Tag: royal air force

Arthur Scarf’s Victoria Cross

On 9 December 1941, Squadron Leader Arthur Scarf completed a supreme act of valour for which he was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. Scarf’s Victoria Cross was one of only twenty-two awarded to the RAF in the Second World War and the only such award made to the RAF for service in the Far East during the War.

Scarf was born in Wimbledon on 4 June 1913 and attended school in South London before deciding to join the RAF in 1936 and training to become a pilot. One of Scarf’s flying instructors at No. 9 Flying Training School was Flight Lieutenant John Grandy, who would later become Chief of the Air Staff in 1967 and retire with the rank of Marshal of the Royal Air Force. After training, in October 1936, Scarf was posted to No. 9 Squadron at Scampton who were equipped with the Handley Page Heyford.

In 1937, following a short detachment to No. 206 (GR) Squadron flying the Avro Anson, Scarf was briefly posted to 61 Squadron, equipped with the Hawker Hind. After four weeks of familiarisation on the Hind, Scarf was posted to the newly raised No. 62 Squadron. In 1938, they re-equipped to the Bristol Blenheim Mk I, a more modern aircraft than the Hind, as the RAF increased the tempo of its rearmament in the period immediately before the outbreak of war with Germany. In 1939, however, Scarf’s Squadron was sent to Singapore as part of the RAF’s defensive forces in the event of a war with Japan. Despite these reinforcements, Britain’s overall position in the region was precarious and it was unable to deploy large enough forces to act as a meaningful deterrent to Japanese aggression.

In April 1941, Scarf married Elizabeth ‘Sally’ Lunn. Having originally served as a member of Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps, Elizabeth volunteered for the Colonial Nursing Service. Elizabeth was now able to work at Alor Star – where Arthur and No. 62 Squadron were based. Although on ‘active service’ with the RAF this was a period of exercises and training for Scarf, and the newly married couple lived together. Then, in the early hours of 8 December 1941, Japan launched its invasion of what is today Thailand.

The Japanese invasion of 8 December was part of the first stage of their operations to seize the Malayan peninsula and Singapore. The RAF looked to make an immediate counterblow that same morning. They were, however, prevented by weather conditions from making an attack on their primary objective against the invading Japanese forces. Instead, No. 62 Squadron targeted Japanese landing craft in the morning and began to prepare for a second operation. Following a heavy attack by some 30 Japanese bombers, however, Scarf and No. 62 Squadron were withdrawn from the exposed airfield on Alor Star. As a result, it was not until the afternoon of 9 December, having relocated to an airfield 45 miles further south, that Squadron Leader Scarf – ‘Pongo’ to his friends – prepared to lead a daylight attack on the Japanese air force which was operating from captured airfields in southern Thailand.

Scarf and the crew members of his Blenheim were the first to take off. As Scarf became airborne, a formation of Japanese bombers swept over the airfield. Powerless to protect his Squadron, Scarf could only hope that there might be some surviving aircraft to join him in the air. However, the Japanese attack had destroyed or damaged every British aircraft that had been on the ground.

Realising that none of his Squadron’s aircraft had survived the Japanese bombing Scarf resolved to complete his Squadron’s allotted task. Unlike many Victoria Cross actions, Scarf was not thrown straight into action and asked to confront a single moment with valour. Instead, what makes this Victoria Cross extraordinary is the cool and determined bravery. Scarf assessed the situation and made the calculated decision that for his Squadron, his Service, and his country, the sortie was necessary despite the incredibly high risks that would need to be confronted. Having made this decision Arthur Scarf had the time to turn back. As minute after minute, and mile after mile, passed as Scarf headed straight towards the enemy, he must have fought the urge to turn back. Scarf resisted that temptation.

Flying low for some 30 miles into enemy occupied Scarf skilfully evaded several attacks by Japanese fighters. As Scarf neared the enemy airfield, however, fresh Japanese fighters arrived to attack the lone British bomber.

Despite the danger Scarf flew the Blenheim on a steady run and released his bombs whilst his crew manned their machine guns and strafed the aircraft beneath them, which had been parked like a row of taxis. As Scarf turned for home, his task complete, more Japanese fighters arrived and pressed their attacks at close-range. Greatly outnumbered, hopelessly outgunned, and in aircraft slower than his enemies, Scarf flew at treetop height, throwing his Blenheim around huge limestone outcrops, desperately seeking whatever protection he could find.

Despite using every ounce of his skill to evade the worst of the attacks, cannon and machine-gun fire from the Japanese aircraft riddled Scarf’s Blenheim. Scarf himself was grievously wounded, with one burst of fire shattering his arm, and another ripping through the in the unarmoured pilot seat of the Blenheim into his back.

Mortally wounded, Scarf’s crew mates had to hold him tight to keep him upright in his shattered seat as he grimly struggled to bring them home. With the aircraft seemingly doomed, the Japanese fighters finally abandoned their attack. Scarf, realising he would be unable to return the long distance to their original base, made course for the British controlled airfield at Alor Star.

Only a few minutes flying time away, Alor Star was where Scarf had been based before the Japanese invasion. It was an airfield his crew knew well, and as they aided Scarf control the plane that may have contributed to his decision. Equally, in these final moments it may have been that he turned for Alor Star because it was where he had lived alongside his wife, and where they had celebrated the news that she was pregnant with their first child. Scarf crash landed the aircraft without injury to his crew but died from his wound shortly afterwards.

Later accounts are conflicted as to whether Scarf saw his wife one last time before his death. In the post-war period, when Scarf’s Victoria Cross was awarded, reports were run that Elizabeth Scarf had been at Alor Star and had been on duty when a casualty was brought in from a Blenheim which had crash landed. Elizabeth was later reported to have been at Alor Star. Newspaper stories from 1946, recount that she was not only able to exchange some final words with Arthur, but to provide two pints of her blood as a transfusion before he died. Other reports suggest that Elizabeth had been evacuated before 9 December.

Despite the overarching chaos that engulfed the British position in the Far East following the Japanese invasion it does seem unlikely that Elizabeth would have remained at Alor Star following the heavy attacks that had forced the withdrawal of No. 62 Squadron. There is, however, no disputing the closing words to the citation for Arthur’s Victoria Cross. On 9 December 1941, Arthur ‘displayed supreme heroism in the face of tremendous odds’ and ‘his splendid example of self-sacrifice will long be remembered.’

In October 2022, it was announced that the Arts Minister, Stuart Andrew, following the advice of the Reviewing Committee on the Export of Works of Art and Objects of Cultural Interest had decided that Squadron Leader Scarf’s Victoria Cross was of National Importance. A temporary export ban was placed on the Victoria Cross. This decision followed the sale of Squadron Leader Scarf’s Victoria Cross, along with four other medals awarded to him, at auction for £660,000. This was a record for a Victoria Cross awarded to a member of the RAF.

In January 2023, because Scarf’s Victoria Cross was recognised as being of national importance, the RAF Museum was offered the opportunity to match the sale price. However, we only have until 30 April 2023 to save Arthur Scarf’s Victoria Cross.

If you would like to help us save Arthur’s Victoria Cross, and use it to inspire a new generation, then you can make a donation today by visiting www.gofundme.com/f/save-the-scarf-vc

4 March 2023
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
Avro Ansons vs Messerschmitt 109s, Dunkirk 1940.

Official documents are an important source of information, but can at times be a little terse:

“Aircraft MKV shot down two M.E.109’s and seriously disabled another, when carrying out the “THISTLE” Patrol.” 500 Squadron’s Operations Record Book for 1 June 1940.

First-hand accounts also have their shortcomings, but can give a very different impression of the same event:

“We were only flying at about 50-80 feet at the time… he dived even lower, right onto the surface, right on the sea, and they appeared to pick on us, the leading aircraft, because the cabin was full of explosive bullets.” Jack Watchous, wireless operator, 500 Squadron, 1940.

This blog aims to show how first-hand accounts – oral history, as quoted above – can add drama, humanity and new dimensions to a brief official statement.

The story of the evacuation from Dunkirk in 1940 is, of course, very well-known, particularly given recent movies on the operation.

Less well-known is the role of the Avro Anson during the evacuation. By 1940 it was already obsolescent as a front-line aeroplane, and would spend much of the war in use for training and light transport away from the battle areas.

But in 1940 they were still used by RAF Coastal Command to patrol the Dunkirk evacuation beaches and the surrounding sea, attacking German E-boats (small, fast attack craft) and reporting back on the progress of the evacuation.

The operations record book – the squadron diary – for 500 Squadron records how, on 1 June 1940, Pilot Officer Philip Peters shot down two M.E.109’s and seriously disabled another’ while on patrol.

Pilot Officer Peters was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross a week later for this achievement, which is mentioned in histories of Coastal Command and of 500 Squadron.

The incident is further commemorated at the Imperial War Museum, Duxford, where the Avro Anson on display is painted to represent Pilot Officer Peters’ aircraft.

But, while in no way detracting from the bravery of Peters and his crew on 1 June 1940, there is more to the story. Peters’ aircraft was not alone when attacked on 1 June; it was in a formation of three Ansons.The citation for Peters’ DFC, published in the London Gazette of 14 June 1940 recorded that:

‘In June, 1940, near Dunkerque, this officer was pilot of an aircraft which, in company with two others, was attacked by nine Messerschmitt 109’s. Pilot Officer Peters immediately turned to the attack and so skilfully manoeuvred his aircraft, that he and both the air gunner and navigator were enabled to concentrate their fire on the enemy. Two Messerschmitts were seen to crash, and two more appeared to be seriously damaged. After the engagement this officer continued to carry out the patrol alone, having lost touch with the other two aircraft which had returned to the base.’

Jack Watchous, interviewed for the RAF Museum’s archives in 2015, was on-board one of the other aircraft. He recalled how:

‘We were just flying away to search for E-boats, still in formation, when we were suddenly hit by bullets. Our pilot, we were only flying at about 50-80 feet at the time, anyway, he dived even lower, right onto the surface, right on the sea, and they appeared to pick on us, the leading aircraft, because the cabin was full of explosive bullets.

I instantly started to send an SOS, still sitting at the desk. It lasted I think probably about 1 ½ – 2 minutes. During that time there were three attacks on us during which our gunner was critically injured. After I sent my SOS I went back to man the gun that was on the left-hand side but as I approached it our pilot did a sharp turn and I was thrown onto the floor right near the air gunner’s entrance. And when I picked myself up I could see he had collapsed in his turret, so I tried to get at him but I couldn’t because his body was trapped in the turret and the turret couldn’t move.

Now our aircraft was quite badly damaged, we were leaking fuel and we managed to make Manston. But we couldn’t make a circuit because we were almost out of fuel and so the pilot flew directly into Manston from the sea, and as we landed both engines packed up, one almost immediately after the other, and so we just plonked down and the undercarriage came down but the wheels were shattered with bullets and so we just stopped dead.

Now the emergency people, the fire engines and so on, hadn’t seen us come in, so we stuck there just for a second or two or a short while, so the pilot said ‘oh you’d better run off and tell them we’re here’ sort of thing.

So I was picked on because I was the only fit one there, or the youngest one anyway, and so I had to hare across the airfield, so then they noticed us, they came over and of course took poor old Smithy away with the ambulance and so on. And I thought he was dead, but apparently he did live for two or three days and then unfortunately he died.’

Jack’s aircraft, and the third Anson in the formation, both landed at RAF Manston in Kent, while Peters’ aircraft was the only one of the three to return to its home base at Detling. The reports of the two aircraft at Manston seem to have been lost in the confusion of the time, and later accounts of the incident often (but not always!) overlook their part in the incident.

But for Jack’s account, little or nothing would survive on this aspect of the story. LAC Smith’s date of death, several days later in hospital, means that it would not necessarily be easily connected with the incident of 1 June.

Human memory is famously erratic and unreliable, and there is a broader question related to this on the purpose and value of oral history. But documents, especially those written during war and crises, also have their failings.

History – and the personal stories wrapped up in historic events – are at their strongest when the sources are brought together. It could well be that there is still more to the story of Ansons over the beaches at Dunkirk on 1 June 1940, but in any case the story told by Jack Watchous is an important part of it.

7 August 2018