for the hoses outboard of the outer engines and the appropriate wiring and plumbing. But the RAF’s Hercules lacked these so the solution adopted by Marshalls was far quicker and more brutal: add tanks in the cargo area; put an HDU on the cargo door; and cut a hole in the door for the hose.

‘Toboganning’

Air-to-Air Refuelling is a delicate and dangerous operation, where mistakes have led to fatalities. Two large aircraft have to fly at exactly the same speed and maintain the same relative positions just dozens of metres apart – even at night and in severe turbulence.

The first propeller tanker aircraft refuelled combat aircraft which were faster than them. Jet tankers – like the Victor – solved that problem but Op Corporate and Hercules receivers produced the same problem in reverse: the Victor tankers were too fast for the Hercules receivers.

The solution was a technique known as tobogganing: the two aircraft would separately climb to altitude then dive, picking up speed. This would enable the Hercules to catch and connect with the Victor’s drogue. At a lower altitude, they would separate, climb and repeat – a number of times if necessary.

Continued service

And finally… aircraft and aircrew are, of course, the heart of the RAF but, dear reader, do spare a thought for other RAF units and personnel who are often overlooked: engineers, armourers, radar, controllers, communications, RAF Regiment, logisticians, medical etc, not forgetting drivers, cooks and clerks. They all served.

Victors continued to give sterling service right up to Operation Granby, the First Gulf War in 1991, being withdrawn for RAF service in October 1993.

But the very last ever (to date) flight of a Victor was on 25 August 2009 during a high-speed taxying run by a museum piece which got out of hand when the Victor took charge and tried to escape.

Both the RAF Museum London and Midlands have a Falklands veteran Victor tanker on display. Book your free ticket via our website to see them up close.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND FURTHER READING

RAF Historical Society Journal No 30 2003

‘THE RAF IN THE POSTWAR YEARS: THE BOMBER ROLE 1945-1970’ Humphrey Wynn, RAF Air Historical Branch

‘Harrier 809’, Rowland White, Penguin/Corgi Books 2020

‘Contact: A Victor Captain’s experiences in the RAF before, during and after the Falklands conflict’ Bob Tuxford, Grub Street Publishing

Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft 1982/3

‘Falklands, Witness of Battles’, Jesus Romero [Major, Spanish Air Force] and Salvador Huertas [historian], Valencia, Spain 1985

‘Air War South Atlantic’ Jeffrey Ethell and Alfred Price Sidgwick & Jackson

www.victorxm715.co.uk (detailed history of AAR missions)

Multiple articles in aviation magazines

TIMELINE

1958 Victor entered RAF Bomber Command service

1960 May Powers’ U-2 brought down over Soviet Union by missile

1960 Britain joins Skybolt project

1961 February Last Victor B1 delivered

1962 First deliveries of Victor B2 to RAF

1962 first Blue Steel missiles introduced to service (on Vulcans)

1962 October Cuban Missile crisis

1962 December Skybolt cancelled

1963 January Air Council issues requirement for V-Bombers to fly at low level

1963 May last Victor B 2 delivered to RAF

1964 Victors fitted with Blue Steel

1965 January Valiants withdrawn, scrapped

1965 April first Victor tankers delivered

1969 July Strategic nuclear deterrent transferred to Royal Navy

1970 Blue Steel withdrawn from service

1974 Conversion begins of Victor B2 to K2 (tanker) standard

1975 First K2 delivered to RAF

1982 Op Corporate (Falklands)

1991 Op Granby (Gulf War I)

1993 Victors Withdrawn

2009 August Bruntingthorpe attempted escape

OPERATION CORPORATE ORDER OF BATTLE (fixed wing only)

Victor 20

VC 10 14 (UK to Wideawake and latterly Uruguay only)

Nimrod MR 2 13

Harrier GR3 10

Hercules 6

Vulcan 4

Phantom 3 (Wideawake only)

12 May 2022
The Hercules in the Falklands War

In the #Falklands40 commemorations, the Lockheed Hercules may not receive the attention of the Harriers and Vulcans of this world, but it played an essential role during the conflict.

As has been explained in previous posts, Ascension Island was the vital staging post for the recapture of the Falklands, located strategically between the UK and the Falklands. From here the Vulcan and Victors launched their Black Buck raids while the remaining (Sea) Harriers were loaded on ships steaming toward the Falklands. However, how to get supplies to Ascension Island? Or how could the Fleet be supplied while in the South Atlantic? This is where ‘the Herc’ came in.

The Hercules entered service with the US Air Force in 1956 as a heavy tactical transport aircraft powered by then-novel turboprop engines. Ever since, the Hercules and its many enlarged and improved versions have been a mainstay of Western logistics. During the Falklands, the RAF had a total of 54 Hercules transports, which operated together at RAF Lyneham, and therefore referred to as the Lyneham Wing.

The air bridge

The Hercules was the first RAF aircraft to jump to action in the Falklands War. One day after the invasion, four Hercules departed Lyneham for Gibraltar to set up an air bridge via Dakar in Senegal to Ascension Island. Goods and personnel were flown to the Island to ready it for air operations.

Another valuable mission performed by the Hercules fleet was that of air drops to the Task Force ships sailing toward the Falklands. Once the Task Force sailed south from Ascension Island, the only way of delivering urgent/vital supplies would be through Hercules flying down to it and dropping them by parachute into the sea, having provided sufficient flotation packaging to permit the stores to float until picked up by the ships.

The air drop technique always worked very well but there was one peculiar incident when the small boat sent to drag the large load alongside a destroyer for pick up, took over three hours to do the job. A killer whale had fallen in love with what the Herc had dropped. It chased off the naval boat every time it tried to get near it. It eventually took the destroyer itself to chase off the amorous orca and recover the load.

Longer legs

A more serious problem was the limited endurance of the Hercules. Remember, Ascension Island was 4,000 miles away from the UK, and it was another 3,500 miles to the Falklands. Both were beyond the range of the Herc, even without cargo. A solution was literally found. Discarded fuel tanks, once used by retired Andover and Argosy transport aircraft, were located in storage. These 825-gallon tanks were hastily installed in some Hercules aircraft, greatly increasing their range. The first extended-range Hercules deployment was on 4 May. Hercules XV196 took off from Lyneham and flew non-stop to Ascension Island. A few days later it dropped supplies over the Task Force and returned, staying in the air for over 17 hours.

Still not satisfied with the range, the RAF investigated adding an in-air refuelling probe to the Hercules. Hercules XV200 was chosen for the conversion. A probe was mounted on top of the cockpit with the equipment faired over from the fuselage roof to the starboard wing root. A Handley Page Victor tanker was flown over to test the mid-air refuelling. However, there was one obvious problem. The Vulcan’s minimum flight was higher than the Hercules’ maximum flight!

In the end a technique was developed which involved fuel being transferred in a gentle dive starting at about 20,000 feet. That way, the Victor could manage to keep down to 230 knots (265 mph) and (thanks to Isaac Newton) the Herc could bump up its normal 210 knots (242 mph) to match this. This procedure meant a prolonged descent at 500 feet per minute, the exercise usually being completed about 5,000 feet above the ocean, before commencing the long haul back up to altitude. That said, depending on the conditions, it could be a lot lower…

Six Hercules were converted before the end of the Falklands conflict. The first operational sortie with XV200 took place on 16 May. Flt Lt HC Burgoyne and his crew took off from Ascension for a 6,300-miles journey to the Task Fleet off the Falklands, and back.

The Hercules was refuelled twice by tanker aircraft; the second tanker having to be refuelled itself on the way back. Once down to about 1000 feet the Hercules depressurised, opened its ramp, and dropped 1,000 lb of supplies and eight parachutists near HSM Antelope off the Falklands. Burgoyne’s team then closed the ramp, re-pressurised, and climbed back up to cruising altitude before making a rendezvous with its third tanker halfway home. Burgoyne received the Air Force Cross for what was probably the longest air transport mission in history.

By 6 June the first two such equipped Hercules had carried out 11 missions, supporting the Task Fleet off the Falklands, each lasting at least 20 hours. The crews were prescribed the non-addictive drug Temazepam to ensure that they got some proper rest between flights. Without exception each crew member was absolutely drained, but determined and confident in their ability to undertake the task.

Every mission was given a girl’s name, such as Julie, Katie, Mary and Wilma. A drop on the islands itself, codenamed Gina, was planned for 14 June but the Argentinian forces surrendered while the Hercules was still en route.

Port Stanley

That did not end the role of the Hercules, quite the opposite. Using the captured Port Stanley airport, the Hercules were used to supply the British armed forces on the Islands. This came to a temporary halt on 14 August to allow extension and repair work to the air strip. Sorties reverted back to airdrops.

To pick up mail from the Islands an air snatch system was devised, similar to the practices of the RAF over the desert in the 1920s and 1930s. A grappling hook was attached to a 150ft nylon rope, trailing from the rear cargo door of the Hercules. The hook would engage a loop of rope suspended between two 22 ft poles positioned 50ft apart. The aircraft would run in at 50ft to snatch the rope and haul in the attached mail bag. Some 30 such snatches were carried out before RAF Stanley was reopened on 29 August.

In hindsight, the Hercules air bridge delivered essential support to the British war effort. In fact, the airlift turned out to be the biggest since the Berlin Airlift of 1948-49. The Hercules carried over 7000 tons, or 15 million pounds, of freight, including 114 vehicles, twenty-two helicopters and nearly 6000 troops and support personnel.

Both our London and Midlands site have a Hercules on display. Our London site has a front section of an American WC-130E while our Midlands site has an RAF C-130K Mk 3 on display. Book your free ticket at the bottom of our website to see them up close. And if you wish to find out more about the history of the Hercules in the RAF, have a look at this video on our YouTube channel:

10 May 2022
The Avro Vulcan: Part 3

On 1 May 1982, Britain woke up with the message by the BBC World Service that the Royal Air Force has bombed Port Stanley airport on the Falklands, occupied by the Argentinians. An incredible feat knowing that the islands were thousands of miles from the nearest airfield. This blog post will explore how the Avro Vulcan, on the eve of its replacement, was tasked with a mission it was never intended for.

The V-bomber, a nuclear deterrent during the Cold War

The Avro Vulcan is one of the most iconic and loved aircraft in RAF history. Its elegant delta wing and tremendous roar made it a popular attraction on flight shows. Its origin lay in the aftermath of the Second World War when Specification B.35/46 asked for a strategic bomber which could fly fast, far and high. Well, that’s what the Vulcan delivered.

The Avro Vulcan could fly at a maximum speed of 1,039 km/h (646 mph), close to the speed of sound, and climb up to 17,000 m (55,000 ft). This made it virtually impossible to intercept. It had a range of 4,195 km (2,607 miles) but was later equipped with an inflight refuelling capability, allowing it to strike targets deep into the Soviet Union. It could be armed with a nuclear bomb or 21 conventional 1,000 pounds (454 kg) bombs.

The Vulcan had a crew of five people: two pilots, a navigator, a radar operator and an electronic warfare operator. The latter was quite a novel role, revealing another Vulcan strength. It was equipped with radar warning equipment and electronic jamming equipment which could disrupt the Soviet radar and guided anti-aircraft missiles.

Despite these electronics, during the 1960s Soviet missile defences were becoming more effective which led to the decision to pass on the nuclear deterrence role to the Royal Navy with submarines capable of launching ballistic missiles. That is still the case today.

Too young to retire, the RAF found a new role for the Vulcan. It would fly at low altitude, so low enemy radar could not pick them up, to attack military targets closer to the frontline, such as missile sites, rail facilities, bridges, runways and railway lines, whilst area targets were aircraft on airfields, airfield buildings, airfield fuel installations and bomb stores, supply dumps and armoured fighting vehicle concentrations. The weapon of choice was a brand-new weapon, the WE177 nuclear bomb. In this capacity the Vulcan remained in service throughout the 1970s while awaiting the arrival of its intended replacement, the Panavia Tornado.

The Falklands: too far for the Vulcan?

When the Falklands Conflict erupted in 1982, the Vulcans were only weeks away from being taken out of service. Realising that it was the only bomber capable of bombing the occupied Falkland Islands from the nearest British air base, the Vulcans were called upon a last time. In fact, it was also the first and only time the Vulcan were used in combat.

However, there was a problem. A big problem! The nearest RAF station to the Falklands is 6,529 km (3,889 miles) away at RAF Wideawake on Ascension Island. To get a fully armed Vulcan to the Falklands it would require several mid-air refuels. That would also require that the tankers refuelled each other so the Vulcan could be refuelled along the way. To make matters worse, the Vulcan crews had given up training for aerial refuelling after the switch to low altitude attacks a decade earlier.

Much of the refuelling equipment was no longer available. A frantic search for parts was started, combing out RAF stations, but even further away. A couple of old Vulcans had been donated to the Americans to put in their museums. It was quickly found out these still had the refuelling probes. What followed was very embarrassing. A small team of RAF technicians hurried across the Atlantic. They arrived in civilian clothes and went sneaking around USAF museums, surreptitiously removing the Vulcan probes. At the end of the war, the RAF got a signal from Castle AFB Museum congratulating the RAF on their success … and demanding the immediate return of stolen property!

Several Handley Page Victor tankers landed at Wideawake but it was hardly an ideal RAF station. Ascension had only a single runway, nestled in between extinct volcanoes and high ground. Lining the runway was gritty volcanic dust and pumice stone, which was all too happy to be ingested by the engine intakes.

Black Buck, the Vulcan sends a message

The night of 30 April / 1 May was to be a pivotal moment during the Falklands Campaign with a planned bombing raid by a single Vulcan bomber on the Argentinian-held airfield of Port Stanley on the Falkland Islands. Three sections of Victors were formed; Red, White and Blue, and five tankers for the return flight. A most complicated refuel plan was designed to ensure that all tankers in both outbound and inbound waves would have sufficient fuel to be able to return to Wideawake. Today, in all probability a computer programme would be used for the intricate calculations but in 1982, the plan was worked out with an electronic pocket calculator. With hindsight the diagram might appear to be an obvious solution but, at the time, it was a major innovation.

13 Victors and 2 Vulcans started their engines, ready for take off at night from the single runway. ‘The deafening sound of the mighty four-jets as they struggled to get airborne must have been a spectacular sight. Ascension has not seen anything like this before.’ (Bob Tuxford) White-4 soon found out their hose was jammed and Blue-3 as reserve aircraft took its place. Shortly after, the crew of the primary Vulcan aircraft XM598, now on display at the RAF Museum Midlands, reported that they had an issue with their pressurisation, and they too had to withdraw. The reserve Vulcan under Flight Lieutenant Withers took its place.

After an hour and 45 minutes the first fuel transfer took place. The Victors of Red and White sections paired up and refuelled each other. Half of the aircraft were fully loaded with around 50,000 lbs of fuel each, while the other half was left with enough fuel to return to Ascension. The tankers of Blue Section did the same and refuelled the Vulcan.

With a five-ship formation left the next refuelling took place in the early morning. All of these took place in complete radio silence, which required tremendous discipline and confidence in each other and their own skills.

During the third refuel bracket, the aircraft had to endure a violent thunderstorm. One of the Victor’s refuelling probe broke, and was unable to take on the required fuel. The only way around it would be to reverse the action, give the fuel back to the donor Victor, flown by Bob Tuxford who would then continue the mission. Although physically and mentally exhausted, he had to go through the same dire weather conditions and connect his probe with the refuelling basket. After several minutes ‘chasing the basket’, he finally made contact and the fuel started to transfer.

The actual fuel status started to deviate further from the detailed refuelling plan. By the time Box Tuxford’s crew refuelled the Vulcan for the final time, Martin Withers stated he had not received sufficient fuel. As no more fuel or tankers were available, this was a terrible disappointment as it meant the entire mission was now compromised.

Box Tuxford consulted with his crew if they should transfer more fuel to ensure the operation was a success, even if it meant it would jeopardise their own chances making it back to Ascension. They decided to do so, allowing Martin Withers’ Vulcan to push on.

The Vulcan reaches the Falklands

Withers approached the Islands at low level to avoid radar detection. He made the final approach at 10,000 feet (3,000 m) while the Vulcan’s electronic countermeasures defeated the radar systems controlling the defending Skyguard anti-aircraft cannons. Twenty-one bombs were dropped of which one hit the runway.

One bomb may seem a poor effort but it was what was expected. The decision was taken to attack across the runway in the hope that at least one would hit. If they had flown along the length of the runway, they could have hit it with most of the bombs. But if the bombs dropped just 6 feet to either side, none would have hit the runway.

After dropping the bombs, Withers immediately headed north to a planned rendezvous with a Victor some way off the Brazilian coast near Rio de Janeiro. As they passed the British Task Force, the crew signalled the code word ‘superfuse’ indicating a successful attack at 0746Z.

So it was that the RAF fired the opening salvo in the Falklands campaign by bombing Port Stanley airfield on 1 May.

For Black Buck 1 the Vulcan was airborne for 16 hours 2 minutes, the long slot tanker for 14 hours 5 minutes while the total Victor flight time was 105 hours 25 minutes. The outbound plus the inbound waves of Victors uplifted 244,000 imperial gallons, that is 1.1 million litres. The Vulcan received 7% of the total and 20% was transferred between the Victors. At the final outbound transfer, the fuel passed to the Vulcan had passed through five different tankers.

Although the airfield was only lightly damaged, the impact was tremendous, especially mentally and politically. It sent a very stark message to Argentina. If the RAF can reach the Falklands, then it can reach Buenos Aires. As a result, they moved their Mirage fighter jets to protect the capital instead, away from the Falklands. It also meant that the Argentinians did not base fast jets on the Islands, which significantly reduced their ability to conduct offensive missions against the Royal Navy Task Force.

Although the worth of the Black Buck operations had been proven , the ability to replay the Vulcan card was limited by a couple of crucial factors . Wideawake had only limited aircraft parking space. Using all tanker capacity to conduct Black Buck raids meant no other Vulcan, Nimrod and Hercules operations could be carried out.

More Black Bucks

A few days later Black Buck 2 was carried out , with the same 2 Vulcans targeting the airfield. Later in the campaign, further Black Buck sorties were flown to neutralise an Argentine surveillance radar, using Shrike missiles that had been provided at short notice from American stocks.

Scheduled for 16 May, Black Buck 3 was cancelled before take-off due to strong headwinds. Black Buck 4 was planned for 28/29 May with Vulcan XM598, now on display at our Midlands site, as the chosen aircraft. Because no bombs were carried two additional fuel tanks could be fitted, which reduced the need for tanker support. On this occasion, however, one of the Victor tankers had a failure of their hose refuelling equipment, so the mission was aborted.

Black Buck 5 took place on 31 May with Vulcan XM597 with on board Squadron Leader McDougall and his crew, while our XM598 was the reserve Vulcan. Three runs over the target were made, so that the crew could identify the correct TPS-43 radar (making sure to avoid the one near Port Stanley town). Two missiles were launched at 6-7 miles out and the radar was identified as having stopped transmitting. Some shrapnel damaged one of the radar elements, but this was repaired quite quickly.

Black Buck 6 took place on 3 June with the same two Vulcans and their crews. McDougall flew the Vulcan over the target area for 40 minutes hoping that the TPS-43 radar would be switched on and his crew could fire the Shrike missiles. This did not happen, so with fuel reserves dropping, the Vulcan’s Air Electronics Officer (AEO) fired two of the Shrikes configured for the Skyguard radar. They hit their target, knocking out that radar and killing four soldiers.

However, the Vulcan had big problems while attempting to refuel on the way back to Ascension. The refuelling probe on the Vulcan was broken and the Vulcan had to divert to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. The crew had to dispose of the secret codes and papers carried in the cockpit and put them into two metal containers. They depressurised the cockpit/cabin and opened the main entrance/exit hatch and threw the containers from 40,000 feet out into the South Atlantic. The crew then had great problems in closing the hatch and one of them had to hang head down, with a colleague holding onto his body, to be able to successfully close the hatch. They then had to jettison the two remaining Shrike missiles.

Once they had checked that there were no fishing vessels in range, one missile was fired, but the other stayed on its pylon. A Mayday was declared and contact with the air traffic controllers at Rio International airport attempted. This was difficult because the crew’s voices were high pitched because of the depressurised cabin. The aircraft landed safely, but only with enough fuel for one more circuit of the airport.

The Brazilian authorities held the aircraft and crew for one week and were well treated. In fact, at a reception to commemorate the Queen’s birthday on 9 June, the Brazilian Chief of the Air Staff joined in raising a glass to Her Majesty! The crew flew the Vulcan back to Ascension on the 10 June.

An afterthought

From an RAF point of view, the Falklands Conflict and Operation Black Buck were totally unexpected. For decades it only prepared itself for a nuclear exchange with the Soviets, which meant that the Vulcan crews had led a very sheltered existence within an air force which wasn’t used to going to war. It is a testament to their skills that they, like all RAF personnel, were able to adapt so quickly.

Avro Vulcan XM598 is on display at the RAF Museum Midlands, but also the RAF Museum London has a Vulcan on display. What’s more, it’s accessible to the public via our special Cold War Experience Tours. Have a look at our website for further details.

1 May 2022
The Boeing Chinook

The Boeing CH-47 Chinook Helicopter entered RAF service in November 1980. Throughout its 40 years of service the Chinook has made an immeasurable contribution to the Service, operating in every major conflict since the Falklands War, and delivering disaster relief and supporting communities across the UK. As a multifunctional workhorse, the Chinook is the backbone of Britain’s tactical logistics.

So what is the Chinook? It is a 2-engine multi-purpose twin rotor transport helicopter that was primarily developed for troop and equipment transport.

The twin rotor aspect is the most recognisable aspect of the Chinook. However, it was not a novel design. The RAF’s earlier Bristol Belvedere helicopter also used this system. So, what is the reason for it? A helicopter with a single rotor will have the tendency to rotate along the movement of the blades, a bit like a hammer thrower who rotates with the chained ball. Most helicopters have a tail rotor which pushes back, keeping the helicopter stable. Pushing harder or relaxing allows the helicopter to turn left or right. With two rotors rotating in opposite directions the need for a tail rotor is eliminated, allowing all power to be used for lift and thrust.

Two turboshaft engines were placed on either side of the rear pylon. They each had around 2,200 hp each, around the same as a late-war Spitfire, but a modern Chinook now has twice that. Turboshaft engines are essentially jet engines but they are connected via gearbox and several shafts to a combining gearbox in front of the rear pylon. From here shafts go to both rotors which have their own gearbox. These gearboxes reduce the engines’ speed of around 15,000rpm to the rotors’ much calmer rotational speed of 225rpm which gives the Chinook its distinctive ‘wokka’ sound. Also, if one of the Chinook’s turboshaft engines fail, the other can drive both rotors.

What’s more, the ability to adjust power to either rotor makes it able to carry more weight in the front or back of the helicopter. That is an important benefit to cargo lifting and dropping. It also allows the Chinook to perform one of its trademark moves, ‘the pinnacle’. This manoeuvre sees the Chinook setting its rear wheels onto a ridge or cliff edge with the front still in the air. It allows troops on or off the helicopter while it hovers and looks incredible.

Also instantly recognisable is the large pylon at the rear. The rear rotor is placed higher than the front to reduce the air disruption from the front rotor on to efficiency of the rear rotor. The Chinook’s automatic flight control system (AFCS) stabilises and provides autopilot functions, making the Chinook a relatively ‘easy’ helicopter to fly.

The design is optimised for maximising internal space. The fuselage is 15.25m long with the cockpit at the front, with a door to each side, a ramp on the other end, and a massive cargo bay in between. It’s 9.3m long, 2.29m wide and 1.98m tall, so big enough to take a vehicle or up to 24 stretchers. It had a maximum payload of around 10,000 lb (4,500 kg) though current versions can carry twice that much. Beneath the airframe are three external hooks that can be used individually or together.

The Chinook is lightly armoured, protecting it against small arms fire from below. There is also the ability to place machine guns in the side doors and at the rear. Modern Chinooks carry sophisticated anti-missile defences.

It was these design features that interested the American armed forces when they were looking for a new helicopter. Back in 1956 a replacement was sought for the H-37 helicopter, license-produced in the UK as the Westland Wessex. Vertol, later taken over by Boeing, submitted their twin rotor Model 107, which was chosen. The US Navy ordered it as the CH-46 Sea Knight but the US Army wanted a larger helicopter. The result was the Chinook as we know it today.

It was taken into service in 1962 by the US Army and became an important workhorse during the Vietnam war. It was used to carry heavy loads such as artillery guns to remote jungle areas or to recover downed aircraft. Its operational success led to its adoption by forces around the world. Well over a thousand Chinooks have been delivered to friendly armed forces such as Australia, Egypt, Greece, Iran, Italy, Japan, Morocco, the Netherlands, Singapore, Spain, Taiwan, Thailand, Turkey, South Korea and of course the United Kingdom.

The UK ordered 30 CH-47C ‘choppers’ as the Chinook HC1, which stands for Helicopter, Cargo, Mk 1. No.18 Squadron was the first operational squadron to be equipped with the Chinook in August 1981. A few months later the Falklands conflict erupted, and the Squadron was soon involved, flying stores and supplies to ships of the task force being assembled at Devonport. This included flying a 5-ton propeller bearing to HMS Invincible at sea in the English Channel, having very publicly departed Portsmouth the day before, thus avoiding an embarrassing return to port for repair.

Helicopters were to play an important part in any operation to recapture the Falklands, but the Royal Navy lacked a heavy lift helicopter and the RAF’s Chinooks were the only aircraft that could fulfil this capability gap. Six aircraft were rapidly prepared to join the Task Force, receiving modifications which improved the aircrafts’ survivability and operational capabilities. This included the installation of chaff dispensers, infra-red flare decoy dispensers, radar warning receivers and fittings for a machine gun. Four Chinooks were carried on board the Atlantic Conveyor cargo ship toward the Falklands.

One Chinook stayed on Ascension Island, the staging post between Britain and the Falklands. A Soviet spy ship was anchored near the island, and it was suspected that they were passing on information to the Argentinians. The ship had a large white superstructure housing all its aerials. A Chinook pilot offered to fly out in his helicopter to donate a bottle of malt to the Russian captain and then perhaps inadvertently ‘blast the superstructure and aerial to blazes’ with his downwash. It remained a plan. Luckily, as it would later appear that the Soviets had not been helping the Argentinians.

While the soldiers landed on the Falklands on 21 May, the Chinooks stayed on board. Few people understood the capability of the Chinook until it was too late. The Chinook’s lifting ability was almost five times that of the next biggest helicopter employed, the Sea King, and it had been envisaged that Chinooks would ferry troops across the difficult terrain, thereby keeping them fresh for battle and bring them into action quickly.

However, it took until 25 May when the first Chinook ‘Bravo November’ was made ready. After several ground runs of her engines she departed to conduct an air test. Shortly after taking off, the Atlantic Conveyor found itself under air attack and the three remaining Chinooks were lost in the fire. The loss of the Chinooks meant that the planned swift movement of troops across the Falklands could no longer take place. The Royal Marines and Paratroopers would now have to largely march or yomp or tab their way across the Falklands.

Unable to return to Atlantic Conveyor, Bravo November landed on the crowded deck of the aircraft carrier HMS Hermes, where her presence was not welcome. The ship’s captain threatened to have the Chinook pushed overboard if it was not removed because it would hamper the carrier’s ability to mount its own air operations. After an overnight stay the aircraft departed for the bridgehead at San Carlos.

With only one operational aircraft, No. 18 Squadron quickly had to reorganise itself. Ground and air personnel were selected but all the spares, manuals, servicing tools and equipment had been lost, and without this equipment it was not known how long the aircraft would remain serviceable.

The groundcrews spent the first three days sleeping in the open in freezing conditions. For the rest of the campaign, they continued to keep the aircraft airworthy despite the lack of equipment and tools. Chief Technician Tom Kinsella having lost the servicing paperwork for the aircraft, used an exercise book as a log book. This document, now in the Museum’s collection, records how after every day flying, Tom logged the defects, that would likely have grounded the aircraft under normal operation circumstances, servicing conducted and repairs made, ending each day ‘aircraft ‘s’(afe) to fly until receipt of spares’.

On 30 May the Chinook suffered an oil leak in its gear box. With no spares to repair it, Tom provided the crew with two gallons of oil with the instructions that if the situation became severe to put down and top up. With that he signed the aircraft as fit to fly: ‘I should have never let it go, but, I am convinced I would have been overridden’.

That night the weather was poor with frequent snow showers. The plan was to capture the prominent feature of Mount Kent which dominated the routes of advance from San Carlos but also overlooked the Argentinian defensive positions around Stanley, the capital of the Falklands. Bravo November carried three 105mm guns (two carried internally and one underslung).

On the return flight, the aircraft suffered an altimeter failure and hit a body of water. The rotors wound down as the engines ingested water. Believing the aircraft had crashed, co-pilot Andy Lawless prepared to evacuate by jettisoning his door. Miraculously the aircraft engines recovered, and the aircraft flew off the water.

The door which had been jettisoned contained maps and vital Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) codes to be used on the return. Without the IFF codes the British Rapier anti-aircraft missile batteries might have mistaken Bravo November as an Argentinian Chinook. The crew needed to make the Rapier batteries aware of their approach without appearing hostile, what is termed lame duck procedures, which the pilots did by turning on and off their lights to show that they were friendly. For his efforts on Mount Kent, pilot Squadron Leader Dick Langworthy was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC).

The following day a thorough inspection was made of the aircraft to look for damage. Apart from some slight damage to the ramp and aerials the aircraft was still deemed serviceable and was ready to return to operations. The cause of the oil leak was identified, and a temporary repair made which stopped the leak for the remainder of the campaign. The cockpit door, however, could not be replaced and for the rest of the campaign the sole Chinook flew without the left-hand cockpit door which Andy Lawless described as ‘bloody cold’.

Despite the discomfort to the aircrew, the missing door would two days later save the aircraft from near disaster. As crew member Tom Jones recounted ‘…there were artillery guys attached to the marines, on the high ground to our left. They were about to open fire because they thought BN was an Argentinian Chinook, and then one astute corporal said “Wait a minute, hang on, no, it’s ours, it hasn’t got a door in the left hand side of the cockpit.” So what happened disastrously nearly a day before, we suddenly found out saved our lives…’

Bravo November continued to fly support helicopter operations for the remainder of the war, moving troops, supplies and ammunition in support of the ground forces as they battled toward Stanley. Tom Kinsella remembered that the morale was very high despite all the problems encountered in keeping BN operational, ‘We didn’t want to be reinforced, we wanted to see this thing through ourselves’. Which they just managed to do, two hours after the Argentinian surrender on 14 June a second Chinook arrived on the Falklands. Ironically following the surrender, No. 18 Squadron groundcrew removed the door from a captured Argentinian Chinook and fitted it to Bravo November. It would fly for many years with its ‘Argentinian door’.

During the 18 days ashore, Bravo November had flown everyday bar one, carried 2,150 troops, 95 casualties, 550 prisoners of war and 550 tons of stores. In a footnote in the RAF’s official history, it was noted that the tonnage was more than the ‘total carried by an entire squadron of Sea Kings for the same period’. An amazing achievement considering the scarcity of supplies, equipment, and manuals available to the groundcrew.

As said, Sqn Ldr Dick Langworthy received the DFC but the long career of Bravo November would see a further three pilots awarded the DFC while flying it. The arrival of Britain’s most famous helicopter to the RAF Museum Midlands is therefore a privilege and a most welcome addition to the Museum’s collection.

The achievements of that sole Chinook concreted the Chinook’s reputation. Ever since, the Chinook has always been a first-choice aircraft whenever the British armed forces have been called upon. That became evident during the Gulf War of 1991.

The Chinook was now considered a vital tool to move troops into the region, and toward their starting positions, and once the ground offensive had started, to keep them supplied as they moved deeper into Iraq and Kuwait. It was a Chinook which was used to transport a Special Air Service (SAS) patrol on the infamous Bravo Two Zero mission. In the aftermath of the conflict Chinooks delivered food and supplies to thousands of Kurdish refugees from Iraq.

During the mid-1990s, Boeing upgraded the existing HC1s to the HC2 standard with more powerful engines, improved avionics, infrared jammers, missile approach warning indicators, chaff and flare dispensers, a long-range fuel system and machine gun mountings.

In 1999 the Chinooks were instrumental in bringing in NATO peacekeeping forces into Kosovo after Yugoslav forces retreated. They also transported Kosovar refugees to safety and brought supplies and relief to the stricken country. The next year the Chinooks were again in action when they evacuated thousands of civilians from Freetown in Sierra Leone.

In 2003 they received the ability to operate in darkness with better navigational units, thermal imagers, moving map displays and night vision goggles. During the invasion of Iraq that year, a formation of five Chinooks spearheaded a joint forces assault with the US Marines on the Al Faw Oil refinery to prevent an act of environmental terrorism by Iraqi forces. Over the next three days the Chinooks averaged 19 flying hours a day. This was the largest helicopter assault in RAF history and the first opposed helicopter assault since the Suez Crisis in 1956.

To many people the Chinook is most associated with the conflict in Afghanistan where the Chinook was the principal airborne workhorse for almost two decades. The conflict saw the Chinook as the main air ambulance. As a flying emergency room, it saved the lives of many injured soldiers and Afghan civilians across the Helmand province by swiftly flying them back to the hospital in Camp Bastion. To some extent air transport was more important in this theatre of war because of the omnipresence of roadside bombs (IEDs) which gravely hindered normal road transport. In Afghanistan, the Chinook Force flew over 41,000 hours, extracted 13,000 casualties and its crews have been awarded numerous gallantry awards.

In 2014, the Chinooks distributed relief aid to thousands of Iraqi refugees trapped on a mountain in northern Iraq. The RAF dropped aid packages to stricken members of the Yazidi community hiding from Deash. But also closer to home the Chinook comes to the rescue of those in need. In June 2019, a Chinook was deployed to tackle the floods in Lincolnshire, dropping 1-ton gravel bags to create an artificial dam.

Around 10 years ago the Chinooks entered the digital age when their systems were upgraded with multifunction displays, a digital moving map display, an infrared detector, as well as (again) more powerful engines. In 2015, 14 new Chinook HC6 helicopters were purchased while several existing Chinooks were upgraded to a similar standard.

The Chinook is currently employed in Mali to support the French-led fight against jihadis. No. 1310 Flight is performing a range of missions from the transport of passengers and freight between main operating bases, to the insertion of troops to desert locations. To achieve this the detachment regularly overcomes the challenges of the environment, ranging from intense desert thunderstorms to searing heat, with temperatures regularly peaking above 40 degrees and seasonal flooding.

The RAF has not grown tired of the Chinook. Quite the opposite, it has ordered several new Chinooks with an advanced digital cockpit, a modernised airframe to increase stability and improve survivability, and a Digital Flight Control System, allowing pilots to hover in areas of limited visibility. A Sustainment Programme aims to extend the lives of existing Chinook for at least another 20 years, taking the Chinook fleet beyond 2040.

The RAF Museum Midlands has recently taken ownership of Bravo November and is now on public display. Come and visit Britain’s most famous helicopter.

1 April 2022
The Avro Vulcan: Part 2

In my previous blog post I went over the early career of the Avro Vulcan. Designed as a high-altitude bomber with a nuclear payload, the Vulcan B1 was a magnificent weapon. However, technology of the 1950s and 1960s advanced rapidly and the Vulcan became too vulnerable against the latest Soviet air defences. This became painfully clear on Labour Day in 1960 when an American U-2 high-altitude spy plane was shot down by a surface-to-air missile. The Soviets also operated the supersonic MiG-21 interceptor which would have made the Avro Vulcan an easy target.

Various ways were devised to increase the survivability of the Vulcan. The improved B2 version had already received more powerful engines, a modified wing, inflight refuelling, and electronic jamming equipment. The latter would disrupt the Soviet air defences and increase its chances in hostile airspace. It was equipped with a Blue Diver low-band jammer, a Red Shrimp high-band jammer, a Green Palm VHF voice communications jammer, a Blue Saga radar warning receiver, chaff dispensers and a Red Steer tail-warning radar, derived from the radar used on Meteor night-fighters. The Divers would deny the Soviets early warning, the Shrimps negate their antiaircraft missiles and guns and Green Palm disrupt the Soviet VHF-based air defence network.

Most importantly was the Blue Steel stand-off weapon. This missile could be launched at 100 nautical miles from a heavily defended target and it could independently fly towards it at an altitude of 70,000 feet and a speed of Mach 2.5. It carried a 2-megaton bomb, capable of obliterating several Hiroshimas in a single strike. Blue Steel became the spearhead of the RAF’s Quick Reaction Alert concept. This QRA meant that there were always Vulcan crews and nuclear-armed aircraft on standby, ready to get into the air in minutes when the alarm sounded. Together they formed Britain’s primary nuclear deterrent.

The next step was to be the adoption of a longer-range standoff weapon, again increasing the survivability of the Vulcan. The UK joined the American Skybolt program in 1960 for a ballistic missile to be carried by the Avro Vulcan bomber. Armed with Britain’s own Red Snow warhead, it could be launched 970 km (600 miles) from the target. When the Americans unilaterally cancelled the programme, the Vulcan was left without an alternative upgrade. This led to a diplomatic rift within the Special Alliance, known today as the Skybolt Crisis. An emergency meeting between parties from the US and UK was called, leading to the Nassau agreement in which Britain was offered the advanced Polaris submarine-launched ballistic missile.

Although Britain’s nuclear deterrence had its credibility restored, this role would go from the Royal Air Force to the Royal Navy. This remains the situation today as the Royal Navy has four submarines armed with Trident II D-5 ballistic missiles, each with up to 14 nuclear warheads, and able to be fired underwater. A recent political decision has been taken to continue this weapon system although this author wonders if spending £200 billion on building new nuclear-armed submarines in a post-Cold War era is a viable alternative to using this money on increasing the living standards of Britain’s population, funding the NHS and tackling global warming.

The Vulcan re-invented

While awaiting the introduction of the Polaris missile system the Vulcan flew on… at lower altitude. Soviet missile defences had become so effective that in 1966, despite the improvements of the B2, Vulcans switched from high-to-low-level penetration. Flying at low level through the European valleys would allow the Vulcan to remain undetected by Soviet radar. Although the Vulcan was capable of doing so, it was not a comfortable ride for its crews. The large wing gave the Vulcan excellent performance at high altitude but at low altitude it was a bumpy ride. Speed was also reduced to a mere 650 km/h (400 mph).

While Polaris was to be attack targets deep within the Soviet Union, the Vulcan crews of the eight operational squadrons were tasked with attacking military targets closer to the frontline. It would then attack them with a brand-new weapon, the WE177 nuclear bomb. Individual targets for WE177s were soft missile sites, rail facilities, bridges, runways and railway lines, whilst area targets were aircraft on airfields, airfield buildings, airfield fuel installations and bomb stores, supply dumps and armoured fighting vehicle concentrations.

Interestingly, the RAF considered the 10-kiloton bomb, although of a similar strength to what was dropped over Japan in 1945, insufficient to destroy such targets. It was only adequate if used against soft pinpoint targets such as unhardened missile sites. Indeed, the fatal radius of such a bomb was less than a mile in diameter. Dropping a bomb just a handful of seconds too late would mean the target would probably remain operational. If you are interested in finding out more about the WE177, I can recommend the upcoming virtual lecture by Dr Thomas Withington.

The Vulcan had found a new breath of fresh air, albeit with a slight nuclear taste. For the duration of the 1970s the Vulcan crews trained in their aircraft while new aircraft, capable of carrying nuclear weapons, were brought into service. The Blackburn Buccaneer, McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom II and the Sepecat Jaguar were more advanced strike aircraft. And yet, the Vulcan crews were sent across the world to participate in prestigious training and competitions.

None were most prestigious than Giant Voice in which they competed with their American colleagues. Four aircraft with crews were invited to compete. In 1978 they were tasked to fly across most of the Southern States at night, find the target and bomb it as accurately as possible. Using radar navigation and bombing technology derived from that used in the Avro Lancasters of the Second World War and even using celestial sextants, they were up against the most modern fighting force in the world. The RAF has a long history of making do with what they had, and the crews rose to the occasion in these competitions.

Following their experiences in Vietnam, the Americans developed a realistic operational training programme in which air defence fighters, radars, electronic counter measures, guns and missiles simulated Soviet air defences and used their operating procedures. The concept became known as Red Flag and was conducted over the Nevada desert. The RAF was invited to participate. It selected the best crews to participate. It was then no surprise that when the Vulcan were sent to war in 1982, these were the crews sent to the Falklands.

The Falklands crisis happened at a time when the Vulcan was only weeks away from retirement, while awaiting the new Panavia Tornados. Realising that it was the only bomber capable of reaching the occupied Falkland Islands from the nearest British airfield, the Vulcans were hurried into combat. Incidentally, it was the first and last time the Vulcan was to be used operationally. But that is a story for the next blog post, which will appear as part of our online Falklands 40 campaign.

12 March 2022
International Day of Women and Girls in Science

Today is the United Nations International Day of Women and Girls in Science and at the Royal Air Force Museum a celebration of this would naturally look at the way that women have chosen STEM roles in wartime, and careers in peacetime, serving military aircraft over the past 105 years. As the objectives of The International Day of Women and Girls in Science are ‘promoting the work of women in science and of encouraging girls to enter the sciences as a lifetime profession’, it is pleasing to say that the RAF have been doing this since they first started.

The predecessors of the RAF, the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps and Women’s Royal Naval Service opened out STEM opportunities for women from 1917, as they particularly concerned themselves with technical kit and needed people to use it confidently. In 1917 women were actively recruited by the Royal Navy and British Army to take over many UK military roles that had been vacated by men who had left to fight on the battle front in the First World War. For many young women, this was the first time they had ever worked and for others, the first time they had undertaken work outside the home or local community.

Some in the Women’s Royal Naval Service were attached to the Royal Naval Air Service and others who had joined the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps were attached to the Royal Flying Corps – the first to serve with the flying services. Many women who served the aircraft of the Army and Navy became experienced aircraft airframe riggers or engine fitters – jobs which required the reconstruction or servicing of major aircraft parts. Another task in demand was the driving, cleaning, maintenance and repair of a fleet of supply and communications vehicles, vital in the effort to keep the war supplied and to get orders and instructions delivered on time. Maintenance and on the spot repairs to working parts were often carried in unpleasant working conditions (for example muddy ditches) but this is what the women had signed up to do: and they did.

On 1 April 1918, The Royal Naval Air Service combined and with the Royal Flying Corps to form a new service, the Royal Air Force. Women serving with them could become members of a new organisation, the Women’s Royal Air Force (WRAF). With further recruits joining and more trades offered, women were pleased to contribute to winning the war. The Technical section opened skilled trades traditionally done by men to women, for example tinsmith, engine fitting and welding. Other trades were chauffeuse, photographer, airframe rigger, wireless (radio) mechanic, motorcyclist, wireless operator, carpenter and painter. However, as the WRAF had been raised for the emergency of the war, it was disbanded in 1920 along with other parts of the RAF.

In only another 18 years we were headed for another major world conflict. In anticipation, women could again volunteer in the newly formed Auxiliary Territorial Service, the RAF Companies of which were based with squadrons. In 1939, it was decided that once again, a women’s branch of the RAF was needed – the roles men had undertaken would again need to be substituted. The Women’s Auxiliary Air Force was formed. With the introduction of conscription in 1941, peak numbers in the WAAF reached 217,000, across 110 trades. In the Technical trades, detailed training courses were now provided. Courses at specialist schools had to be passed, usually finishing in exams. Teleprinting, code and cipher scrambling and communications were typical of the new technology that WAAFs would have to master throughout the war. Some required specialist qualifications like relevant degrees and for photographic interpretation, only officers were selected.

The repair and maintenance of vehicles was again needed. Refuelling and rearming of bomber aircraft was work in which many women took pride, as they wanted to defeat Germany and bring the war to an end. Meteorology was another technical branch with specialised training. Flying duties were not permitted to women of the WAAF with one exception, the role of Nursing Orderly. The women who volunteered for this role were essentially paramedics on the military air ambulances of that time – typically twin engined monoplanes such as the Airspeed Oxford. They carried out casualty evacuation and in-flight care for wounded soldiers retrieved from the battlefields. As a result of their work they became known as ‘Flying Nightingales’.

The defence of Britain had its ultimate test in 1940 when the country was faced with immanent invasion by the German army and under direct attack by the German air force. Air superiority had to be gained over an enemy air force that had won every battle up to that time. For that, comprehensive control of the air space over the country had to be maintained by RAF commanders, and fighting encounters had to be won by our fighter force, with as few surprises as possible.

To ensure survival and then victory, accurate and time-critical information was essential and constantly in need of refreshing. One area of work that demanded this precision was in the tracing and monitoring of enemy aircraft using the new technology of Radar. Initially working with Chain Home, to detect enemy aircraft over the sea and later with more capable sets called Ground Controlled Interception, the work required procedural accuracy and analytical skill, as well as concentration and stamina.

Many hundreds of WAAFs had these abilities and did this work. In 1940, they were also vulnerable to direct bombing attack from the enemy. The coastal pylons that received the signal to gain the information were monitored by RAF staff in buildings next to them. WAAFs were often killed in bombing attacks on these buildings, sticking to their work without thinking of their own safety.

Scientific advisors knew that many women had a better capacity to process mathematical information and evaluate tactical priorities quicker than many men, and were able to sustain this for long periods. The role which demanded this was the filtering of incoming battle information in operations rooms and control centres. The RAF directly recruited women who, ‘Must be under twenty-one years of age, with quick reactions, good at figures – and female’.

They were effectively to serve as components of a ‘human computer’ that sifted the most pertinent information from large quantities of live data on the aerial battles being fought in real time above them. These roles were Operations Room Plotters, Filter Room Plotters, Movement Liaison Officers and Filterer Officers.

The intensity of fighting a world war also called on women and girls not serving in the Royal Air Force, but who had pre-existing science and engineering expertise to solve some of the difficult technical problems encountered in producing aircraft that could defeat and beat their German equivalents.

Hazel Hill was the daughter of principal aircraft armaments scientist Frederick Hill, who had served in the role in the First World War and continued in the 1920s and 1930s. When in the 1930s, the Air Ministry were developing a new generation of monoplane fighters to compete with those of the Germans, many thought that four machine guns mounted in the wings would produce a rapid enough rate of fire to shoot down the German fighters, but Hill was unconvinced. Most people thought the new Spitfire and Hurricane would be good enough with four machine guns.

Hill turned to his teenage daughter Hazel, who was very good at maths and set her the task of extrapolating all the possible outcomes of firing four guns and then eight guns, to model and predict what would be needed. Using a calculating machine, Hazel worked through all the possible results and plotted them on a graph.

The results showed that four machine guns would be insufficient and that eight would be vital to bring down an enemy fighter in the split-second time one was in the gun sights of one of our aircraft. By using her talent, she had been able to contribute to saving the country when it was in the greatest danger in the Battle of Britain in 1940.

As a girl, Beatrice Shilling had a fascination for engines and working parts of machines and it was no surprise that she would take up an apprenticeship in an electrical engineering company as soon as this was possible. She studied engineering at the University of Manchester in the first year that women could study this course there. On graduating, she went on to race motorcycles on the best circuit in the country – Brooklands in Surrey. The Royal Aircraft Establishment, the government aircraft testing agency, employed Beatrice in their carburettor section in 1936.

In the Battle of Britain in 1940, German fighters would nosedive steeply away from their British opponents when chased but the British fighters couldn’t do the same. The Germans had fuel injection into their engines which ensured their engines wouldn’t cut out, whereas the British fighters did not. G-forces in the dive forced their fuel upward and backward in the carburettors, flooding their engines and cutting them out at the vital moment.

Beatrice was on hand to come up with the correct fix at the critical moment. She added a restrictor valve – essentially a washer with a smaller hole in it – that prevented too much fuel rushing into the engine. The British aircraft were then enabled to pursue the enemy with no disadvantage. Beatrice had saved the situation and contributed to the winning of the Battle.

The Second World War ended in September 1945 and the WAAF was continued: the roles that women had taken on and developed, being essential to the smooth running of the post-war force. However, it wasn’t until 1949 that their professionalism was recognised with the permanent establishment of the Women’s Royal Air Force (WRAF again) which was no longer about the necessity of fighting a war but instead, could advertise the various roles as long-term careers for women.

The WRAF was almost fully integrated with the regular RAF and most trades except combat roles were undertaken by WRAF personnel. Technical trades were again a feature, with Signaller, Engineer, Mechanic and Air Traffic Controller being regular professions for women. It wasn’t until 1989 that the first course for female air Navigators started – the women on it began to crew Hercules transport aircraft in 1991. In 1990, Flt Lt Julie Gibson qualified as the first WRAF pilot.

In 1994 the WRAF formally merged with the RAF. In recent years, many thousands of women have served in the many scientific and technical roles required to keep the Royal Air Force running.

Abbey Addison is an example of a professional mechanical engineer and an Aerosystems Engineering Officer in the Royal Air Force. Recently in her career has managed the maintenance regime for fleets of Landrovers, heavy haulage vehicles and RAF transport aircraft, such as the C130 Hercules.

Linda McLean was an engineer officer of a team of 50 RAF Engineers and is now the senior Flight Test Engineer for the RAF’s front line jet fighter interceptor, the Eurofighter Typhoon.

Over the past 105 years, thousands of women and girls have taken on serious commitments to help to defend the nation using their enthusiasm and skills in STEM to the very best effect. Very often, their decisions made when young, have gone on to shape their lives, giving them fulfilment in achievements and experiences they will never forget.

The country is in debt to the contribution of STEM women and girls of the RAF’s past and present, while the Royal Air Force of the future looks forward to welcoming women to its ranks with as wide a range of STEM expertise as it has ever had.

11 February 2022
The Avro Vulcan: Part 1

Today is not only the start of our Vulcan Challenge, which we invite you to be a part of, 14 January is also the anniversary of the delivery of the last Vulcan delivered to the RAF. On this day in 1965 the 134th Vulcan was taken into service. Two had been prototypes, 45 were of the earlier B1 design and 89 were improved B2 models.

The most distinctive aspect of the Vulcan is undoubtedly its large triangular ‘delta’ wing. The delta wing has been a common design feature for combat aircraft ever since but back in the 1950s this was considered revolutionary and somewhat risky. The tailless delta, that is without a horizontal tail plane, had been a theoretical model in aeronautics for a while as it promised a combination of low drag, lightweight structure and room for internal fuel.

German engineer Alexander Lippisch in Germany was the first to build such a triangular wing and in 1931 he flew the first tailless delta plane. During the Second World War, he designed several delta wing fighter and bomber aircraft although none were ever built. Beside the delta wing aircraft, he also designed the world’s first and only operational rocket fighter. The Me 163 Komet was the fastest aircraft in the world. A rare example is on display at the RAF Museum Midlands. After the war the advanced German aeronautical ideas and technology were eagerly studied by the victorious Allies. Even Lippisch himself was hastily brought to the US, where he was recruited by Convair, a major aircraft manufacturer.

Avro, together with Vickers, Short Brothers and Handley Page, was asked to design a new strategic bomber aircraft under Specification B.35/46. It had to meet the following requirements:

– a large flight range

– be able to carry a large weapon load

– a high top speed

– be able to operate at great heights

– easy to maintain

– able to be used anywhere.

Avro’s team under the leadership of the designer of the Lancaster, Roy Chadwick, realised that this would not have been possible with a conventional design. They quickly adopted the Lippisch delta wing configuration. The new aircraft would have a leading edge at an angle of 45° and the four most powerful turbojet engines available.

To help gain data for the radical new design, one-third scale model ‘mini-Vulcans’ were built. These were the Avro Type 707s. The first 707 flew in 1949 and although the first prototype crashed and killed its test pilot, they proved the validity of the Avro design. The RAF Museum has a 707C in its collection. This is WZ744, the only two-seater variant, meant to train pilots for the single-seat 707s. The RAF Museum is looking for a partner to take over WZ744 which hopefully will lead to it returning to public display soon.

The first Vulcan flew on 30 August 1952, watched by Avro employees and a small band of press. The gloss white painted VX770 was fitted with an ejection seat for the pilot, a conventional control wheel, powered by four Rolls-Royce Avon engines, but I did not yet have its wing fuel tanks installed. A temporary tank was carried in the bomb bay.

The aircraft was flown by Wing Commander Roly Falk, who had been the Chief Test pilot at the Royal Aircraft Establishment in Farnborough where he flew around 300 different aircraft. In 1950, he joined Avro and in subsequent years he demonstrated the Vulcan at the annual Farnborough air show, where in 1955 he amazed the crowd by barrel-rolling the Vulcan across the airfield. He was rebuked by the organisers for this manoeuvre, but only because performing aerobatics in an aircraft weighing 69 tons and with a 99-foot wingspan was ‘not the done thing’.

At Falk’s suggestion, a fighter-style control stick replaced the control wheel. Falk was famous for flying in a pin-striped lounge suit, tie, pocket handkerchief and often sunglasses. Find out more about Falk and other test pilot in the excellent blog post by Museum Volunteer Tim Bracey.

The test flights by Falk and his fellow test pilots revealed that the Vulcan’s wing, at higher speeds, was suffering from buffeting during manoeuvres. It necessitated a partial re-design. The production B1 gained a kinked and dropped leading edge, as well as more powerful Bristol Olympus engines.

The first Vulcan B1s entered service in 1956 with No. 230 Operational Conversion Unit at RAF Waddington. The aircraft had a crew of five people: two pilots, a navigator, a radar operator and an electronic warfare operator and had a bomb bay initially intended for two atomic bombs of the Yellow Sun Mk 1 type and later for the WE177. The Vulcan started its career as a strategic bomber intended for high-altitude operations.

Four years after the Vulcan B1 work began on an improved B2 design with more powerful engines, modified wing, electronic jamming equipment and inflight refuelling capability. The increased performance offered by the Vulcan B2 made it ideal for modification to carry the Blue Steel nuclear stand-off bomb. This weapon allowed the aircraft to launch its attack from outside the immediate missile defences of a target and thereby extended the effectiveness of the Royal Air Force’s airborne deterrent.

By 1966 Soviet missile defences had become so effective that, despite the improvements of the B2, Vulcans switched from high-to-low-level penetration. In 1970 the decision was taken to withdraw them from the nuclear deterrent in 1970 in favour of the Polaris ballistic missile system which could be fired underwater by the Royal Navy.

As a result, Vulcans switched to the conventional bomber role in support of NATO ground forces in Europe. In this capacity the Vulcan remained in service throughout the 1970s while awaiting the arrival of the Panavia Tornado. When the Falkland Conflict erupted in 1982, the Vulcans were on the verge of being taken out of service. Realising that it was the only bomber capable of bombing the occupied Falkland Islands from the nearest British air base, the Vulcans were readied for combat. Later this year, we will launch a couple of more blog posts to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Falklands.

Today the entries opened for our Vulcan Challenge 2022. Choose your distance and soar your way to 100km, 250km or 500km. Standard entry starts at £20.00 and Armed Forces Entry from £15.00. And when you are next at the Museum, make sure you have a closer look at the magnificent design of the Avro Vulcan.

14 January 2022
Resilience

From aviation pioneers searching for ways to fly faster, further and higher, to Battle of Britain Pilots scrambling to defend enemy attacks, the need for resilience in the Royal Air Force is nothing new. Throughout its distinguished history the RAF, and its people, have faced many challenges and weathered many storms; be these huge world events or personal struggles. As a Museum we collect and tell these stories of resilience, but over the past 18 months we ourselves have had to adapt and be resilient in order to continue to keep sharing the RAF story. This blog will explore the Museum, and our community’s, successes and challenges as we navigated through the turbulent past eighteen months.

Along with the rest of the country the Museum had to close in March 2020. Staff all speedily downloaded Microsoft Teams and Zoom, packed up paperwork to get on with at home and cleared food out of office fridges that would go out of date over, what we thought would be, the six weeks we were away from the Museum. The next few months had us draw on all of our resilience; pushing to continue projects that we could and making difficult decisions about what had to be cancelled or postponed. The Access and Learning and Public Events teams run some of the Museum’s most public-facing programmes. For both teams, sharing the story of the RAF is nearly entirely dependent on interacting with large groups and they have tackled having to completely rethink the way they engage with our audience.

The key to the Museum’s learning programme has always been amazing face to face interaction with schools. Being immersed in history by talking to an Air Raid Warden, and getting hands on with launching rockets makes a trip to the Museum a unique experience for students who get to see and take part in activities that cannot be replicated within their own classrooms. When the pandemic hit our team went from over 23,000 children taking part in onsite sessions and more than 35,000 formal learners the previous year to no school visits. We had to be resilient and change our offer quickly!

Access and Learning Officer Toni Donston explains the changes that the Access and Learning team made to ensure we were able to continue to engage with schools during the pandemic.
‘Over the last year or so the Access and Learning team has had to adapt several times to meet the needs of the time. Initially we focused on creating resources for families which could be accessed online. We then developed an online programme which schools could engage with from the safety of the classroom. Next, our onsite workshops programme had to be streamlined to ensure it was Covid safe.
We have had to regularly adapt and revise how we work so that we have been able to continue to engage with schools during these difficult times. It seems to have worked as we are now getting more and more bookings for onsite workshops!’

The team effectively moved from creating online resources and developing online sessions for classes to enjoy to modifying onsite sessions now that schools are more comfortable coming out of the classroom for a trip. ‘Streamed to your school’ online sessions allowed face to face engagement with a member of the team and adapted some of our most popular sessions to be enjoyed virtually in a classroom setting. Our main mission is to make sure that masks, distancing and smaller groups (and a whole lot of extra cleaning!) don’t get in the way of learning, and even more importantly, making learning fun.

The Museum’s Events team has faced similar challenges due to the pandemic. They had to contend with huge events cancelled, planning shelved, and trying to figure out a whole new way of engaging with our audience in a world where we could no longer gather together. Ella Hewitt, Public Events Manager explains how her team bounced back from the initial disappointment of cancelled events and shifted focus to not what they couldn’t do but what they could achieve in new and innovative ways.

‘In March 2020 we just had to cancel everything that we had spent months planning at both our sites, but the despair only lasted a few weeks. We quickly realised that there was plenty of opportunities to entertain our audiences online. Partnerships were forged in the chaos of the first few weeks that have had a brilliant – and continued – legacy. Our virtual VE Day 75 Festival and VJ75 events with the National Museum of the Royal Navy, National Army Museum and Commonwealth War Graves Commission are perhaps some of my favourite events of all time. They shared meaningful stories of our Armed Forces in a meaningful and emotive way – putting them in the context of all three services and the way we remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice.’

Ella goes on to talk about how the events programme has helped the Museum be resilient during this difficult financial time through their fundraising efforts – something which was made possible through digital interaction with our audience.

‘We have had to learn to adapt to new ways of working and new ways of running events. Our programmes will never look like they did before 2020, but that isn’t a bad thing. The virtual events attract thousands of new people to our audiences and interact with our supporters in a really meaningful way. The Hurricane 80K, Spitfire 10K and Lancaster Challenge have raised over £200,000 combined through entries and donations. That is a really tangible and lasting legacy from a really challenging year. I think the success highlights the resilience of our teams and the ability for us to forge new ways of producing and delivering events.’

Our Museum has needed to channel all our resilience in order to survive and thrive during the pandemic and so have the Colindale community that our London site is a part of. Some areas in Colindale are within the 10% most deprived nationally for employment and income. We know that the effects of the pandemic have hit our most deprived communities hardest, so local organisations have played a huge role in keeping the community resilient. One organisation at the heart of our local community is the Colindale Communities Trust (CCT), a charity committed to developing sustainable services and projects that improve the economic and social wellbeing of people who live in and around Colindale. Their Community Development Manager Jan Brennan explains some of the challenges they faced during the pandemic as well as the importance of local partnerships.

‘Ours is very much a face to face industry. Moving into lockdown was a difficult time for our residents, we also had to cope with a move to a new building. We have used social media to support local people, with information and details of services available for help. In between periods of lockdown we engaged local people offering them a safe space to gain new skills to help them to navigate the new world of online services. Local providers working together has enabled the local community to cope in these very difficult times.’

The Museum contributed to helping our local community during these unprecedented times, often by partnering with groups like CCT. Over Christmas we teamed up with CCT, Home Start Barnet and FUSE Youth Club to produce and deliver one hundred parcels of games and activities to local children, doing our small bit to spread some festive cheer. A local foodbank used space at the Museum for packing food parcels and as a base from where they could distribute these parcels to local people in need of support. Through these initiatives we aimed to not only help local residents remain resilient but to support local organisations so they could continue their brilliant work during, and post, pandemic.

The RAF, our Museum and our community have proven their resilience – never more so than over the last 18 months. As we move into Summer 2021 it’s worthwhile reflecting on where we were last year. Summer 2020 saw staff who usually work back of house – development, collections, HR and finance to name a few, donning our staff t-shirts and visors to support our front of house team to keep things safe and running smoothly for our visitors. This gave a lot of staff a new understanding of how the Museum runs on a day to day basis and presented us with the invaluable opportunity to interact with our visitors at a time when social interactions were at an all-time low for most of us! The skills learnt during this time, along with becoming whizzes at virtual meetings (you’re on mute!) and being able to drown out the noise of family and housemates whilst trying to work, have bettered us as a Museum team. Our Museum and local community have not only showed our resilience but built upon it, making us faster, stronger and able to reach audiences from further than ever before.

18 August 2021
Squadron Leader Lawrence ‘Benny’ Goodman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

26 July 2021
An Aussie Great Escaper

Louise Williams is an award-winning writer, editor and journalist and the niece of Squadron Leader John ‘Willy’ Williams DFC. He was one of seventy-six POWs who tunnelled their way out of Stalag Luft III in what later became famous as the Great Escape. On 17 March 2021, RAF Museum curator Peter Devitt spoke to Louise about her book ‘Great Escaper.’

PD: How has writing ‘Great Escaper’ affected you personally?

LW: I went into the project expecting, or at least hoping, to unravel a family mystery – we never knew exactly what had happened to John or what role he had played in the escape, so his execution cast a long shadow over my Dad’s life and, by extension, over the whole family.

What I hadn’t imagined was how rich, surprising and incredibly rewarding the research process would be; and how many extraordinary people it would connect me to right across the globe – some with similar stories and some who had even been on the other side in the war. I met the Czech daughter of the last person to see John alive; I had a phone call from the daughter of one of the German guards, Nicky Hesse, who had helped John inside Stalag Luft III; I met John’s teenage friend who spent his war interned because of his German heritage; and we met Michal Holy, the Czech commercial pilot so touched by the murder of John’s group that he took it upon himself to establish a memorial. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg!

Michael Holy and Louise Williams at Sagan, Poland, 2012.

It became clear to me that probably millions of people were doing much the same thing as me: using the benefits of declassified and digitised records, and instant global communication, to fill in the gaps of the incredible, poignant wartime stories of their Dads, Mums, uncles etc. So, while I was researching a famous event, I was also doing something entirely ordinary; and it is, of course, all those small details of people’s lives that enable us to really connect as human beings.

The memorial at the exit of tunnel “Harry”, Sagan, Poland, 2012

PD: How was the book received, and how have people responded to your fresh insights into the Great Escape?

LW: Mostly really well. It was not a traditional war story – it was the story of what led my uncle and his group down the various paths that culminated in the Great Escape and, ultimately, their deaths. So, it was a very personal story of their characters, courage, often their humour, and their fate. The research process was featured in an Australian Broadcasting Corporation TV special, and the book also became the subject of a radio special and numerous other interviews. I have also done several public talks and continue to do so. There were, however, a few older, male readers who expressed disappointment in the book: they wanted only action and adventure and not the personal background or interactions of the key characters. I do understand such expectations of a ‘war’ story. However, I think we need more diversity in the way those stories are told and, perhaps, this might be achieved by bringing more diverse authors, including women and people of different ages, into the genre.

PD: How do you now view Australia’s contribution to victory during the Second World War?

LW: I have thought a lot about this, not just when I was researching the Great Escape but during my current project, as lead author on the RAAF’s 100th anniversary history book, ‘Then, Now, Always.’ Many Australians certainly went to war with a ‘colonial’ chip on their shoulder and expected a great deal from the mother country. Like most young men who signed up, the Aussies and New Zealanders soon found there was nothing glamourous about fighting a war – and they were a very, very long way from home and had no idea when, or if, they would see their countries again.

One thing I found remarkable was how many of the ‘hard jobs’ the Aussies and Kiwis were assigned to. Aussies were arguably disproportionately represented in Bomber Command (and, of course, in the resulting casualties) and the RAF’s decision to assign the RAAF to the Desert War was partly due to an expectation that they would be able to handle the punishing conditions. The final list of ‘the Fifty’ to be executed following the Great Escape was dominated by non-British officers, many more Aussies, Canadians, New Zealanders, Poles etc than British RAF officers.

Squadron Leader John Williams DFC and his Curtiss Kittyhawk

PD: What for you is the significance of RAAF 100?

LW: It is amazing what can be achieved and how much can change in 100 years!

We’ve gone from considering how the first relatively flimsy aircraft would transform the way wars are fought, putting an end to fighting in trenches at extraordinary human cost, to deploying all kinds of networked hi-tech aircraft, including those piloted from air-conditioned ‘offices’ on the ground. Today, aircraft can see over the horizon, visualise the entire battlespace and interact seamlessly with space-based and land-based assets in pursuit of a common goal. And beyond the hardware, the RAAF has cyberspace to secure. Since 2019, the Service has been actively recruiting for ‘cyberspace warfare officers and analysts’, as the next war might be launched in the virtual world.

The Second World War was certainly the coming of age for the RAAF, as it was for many air forces. It is not surprising that it continues to fascinate us. I think that is partly because bomber and fighter aircraft were being pushed to the limits ‘en masse’ for the first time, and the stakes couldn’t be any higher. So, the popular excitement and fascination with flight coincided with very real risks for the aircrew. The war was filled with sharp, bright, perilous moments, and it was hard to look away.

Louise after her flying lesson with the RAF, 2014

PD: The theme of forgiveness and reconciliation is central to the success of your book. What are your thoughts about this, five years on?

LW: War stories are fascinating because they are framed as ‘us versus them’. But the further you dig, the more blurred those lines become. Of course, there were many terrible, cruel ‘enemies’, but there were also lots of ordinary people dragged into terrible roles in the war. That goes for both sides. I was interested to read that many of the Allied aircrew fighting in the Desert War were thankful for a ‘clean’ fight. That is, as they were operating mostly over vast stretches of empty desert sands, there were few civilian casualties, unlike the carnage on the ground in Europe. For that, they were grateful.

Can you ever forgive someone who takes a young member of you family out into the woods somewhere and executes him, illegally, in cold blood? I am fortunate to be one generation removed from that crime. So certainly, the only way forward is through forgiveness and reconciliation, but those who pulled the triggers and murdered John’s small group were never identified. Would forgiveness be possible if those men had no remorse for what they did? I am not sure.

PD: What part did the RAF Museum play in shaping your understanding of the events of March 1944?

LW: Museums are wonderful places, but they can be challenging and lonely to navigate. So, I will never forget the first day we visited the RAF Museum at Hendon and met the friendly, knowledgeable staff working in the Archive. The moment I was presented with original documents from Stalag Luft III, a quest I had spent most of my adult life dreaming of finally became real. Having professionally qualified people willing to assist and who obviously had a genuine interest in the Great Escape, and John’s story, made all the difference.

Pages from the notebook of Flight Lieutenant Bennett Ley Kenyon listing those killed following the Great Escape.

2 April 2021
The first flight of the Spitfire

Without any doubt, the Spitfire is the most famous British fighter aircraft in history. In use shortly before the Second World War, it became the main RAF fighter aircraft from 1941 onward, and remained with fighter squadrons until the early 1950s.

Let me take you back to the origins of the Spitfire. It is well known that the Supermarine racing seaplanes which participated in the Schneider race were an inspiration for the Spitfire. Designed by Reginald J Mitchell, the Supermarine S6B was an all-metal and aerodynamically clean design, allowing it to reach the impressive speed of 407 mph (656 km/h).

Only 18 days following the 1931 S6B’s Schneider triumph, the British Air Ministry issued Specification F7/30, which called for a modern all-metal land-based fighter aircraft. Mitchell responded with the Model 224, a monoplane with a fixed landing gear. Its complicated cooling system did not function properly, and the Air Ministry ordered the Gloster Gladiator biplane instead.

Mitchell and his team continued to work on the design, introducing a new Rolls Royce Merlin engine, a retractable landing gear, an enclosed cockpit and a new elliptical wing. Much has been written about this wing design, but the true value of the elliptical wing shape was that it allowed the wing to be as thin as possible, thereby reducing drag.

On 5 March 1936, Spitfire K5054 took off for its maiden flight. At the controls was Captain Joseph ‘Mutt’ Summers, chief test pilot for Vickers, who is quoted as saying ‘Don’t touch anything’ on landing. This had often been interpreted as stating the Spitfire was perfect, but the reality was more prosaic: he wanted to report his observations before any modifications were made.

Only few changes were made; one of which was a new propeller which dramatically increased the maximum speed to 348 mph (557 km/h), making it the faster than the newest Hawker Hurricane fighter which, around that time, was entering production. The armament was doubled from four to eight Browning machine guns.

On 3 June 1936, the Air Ministry placed an order for 310 Spitfires, an impressive number for its time. However, the Spitfire and especially its wings proved to be difficult to produce. The Spitfire’s stressed-skin construction required precision engineering skills and techniques which were rare in the aviation industry.

Supermarine had only a small factory which meant production had to be given to several subcontractors as well as the building a new factory at Castle Bromwich. However, this handover was badly managed, resulting in further delays. Because of these delays, the Air Ministry initially planned to stop production after the initial order for 310 with the Spitfire production going over to other designs, such as the new Hawker Typhoon. Luckily for the RAF, production of the Spitfire ramped up, as the Typhoon ran into great development issues, delaying its entry into service until late 1941.

The first Spitfire Mk. I to enter service with the RAF did so with No. 19 Squadron on 4 August 1938. The pilots immediately fell in love with the aircraft, which flew as wonderful as it looked. They recognised it as a thoroughbred combining a perfection of design with superb handling characteristics.

More changes were gradually introduced such as a three-bladed metal propeller and a new cockpit hood, finally giving the Spitfire its now-recognisable look. By the outbreak of the Second World War, there were 306 Spitfires in service with the RAF, 71 in reserve and 2,000 on order. Initially, most Spitfires were held back in Britain, with the Hawker Hurricane and Gloster Gladiator doing most of the fighting against the German Luftwaffe in Norway, Belgium and France.

The Spitfire came to the fore during the evacuation of Dunkirk, and of course, the Battle of Britain. After 1940 the Spitfire gradually replaced the Hurricane in Fighter Command and remained the main fighter aircraft until the end of the war.

5 March 2021
The Lancaster enters the fray

It was on the night of 3/4 March 1942 that the Avro Lancaster conducted its first operational sortie. No. 44 (Rhodesia) Squadron took their brand-new Lancasters on a mine laying mission of Heligoland Bight. Mine laying is an often-overlooked task of Bomber Command and yet it was an important one. The Allies succeeded in stopping the free navigation of German shipping, prompting the Nazis to commit great resources to clear the sea lanes.

No. 44 Squadron was the first squadron to be equipped with the new Avro Lancaster. During the First World War it had been a celebrated night fighter squadron commanded by Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris. He would go on to lead Bomber Command in its great offensive against Germany during the Second World War. In terms of casualties, the Squadron suffered the third highest number of any squadron of the RAF during the war.

The Lancaster would perform is first operational bombing mission on 17 April, when Squadron Leader JD Nettleton led six of twelve bombers from No. 44 and No. 97 Squadrons – six aircraft from each – in a daylight raid on Augsburg in Germany. The Lancasters involved in the raid flew at tree-top level to attack the MAN Diesel engine factory, but the loss of aircraft was great. Only five out of the twelve returned. Nettleton was the only one of No. 44 Squadron which returned, and was awarded the Victoria Cross.

Despite the bravery of its crew, it showed that even the Lancaster could not survive over Germany during daylight. With its maximum speed of 282 mph and armament of only light calibre machine guns it was too vulnerable against Germany’s Messerschmitt Me 109 interceptors. As a result, most Lancaster sorties took place at night, targeting German cities and industry. Paradoxically, its most famous of all missions was one which targeted hydro-electric dams of the Ruhr valley. Guy Gibson’s No. 617 Squadron, known as the ‘Dambusters’, carried the ‘bouncing bomb’ (though in reality a mine), designed by Barnes Wallis. This Squadron has been known as the Dambusters ever since.

Few people realise the original design was called the Manchester. Avro’s chief design engineer, Roy Chadwick, decided to swap the two heavy Vulture engines with four lighter Merlin engines, the same that powered the Supermarine Spitfire. As much as the twin-engined Manchester design was a failure, the Lancaster was an instant success.

A long unobstructed bomb bay meant that the Lancaster could take larger bombs than other bombers, such as the 4,000 lb ‘cookie’ or the heavier ‘Blockbuster’ bombs. The biggest bomb carried was the 22,000 lb Grand Slam ‘earthquake bomb’ even though it meant removing a turret to save weight. It was the heaviest bomb dropped during the war, even bigger than the American nuclear bombs.

7,377 Lancasters were produced for the RAF and its Allies, delivering 608,612 tons of bombs in 156,000 sorties. Together with its lesser-known lookalike, the Handley Page Halifax, they formed the core of Bomber Command during most of the Second World War. The bomber was loved by its crews, who appreciated the reliability of the Lancaster, its ability to take damage and bring them home. It could also fly higher and faster than other British heavy bombers at the time.

One former pilot is Benny Goodman. In the last months of the war, he flew Lancs on daylight missions, participating in the raid that finally sank the Tirpitz battleship, and attacked Hitler’s mountain residence at Berchtesgaden. He explained to us why it was his favourite: ‘it was wonderful to fly and it would do anything you wanted from it’. He described how the Lanc would veer up as soon as the 22,000 lb Grand Slam bomb was released. The always modest Benny recently celebrated his 100th birthday.

Benny is a very humble veteran and doesn’t consider what he did exceptional. He recalls the many young men who were not that lucky. Almost half all Lancasters delivered during the war were lost on operations with the loss of over 21,000 crew members. The disadvantage of having such a large bomb bay was that there was no room for a gun turret underneath. This meant that the Lanc crews were blind from attack from below. The Germans took full advantage of this by installing upward firing guns in their night fighters. If the crew needed to abandon a struck Lancaster, the escape hatch in the nose of the Lancaster revealed a peculiar design flaw: it was too narrow. Only 15 % of the Lancaster crew were able to bail out…

One of the most lucky Lancasters is the one on display at the RAF Museum London. S-for-Sugar flew an astounding 137 missions. The average was 20! Although we have dozens of historic aircraft, the Lancaster is probably the one which impresses most. Not only does it look powerful and majestic, the Lancaster is THE symbol of Bomber Command, but it has become more than that. It has become an iconic and defining figure of the Second World War, as much as the Spitfire, or Winston Churchill.

Also our Cosford site has its own Lancaster, albeit a post-war variant. One of the limitations of the Lancaster was its inability to fly at higher (and thus safer) altitudes. The Lincoln was powered by four two-stage Merlin engines, featured an increased wingspan and lengthened fuselage and new Boulton Paul F turret with two 0.5in Browning machine guns.

To commemorate the 80 years since the first flight of the Lancaster, the RAF Museum is launching – today! – its Lancaster Challenge. Choose to complete 80K, 150K or 500K. You can run, walk, cycle or walk the dog to complete your Challenge. This Challenge is virtual which means you can participate and complete it from anywhere in the world. By entering the Lancaster Challenge, you are supporting the RAF Museum Charity and enabling us to share the stories of the crews who showed incredible bravery flying missions for Bomber Command.

100-year young Benny Goodman has your support. The Challenge is now open!

https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/virtual-events/the-lancaster-challenge-2021

2 March 2021
Poles and Czechoslovaks in the Battle of Britain

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.’

The British were equally ignorant of the exiles, and there were some that expected they would be hopelessly uncivilised.

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.

And yet, despite all of this, the Eastern Europeans were pleased to be here and they admired the British for their courage and their efficiency.

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.

The only Slav unit in 11 Group, 303 Squadron went on to become the most successful Fighter Command unit in the Battle, claiming 126 combat victories in only 42 days. In common with the scores of most British squadrons, this figure would later be revised downwards; the most recent estimate being that ‘303’ accounted for some 79 enemy aircraft (i.e. more than 13 victories per week). Inevitably, the Squadron’s phenomenal run of success aroused suspicion, and on one occasion Northholt’s Station Commander, Group Captain Stanley Vincent, followed them into action to see if they were telling the truth. To his surprise, Vincent was treated to a bravura display of air fighting as the Poles took apart a large German formation over the London docks He returned completely convinced, exclaiming to his Intelligence Officer: ‘My God! They really are doing it.’

With 17 confirmed victories, Sergeant Josef Frantisek, also of ‘303’, was one of Fighter Command’s most successful pilots. Frantisek was a Czech who refused to observe air discipline and so was allowed to fly as a ‘guest’ of the Squadron. This extraordinary airman would fight what was, in effect, a private war against the Germans until his death in a flying accident on 8 October 1940.

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)

21 September 2020
Citizen Airman 2: Ray Holmes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources:

‘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)

‘Fighter Boys: Saving Britain, 1940’, Patrick Bishop (Harper Collins, 2003)

‘Battle of Britain Day’, Dr Alfred Price (Royal Air Force Historical Society Journal 29, 2003)

‘Sand in My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War: A WAAF’s Diary’, Joan Rice (Harper Collins, 2006)

‘Battle of Britain: A Day-By-Day Chronicle, 10 July 1940 to 31 October 1940’, Patrick Bishop (Quereus, 2009)

Battle of Britain London Monument www.bbm.org.uk

16 September 2020
Vehicles of the Battle of Britain

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

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

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

Queen Mary trailers were frequently seen, during the Battle of Britain, involved in the recovery of downed aircraft – British, German and Italian. Often RAF aircraft would be repaired and sent back into the fight.

Fordson E817T Sussex with Balloon Winch

During the interwar period the British armed forces settled on the 3-ton, 6-wheel truck as the standard load carrier. The RAF received a large number of vehicles from Fordson, the UK arm of the Ford Motor Company, based on their commercial Sussex lorry. These were used to carry a number of specialist bodies, such as the balloon winch seen on the RAF Museum’s example.

Manufactured by Wild, the balloon winch was capable of sending aloft a balloon on a cable up to 2013m (7000ft) long. These balloon barrages forced enemy bombers to fly higher to avoid being snagged on cables, and this reduced their accuracy when releasing their bombs. RAF Balloon Command claimed 66 enemy aircraft brought down, during the war, as well as 231 V1 flying bombs; however it is recorded that more than 30 friendly aircraft were also lost to RAF balloon barrages.

Thompson Three Wheeled Refueller

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

37.5 ft Seaplane Tender, Type 200

The Type 200 seaplane tender owes its existence, in part, to Aircraftman Shaw, better known as Lawrence of Arabia. Lawrence had witnessed the crew of a crashed flying boat drown when the tender sent to rescue them took too long to arrive. Designed by the record breaking power-boat racer, Hubert Scott-Paine, the Type 200 could reach a speed of 24 knots, much faster than the boats then in service.

ST206, now on display at the RAF Museum’s London site, joined the RAF in March 1932 and was originally based at Bridlington patrolling the weapons range nearby. It also towed armoured targets for aircraft to practice attacking vessels on the water’s surface. Such practice would have been put to good use by those squadron sent out to attack the German invasion barges during 1940. In 1942 ST206 was converted to a Firefloat, being fitted with a pump and spray nozzles for fighting fires.

Fordson Model N Roadless

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

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

Ruston & Hornsby 44/48HP, AMW165

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

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

11 September 2020