Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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Hunter 1 in 1
Like MPN11 it is a fair few years since I controlled a Hunter 1in1, and, like him, my recollection is that the gear call came from ATC. The only slight issue with the procedure was that it was based on a flamed out engine which was windmilling. At Honington we had several T-bird hunters for instrument training/renewals for the Buccaneer. On one occasion the engine had seized and the rate of descent with the gear up was pretty close to 1in1 and the pilot (JM as I recall) left the gear until very short final. Having flown a couple of sorties in the Hunter in which I was allowed to try it in "manual" including a training 1in1, I recall that it was blooming hard work, which made JM's feat even more impressive.
1-in-1
The Hunter 1:1 was a reasonably straightforward technique. Having settled into the glide clean, you waited until height from touchdown was numerically the same as distance, then on the ATC call "Undercarriage, undercarriage...GO - Acknowledge" you dropped the gear (for real you would use the blow down plug) and matched height for range until the aerodrome was in sight.
If the engine was windmilling and you still had hydraulic power, things were reasonably relaxed. But a manual 1-in-1 was physically demanding, as was the subsequent flare. We practised manual 1-in-1s on occasion, by turning off the aileron and elevator hydroboosters - but used the normal landing gear system.
I can't remember whether we planned a flapless landing, or would use the flap blow down plug on final?
The trouble with the Gnat was that the emergency undercarriage lowering system could take up to 30 sec to lower the gear, making assessment of when to do so very difficult - so we didn't use that technique at Valley.
Of course when the Hawk with its RAT came along, the radar PFL was a much easier profile to fly.
And now, back to our regular programme.....
If the engine was windmilling and you still had hydraulic power, things were reasonably relaxed. But a manual 1-in-1 was physically demanding, as was the subsequent flare. We practised manual 1-in-1s on occasion, by turning off the aileron and elevator hydroboosters - but used the normal landing gear system.
I can't remember whether we planned a flapless landing, or would use the flap blow down plug on final?
The trouble with the Gnat was that the emergency undercarriage lowering system could take up to 30 sec to lower the gear, making assessment of when to do so very difficult - so we didn't use that technique at Valley.
Of course when the Hawk with its RAT came along, the radar PFL was a much easier profile to fly.
And now, back to our regular programme.....
Isn't it great to see this thread burst back into life again? I echo Danny's plea from earlier today, particularly to Sandisondaughter. This is a precious repository of stories from Everyman, and the time to record them is fast running out.
Walter's wonderful memories have certainly revitalised our Senior Officer, who not only posted today at 0051, 0209 and 0738 but also remembered his Latin for the last one. Only one response to this, Danny:
SALVE DENNIUS MAXIMUS
Walter's wonderful memories have certainly revitalised our Senior Officer, who not only posted today at 0051, 0209 and 0738 but also remembered his Latin for the last one. Only one response to this, Danny:
SALVE DENNIUS MAXIMUS
Sandisondaughter,
A personal plea. My wife's late father was Groundcrew on Lancasters at Woodhall Spa. I always understood he was on 617 Sqdn. Your last post makes me wonder if he might have been working on 619 Sqdn. It would be really good to hear your dads reminiscences of his days in the RAF. I'm sure that this thread is rapidly becoming a source of reference for those days, it would be great if he could expand our knowledge. From my point of view, my father in law, like all the others who served back then, was very modest about his service, despite my being a member of the RAF throughout our too brief acquaintance. My greatest achievement was to get him aboard PA474 for an hour when we were repairing it some years ago, he was like a youngster again, and obviously enjoyed reliving his knowledge of the aircraft. Let's hope that your dad can give us some insight in to his personal experiences from those days. Best wishes in anticipation.
Smudge
A personal plea. My wife's late father was Groundcrew on Lancasters at Woodhall Spa. I always understood he was on 617 Sqdn. Your last post makes me wonder if he might have been working on 619 Sqdn. It would be really good to hear your dads reminiscences of his days in the RAF. I'm sure that this thread is rapidly becoming a source of reference for those days, it would be great if he could expand our knowledge. From my point of view, my father in law, like all the others who served back then, was very modest about his service, despite my being a member of the RAF throughout our too brief acquaintance. My greatest achievement was to get him aboard PA474 for an hour when we were repairing it some years ago, he was like a youngster again, and obviously enjoyed reliving his knowledge of the aircraft. Let's hope that your dad can give us some insight in to his personal experiences from those days. Best wishes in anticipation.
Smudge
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MPN11 (your #7721),
Oh, I don't know. 'Talkdown' in my day used to say "check three greens for landing"at the three-mile point. I suppose that was only a check, but it served as an instruction. Generally, IIRC, all ATC messages to pilots were advisory, except that, in the case of your Area Radar, and on a GCA talkdown, your navigation instructions were mandatory, up to the point when you said "Resume own Navigation" (and cast him adrift without a paddle).
The "One-in-One" idea was old as the hills. At Primary in '41 we learned the "90 Degree Left" and "270 Degree Left" drills for a dead-stick from overhead the field.
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octavian (your #7722),
Makes the hair rise on the back of my neck. In the late '40s and early '50s the asymmetric phase of training on the Meteor was carried out with one flamed-out, to "render the training more realistic". It became all too "realistic", in those years we wrote-off 900 odd Meteors and 400+ pilots, mainly as a result of this training.
Then they found that the fatal accident rate from this source, per 10,000 hours, was greater than the Derwent failure rate, and commonsense returned. Future exercises were carried out with one at flight idle.
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BEagle (your #7723),
This is our regular programme (it roams widely), and this is the beauty of the Thread !
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Geriaviator (your #7724), Gracias tibi !
Tiny nit-pick: I am DIONYSIUS in the tongue of the Caesars.
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Smudge (your #7725),
And so say all of us !
And a very Good Night to all our readers, Danny.
Oh, I don't know. 'Talkdown' in my day used to say "check three greens for landing"at the three-mile point. I suppose that was only a check, but it served as an instruction. Generally, IIRC, all ATC messages to pilots were advisory, except that, in the case of your Area Radar, and on a GCA talkdown, your navigation instructions were mandatory, up to the point when you said "Resume own Navigation" (and cast him adrift without a paddle).
The "One-in-One" idea was old as the hills. At Primary in '41 we learned the "90 Degree Left" and "270 Degree Left" drills for a dead-stick from overhead the field.
-------------
octavian (your #7722),
The only slight issue with the procedure was that it was based on a flamed out engine which was windmilling.
Then they found that the fatal accident rate from this source, per 10,000 hours, was greater than the Derwent failure rate, and commonsense returned. Future exercises were carried out with one at flight idle.
------------
BEagle (your #7723),
And now, back to our regular programme.....
------------
Geriaviator (your #7724), Gracias tibi !
Tiny nit-pick: I am DIONYSIUS in the tongue of the Caesars.
Selfie.
------------
Smudge (your #7725),
And so say all of us !
And a very Good Night to all our readers, Danny.
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Went the usual way, P/O until April '44, when I became F/O. When I arrived home I had a nice fat balance in my bank a/c.
Last edited by Walter603; 28th Nov 2015 at 03:15.
Happiness is a Harvard
Post no. 5 from the memoirs of Tempest pilot Flt Lt Jack Stafford, DFC, RNZAF
Post no. 5 from the memoirs of Tempest pilot Flt Lt Jack Stafford, DFC, RNZAF
Woodbourne for me was just heaven. Perfect days followed perfect days, the sun always seemed to shine, and my contentment matched the weather as winter moved into spring and into summer. Gradually we mastered the Harvard advanced trainer with its retractable undercarriage, constant speed propellor and 600hp Pratt & Whitney radial engine. So passed those wonderful days as a pupil pilot in Blenheim.
I had been very fortunate in getting a Rotorua boy, George Bertram, as my instructor. He was full of fun and as far as I could tell he didn't take anything very seriously. When my flying reached the competent stage he would take me low flying on Lake Grassmere. I would fly and he would fire a revolver at the wildlife on the water. I don't think the wildlife ever realised that this was happening.
George knew a barmaid at Tophouse and on a couple of occasions during night flying we flew up there and he would take control. Then would follow the biggest thrill I had experienced during my short flying career, an aerobatic display with landing lights blazing. As we passed the chimney on one occasion he exclaimed “****, that was close!” Until you have seen George beat up Tophouse you've never seen a Harvard reach its limits. As for me, sublime confidence ruled as I never considered the possibility of George making a mistake. He really taught me to fly to the limit, for that was what the war was about. To me, 'Hort' as George was known was the greatest!
Another top instructor was Roy Mansill. He was from the same mould as George, and it was always great to fly with him. He had taken one or two other pupils under the telephone wires in the low flying area and I pestered him to take me. One day he flew down parallel to the wires and almost before I knew it he neatly slipped under them. He didn't offer to let me try it, however.
One episode startled me, and its effect stayed with me for a long time. We had on our course a young pilot called Charlie Rickey. He was a most pleasant, gentlemanly person and I considered him a friend. Slightly built and athletic, I always enjoyed his company. Charlie was killed in an accident. Several pilots were chasing each other around the valleys and peaks and there was a misjudgement that cost Charlie his life. I heard that his plane lost part of one wing and went in.
Some time later I was called to the flight commander's office. I marched in to find the commander sitting at his desk with his head down, and I stared with amazement at the chart on the wall behind him. Charlie's name was still there, with a red line through his progress and in large bold letters was the word WASTAGE.
I was incensed. How could anyone refer to Charlie's life as 'wastage'? He was one of us, we were brothers, comrades, ready to fight to the death for each other. The commander looked up and spoke to me, but I hardly heard him. He gently reprimanded me for something or other, but it paled into insignificance beside what that chart revealed to me. Our position in the scheme of things was clear: we were expendable.
I could not believe this callous disregard for a well-liked colleague. The flight commander was oblivious to my feelings. I didn't mention this incident to anyone, but it changed my attitude to Air Force life. It was one of many which finally made me what I became.
I had been very fortunate in getting a Rotorua boy, George Bertram, as my instructor. He was full of fun and as far as I could tell he didn't take anything very seriously. When my flying reached the competent stage he would take me low flying on Lake Grassmere. I would fly and he would fire a revolver at the wildlife on the water. I don't think the wildlife ever realised that this was happening.
George knew a barmaid at Tophouse and on a couple of occasions during night flying we flew up there and he would take control. Then would follow the biggest thrill I had experienced during my short flying career, an aerobatic display with landing lights blazing. As we passed the chimney on one occasion he exclaimed “****, that was close!” Until you have seen George beat up Tophouse you've never seen a Harvard reach its limits. As for me, sublime confidence ruled as I never considered the possibility of George making a mistake. He really taught me to fly to the limit, for that was what the war was about. To me, 'Hort' as George was known was the greatest!
Another top instructor was Roy Mansill. He was from the same mould as George, and it was always great to fly with him. He had taken one or two other pupils under the telephone wires in the low flying area and I pestered him to take me. One day he flew down parallel to the wires and almost before I knew it he neatly slipped under them. He didn't offer to let me try it, however.
One episode startled me, and its effect stayed with me for a long time. We had on our course a young pilot called Charlie Rickey. He was a most pleasant, gentlemanly person and I considered him a friend. Slightly built and athletic, I always enjoyed his company. Charlie was killed in an accident. Several pilots were chasing each other around the valleys and peaks and there was a misjudgement that cost Charlie his life. I heard that his plane lost part of one wing and went in.
Some time later I was called to the flight commander's office. I marched in to find the commander sitting at his desk with his head down, and I stared with amazement at the chart on the wall behind him. Charlie's name was still there, with a red line through his progress and in large bold letters was the word WASTAGE.
I was incensed. How could anyone refer to Charlie's life as 'wastage'? He was one of us, we were brothers, comrades, ready to fight to the death for each other. The commander looked up and spoke to me, but I hardly heard him. He gently reprimanded me for something or other, but it paled into insignificance beside what that chart revealed to me. Our position in the scheme of things was clear: we were expendable.
I could not believe this callous disregard for a well-liked colleague. The flight commander was oblivious to my feelings. I didn't mention this incident to anyone, but it changed my attitude to Air Force life. It was one of many which finally made me what I became.
Last edited by Geriaviator; 29th Nov 2015 at 22:40.
Dad on Arnold scheme
In answer to Danny's question about hazing ... Dad was at Macon. They had an American senior class but had no problems with them as he says the yanks were afraid they would be beaten up by the Raf blokes! The American senior officer in charge of the cadets was a Westpointer and 'full of bull'
After gaining his wings on 3rd Jan 1942 Dad stayed on to train as a flying instructor - completed in Feb 1942. His instructor came from Chicago. Dad then went on to instruct at Darr Aerotech in Albany. His logbook lists all his trainees. I wonder how many survived the war.
After gaining his wings on 3rd Jan 1942 Dad stayed on to train as a flying instructor - completed in Feb 1942. His instructor came from Chicago. Dad then went on to instruct at Darr Aerotech in Albany. His logbook lists all his trainees. I wonder how many survived the war.
The euphoria of completing one's first solo
The euphoria of completing one's first solo was encapsulated very nicely in politician Tony Benn's diaries where he recorded this about his first solo in Rhodesia during WW2.
He joined the RAF in 1943 and was posted to Southern Rhodesia for pilot training and the entry below is for 14th June 1944, the day of his first solo in a Cornell PT-26 trainer at No. 26 EFTS Guinea Fowl not far from Gweru (Gwelo) in the middle of the colony.
He joined the RAF in 1943 and was posted to Southern Rhodesia for pilot training and the entry below is for 14th June 1944, the day of his first solo in a Cornell PT-26 trainer at No. 26 EFTS Guinea Fowl not far from Gweru (Gwelo) in the middle of the colony.
Wednesday 14 June 1944
"At six this morning Crownshaw told me to get into 322 straightaway, a PT-26 Cornell trainer. I apologised to him for boobing the check yesterday and he remarked thet were really only nominal things and that they didn’t really matter.
We taxied on to the tarmac and I got out and walked back with Crownshaw. He said we’d just have a cigarette and then go up again. I was very surprised, but put it down to a desire on his part to finish me off ready for another check tomorrow. However, we took off, did a circuit or maybe two, and then as we taxied up to the take-off point, he said to me, ‘Well, how do you feel about your landings?’ I replied, ‘Well, that’s really for you to say, sir.’ He chuckled. ‘I think you can manage one solo,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get out now and I’ll wait here for you,’ he went on.
So this was it, I thought. The moment I had been waiting for came all of a sudden just like that. ‘OK, sir,’ I replied. ‘And don’t forget that you’ve got a throttle,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened to go round again -OK? And by the way,’ he added -he finished locking the rear harness and closing the hood, then came up to me, leant over and shouted in my ear, ‘you do know the new trimming for taking off?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, and he jumped off the wing and walked over to the boundary with his ‘chute.
I was not all that excited. I certainly wasn’t frightened and I hope I wasn’t over-confident but I just had to adjust my mirror so that I could really see that there was no one behind me.
Then I remembered my brother Mike’s words: ‘Whatever you do don’t get over-confident; it is that that kills most people and I only survived the initial stages through being excessively cautious.’ So I brought my mind back to the job, checked the instruments, looked all around and when we had reached 500 feet began a gentle climbing turn. It was very bumpy and the wind got under my starboard wing and tried to keel me over, but I checked it with my stick and straightened out when my gyro compass read 270 degrees. Then I climbed to 900, looked all round and turned again on to the down-wind leg. By the time I’d finished that turn we were at 1,000 feet, so I throttled back, re-trimmed, got dead on 180 and I felt pretty good about things.
I thought I was a little high as I crossed the boundary so I eased back to 800 rpm, and as I passed over, I distinctly saw Crownshaw standing watching where I had left him. Now we were coming in beautifully and I eased the stick and throttle back. A quick glance at the ground below showed me to be a little high, so I left the stick as it was, gave a tiny burst of engine and as we floated down I brought both back fully. We settled, juddered and settled again for a fair three-pointer.
I was as happy as could be. I taxied up, stopped and braked. Try as I did, I couldn’t restrain the broad grin which gripped me from ear to ear and Crownshaw, seeing it, leant over before he got in and said ironically with a smile, ‘Happy now?’
I was more than happy, I was deliriously carefree, and as he taxied her back I thought about it all and realised that the success of my first solo was entirety due to the fine instruction I had received; it was a tribute to the instruction that I never felt nervous once, and all the time had imagined what my instructor would be saying, so used had I got to doing everything with him behind me. We climbed out, and attempting to restrain my happiness I listened while he told me where and what to sign. Then I wandered back to my billet and one of the greatest experiences of my life was behind me. The lectures were pretty ordinary, and it being my free afternoon I had a bit of lemonade in the canteen and wrote this."
"At six this morning Crownshaw told me to get into 322 straightaway, a PT-26 Cornell trainer. I apologised to him for boobing the check yesterday and he remarked thet were really only nominal things and that they didn’t really matter.
We taxied on to the tarmac and I got out and walked back with Crownshaw. He said we’d just have a cigarette and then go up again. I was very surprised, but put it down to a desire on his part to finish me off ready for another check tomorrow. However, we took off, did a circuit or maybe two, and then as we taxied up to the take-off point, he said to me, ‘Well, how do you feel about your landings?’ I replied, ‘Well, that’s really for you to say, sir.’ He chuckled. ‘I think you can manage one solo,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get out now and I’ll wait here for you,’ he went on.
So this was it, I thought. The moment I had been waiting for came all of a sudden just like that. ‘OK, sir,’ I replied. ‘And don’t forget that you’ve got a throttle,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened to go round again -OK? And by the way,’ he added -he finished locking the rear harness and closing the hood, then came up to me, leant over and shouted in my ear, ‘you do know the new trimming for taking off?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, and he jumped off the wing and walked over to the boundary with his ‘chute.
I was not all that excited. I certainly wasn’t frightened and I hope I wasn’t over-confident but I just had to adjust my mirror so that I could really see that there was no one behind me.
Then I remembered my brother Mike’s words: ‘Whatever you do don’t get over-confident; it is that that kills most people and I only survived the initial stages through being excessively cautious.’ So I brought my mind back to the job, checked the instruments, looked all around and when we had reached 500 feet began a gentle climbing turn. It was very bumpy and the wind got under my starboard wing and tried to keel me over, but I checked it with my stick and straightened out when my gyro compass read 270 degrees. Then I climbed to 900, looked all round and turned again on to the down-wind leg. By the time I’d finished that turn we were at 1,000 feet, so I throttled back, re-trimmed, got dead on 180 and I felt pretty good about things.
I thought I was a little high as I crossed the boundary so I eased back to 800 rpm, and as I passed over, I distinctly saw Crownshaw standing watching where I had left him. Now we were coming in beautifully and I eased the stick and throttle back. A quick glance at the ground below showed me to be a little high, so I left the stick as it was, gave a tiny burst of engine and as we floated down I brought both back fully. We settled, juddered and settled again for a fair three-pointer.
I was as happy as could be. I taxied up, stopped and braked. Try as I did, I couldn’t restrain the broad grin which gripped me from ear to ear and Crownshaw, seeing it, leant over before he got in and said ironically with a smile, ‘Happy now?’
I was more than happy, I was deliriously carefree, and as he taxied her back I thought about it all and realised that the success of my first solo was entirety due to the fine instruction I had received; it was a tribute to the instruction that I never felt nervous once, and all the time had imagined what my instructor would be saying, so used had I got to doing everything with him behind me. We climbed out, and attempting to restrain my happiness I listened while he told me where and what to sign. Then I wandered back to my billet and one of the greatest experiences of my life was behind me. The lectures were pretty ordinary, and it being my free afternoon I had a bit of lemonade in the canteen and wrote this."
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Hazing.
Sandisondaughter,
Perhaps news of the Carlstrom Field "riot" had filtered across to them over in Georgia ? By all accounts, there the RAF "Lower Class" (in a body) set upon the "Upper Class", prevailed, then flung the lot into the camp swimming pool with all their belongings. "Hazing" ceased forthwith. Peace followed (I don't know about harmony !)
Or so the story went. Of course, only 42A was affected, as all subsequent entries would have RAF UpperClass men.
.
This tells us several valuable things: I got my wings (42C) on 3rd March). So the Courses were graduating at exactly monthly intervals.
Didn''t Cliffnemo go to Darr Aerotech ? Your Dad may have instructed him !
How long did they keep him out there instructing before he came home ?
"Hup-two-three-four !", Danny.
had no problems with them as he says the yanks were afraid they would be beaten up by the Raf blokes
Perhaps news of the Carlstrom Field "riot" had filtered across to them over in Georgia ? By all accounts, there the RAF "Lower Class" (in a body) set upon the "Upper Class", prevailed, then flung the lot into the camp swimming pool with all their belongings. "Hazing" ceased forthwith. Peace followed (I don't know about harmony !)
Or so the story went. Of course, only 42A was affected, as all subsequent entries would have RAF UpperClass men.
After gaining his wings on 3rd Jan 1942 Dad stayed on to train as a flying instructor - completed in Feb 1942. His instructor came from Chicago. Dad then went on to instruct at Darr Aerotech in Albany
This tells us several valuable things: I got my wings (42C) on 3rd March). So the Courses were graduating at exactly monthly intervals.
Didn''t Cliffnemo go to Darr Aerotech ? Your Dad may have instructed him !
How long did they keep him out there instructing before he came home ?
"Hup-two-three-four !", Danny.
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Durance vile.
Walter,
Reason for my query on pay was this. I've hunted down WW2 RAF officer pay rates and found:
This shows a table of RAF Officers' Pay in WWII, gives P/O as £237 pa, or £0.65 (13/-) pd and F/O as £274 pa (15/-)pd. And I've heard somewhere of a 11/10 pd for an "Acting P/O on probation", whatever that was, but can't give a reference.
I know that I was paid 13/6 pd as a Sgt-pilot in '42, and I think a F/Sgt got 15/6. It follows that, for the time that you were a POW until your Commission caught up with you, your NCO pay would be more than that which you were due as an officer. So you'd lose out at the start, but, as you say, your pay rolled up after that into a nice little nest-egg.
A related query, did your change of status mean a transfer from a Stalag to an Oflag or anything like that ? Wasn't there an important difference in the fact that an OR can be compelled to work for his captors, but an officer cannot, under the Geneva Convention ?
Danny.
Reason for my query on pay was this. I've hunted down WW2 RAF officer pay rates and found:
http://forum.keypublishing.com/showthread.php?112268-RAF-pay-in-WWII
"Thread:
I know that I was paid 13/6 pd as a Sgt-pilot in '42, and I think a F/Sgt got 15/6. It follows that, for the time that you were a POW until your Commission caught up with you, your NCO pay would be more than that which you were due as an officer. So you'd lose out at the start, but, as you say, your pay rolled up after that into a nice little nest-egg.
A related query, did your change of status mean a transfer from a Stalag to an Oflag or anything like that ? Wasn't there an important difference in the fact that an OR can be compelled to work for his captors, but an officer cannot, under the Geneva Convention ?
Danny.
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Geriaviator,
Tiny quibble:
Constant-speed prop, surely ? (I had a two-speed job in the Vultee BT-13)
For readers of a nervous disposition, perhaps I should stress that we are not in the UK now. Instructors were a law unto themselves in those days: in our Harvards (AT6As, actually) in the States, ours would play 'tigs' with the wingtips in dual formation while puffing fat "see-gars" in the back.
Studes were discouraged from doing this solo.
Tragic, but true of all wars. As I've said somewhere, you had to be callous to losses, or you'd "go round the bend". "Old so-and-so went for a burton last night, hard luck, fancy a beer ?"
Danny.
Tiny quibble:
...variable speed propellor...
...he would take me low flying on Lake Grassmere. I would fly and he would fire a revolver at the wildlife on the water..
Studes were discouraged from doing this solo.
...in large bold letters was the word WASTAGE...
Danny.
Arnold Scheme
Dad did his primary training at Darr Aero Tech, Albany from June to August 1941 training on Stearmans. He was then posted to Air Corps Basic Flying School at Cochran Field, Macon, training on Vultees from end of August to end of October 1941. Following this his advanced training was at Turner Field, Albany from early November 1941 to end of December 1941 flying North Americans.
He qualified as a pilot on 3rd January 1942 and then went on to Instructors School at Gunter Field, Montgomery, Alabama flying Vultees from 21.1.42 to 6.2.42.
Then there was a period of consolidation at Cochran Field again from Feb to April 1942. He then instructed at Turner Field from June 1942 to December 1942.
He was then posted to the UK arriving at No. 6 AFU Chipping Norton for a brief spell before going to No. 1523 BAT Flight at Little Rissington for a spell over Christmas and January, then back to Chipping Norton Jan/Feb. Then to No. 14 OTU Saltby, Leics at end of Feb to mid-March flying Wellington Ic, then to No. 14 OTU Cottesmore, Rutland from 20 March 1943 to 17 April 1942. Here he was assessed as a heavy bomber pilot 'above average'.
He was posted to No 1660 Conversion Unit, Swinderby in May, flying Manchester and then on 1st June 1943 his first flight in a Lancaster I. He was there until 15th June and then posted to Woodhall Spa for the formation of 619 Squadron which was to be his tour of operations.
His first operation was on 24 June 1943 in a Lanc III with his mainly Australian crew in an aircraft which they inevitably called 'Boomerang' and in which all the crew always came back in one piece. Sadly the aircraft was lost on its first op with a different crew immediately after Dad's tour with his own crew had finished.
Dad's first op was on 24th June 1943 to Gelsenkirchen, then as follows:
28 June Cologne
1 July Terschelling (mine laying)
3 July Cologne
8 July Cologne
25 July Essen
27 July Hamburg
29 July Hamburg
30 July Remschied
9 August Mannheim
15 August Milan
22 August Cologne (Leverkusen)
27 August Nuremburg
22 Sept Hanover
23 Sept Mannheim
29 Sept Bochum
2 Oct Munich
3 Nov Dusseldorf
10 Nov Modane (a trip lasting 8 hrs 50 minutes)
17 Nov Berlin
23 Nov Berlin
16 Dec Berlin
1st Jan 1944 Berlin
5 Jan Berlin
5 Jan Stettin (8 hrs 40 minutes)
20 Jan Berlin
27 Jan Berlin
30 Jan Berlin
The Squadron then moved from Woodhall Spa to Coningsby to make way for 617 to move in to Woodhall Spa. 619 Squadron were pretty upset about this as the Petwood was the best officers mess in the country, and 619 had sustained an arduous campaign with significant losses. Incidentally it is only fairly recently that 619 Squadron has had a plaque added to the entrance at the Petwood Hotel commemorating their presence (whereas of course 617 has memorabilia all over the hotel including the Dambusters bar). This is more to the regret of their descendants than the remaining members of 619 though (619 association has a reunion there every year).
From Coningsby Dad flew his final two ops
15 Feb Berlin
19 Feb Leipzig
His crew was then scattered and Dad was posted to No 5 LFS, Syerston as an instructor. He subsequently instructed at no 1654 Con Unit, Wigsley from March 1944 to March 1945 on Stirling III.
On 1st April 1945 he joined Bomber Command Film Unit at Bardney, Lincs flying Mosquitos and Lancasters. Then to BC FFU at Fulbeck for a week, followed by BCFFU at Syerston until end of July 1945.
His final stint was with No 49 Squadron, Syerston where he was OC. This period included a trip to Bari to collect 18 soldiers and bring them back to the UK (squashed together sitting on the floor of a Lanc) and a trip to Berlin (Gatow) to collect 22 German scientist PoWs who were en route to the USA. He remembers this being rather embarrassing on return to Syerston where the airfield staff had been told they were returning with prisoners, so all turned out to greet the aircraft expecting they would be British PoWs.
From October 45 to January 46, 49 Squadron were based at Mepal, Cambs and Dad's time there included another trip over Germany and to Gatow with groundcrew on a sightseeing tour.
From April 1946 to May 1946 he was at No 1384 HTCU Ossington instructing again.
After this he was seconded to BOAC, Hurn, Bournemouth and eventually demobilised on 2 January 1947. At Hurn he met my mother who was working there as a secretary and, as they say, the rest is history. The bulk of his career with BOAC was spent flying 707s.
He qualified as a pilot on 3rd January 1942 and then went on to Instructors School at Gunter Field, Montgomery, Alabama flying Vultees from 21.1.42 to 6.2.42.
Then there was a period of consolidation at Cochran Field again from Feb to April 1942. He then instructed at Turner Field from June 1942 to December 1942.
He was then posted to the UK arriving at No. 6 AFU Chipping Norton for a brief spell before going to No. 1523 BAT Flight at Little Rissington for a spell over Christmas and January, then back to Chipping Norton Jan/Feb. Then to No. 14 OTU Saltby, Leics at end of Feb to mid-March flying Wellington Ic, then to No. 14 OTU Cottesmore, Rutland from 20 March 1943 to 17 April 1942. Here he was assessed as a heavy bomber pilot 'above average'.
He was posted to No 1660 Conversion Unit, Swinderby in May, flying Manchester and then on 1st June 1943 his first flight in a Lancaster I. He was there until 15th June and then posted to Woodhall Spa for the formation of 619 Squadron which was to be his tour of operations.
His first operation was on 24 June 1943 in a Lanc III with his mainly Australian crew in an aircraft which they inevitably called 'Boomerang' and in which all the crew always came back in one piece. Sadly the aircraft was lost on its first op with a different crew immediately after Dad's tour with his own crew had finished.
Dad's first op was on 24th June 1943 to Gelsenkirchen, then as follows:
28 June Cologne
1 July Terschelling (mine laying)
3 July Cologne
8 July Cologne
25 July Essen
27 July Hamburg
29 July Hamburg
30 July Remschied
9 August Mannheim
15 August Milan
22 August Cologne (Leverkusen)
27 August Nuremburg
22 Sept Hanover
23 Sept Mannheim
29 Sept Bochum
2 Oct Munich
3 Nov Dusseldorf
10 Nov Modane (a trip lasting 8 hrs 50 minutes)
17 Nov Berlin
23 Nov Berlin
16 Dec Berlin
1st Jan 1944 Berlin
5 Jan Berlin
5 Jan Stettin (8 hrs 40 minutes)
20 Jan Berlin
27 Jan Berlin
30 Jan Berlin
The Squadron then moved from Woodhall Spa to Coningsby to make way for 617 to move in to Woodhall Spa. 619 Squadron were pretty upset about this as the Petwood was the best officers mess in the country, and 619 had sustained an arduous campaign with significant losses. Incidentally it is only fairly recently that 619 Squadron has had a plaque added to the entrance at the Petwood Hotel commemorating their presence (whereas of course 617 has memorabilia all over the hotel including the Dambusters bar). This is more to the regret of their descendants than the remaining members of 619 though (619 association has a reunion there every year).
From Coningsby Dad flew his final two ops
15 Feb Berlin
19 Feb Leipzig
His crew was then scattered and Dad was posted to No 5 LFS, Syerston as an instructor. He subsequently instructed at no 1654 Con Unit, Wigsley from March 1944 to March 1945 on Stirling III.
On 1st April 1945 he joined Bomber Command Film Unit at Bardney, Lincs flying Mosquitos and Lancasters. Then to BC FFU at Fulbeck for a week, followed by BCFFU at Syerston until end of July 1945.
His final stint was with No 49 Squadron, Syerston where he was OC. This period included a trip to Bari to collect 18 soldiers and bring them back to the UK (squashed together sitting on the floor of a Lanc) and a trip to Berlin (Gatow) to collect 22 German scientist PoWs who were en route to the USA. He remembers this being rather embarrassing on return to Syerston where the airfield staff had been told they were returning with prisoners, so all turned out to greet the aircraft expecting they would be British PoWs.
From October 45 to January 46, 49 Squadron were based at Mepal, Cambs and Dad's time there included another trip over Germany and to Gatow with groundcrew on a sightseeing tour.
From April 1946 to May 1946 he was at No 1384 HTCU Ossington instructing again.
After this he was seconded to BOAC, Hurn, Bournemouth and eventually demobilised on 2 January 1947. At Hurn he met my mother who was working there as a secretary and, as they say, the rest is history. The bulk of his career with BOAC was spent flying 707s.
Sandisondaughter,
Thank you for your interesting post, it's wonderful to hear this info (particularly the incident of the German scientists) direct from the horse's mouth as the horses are sadly dwindling in number. I'm sure all pPruners will want to send their good wishes to your father, and make a plea: "More, please!"
Danny, ( at a quarter to five this morning)
The Master never sleeps and his eagle eye misses naught! Of course it was a constant speed prop
I seem to recall that early Oxfords had fixed pitch wooden props, but had a pitch control knob which had to be moved into 'fine pitch' for takeoff and landing. The control didn't do anything except to embed 'pitch' as a vital item of cockpit drill.
Thank you for your interesting post, it's wonderful to hear this info (particularly the incident of the German scientists) direct from the horse's mouth as the horses are sadly dwindling in number. I'm sure all pPruners will want to send their good wishes to your father, and make a plea: "More, please!"
Danny, ( at a quarter to five this morning)
The Master never sleeps and his eagle eye misses naught! Of course it was a constant speed prop
I seem to recall that early Oxfords had fixed pitch wooden props, but had a pitch control knob which had to be moved into 'fine pitch' for takeoff and landing. The control didn't do anything except to embed 'pitch' as a vital item of cockpit drill.
Superstitions
Some other stories Dad has told me over the years. Some of his crew had little rituals and others, like Dad, were entirely lacking in superstitions. One of the crew wore the same shirt, without washing it, for his whole tour of operations. Another hated having his moustache touched, so the crew would mercilessly pin him to the ground before each op and take turns to stroke it.
There was another occasion when the Padre arrived to wave off the crews on an op. This was greatly frowned upon and he was soon dispatched and ordered not to do it again.
While OC at Syerston (I think) Dad got wind that some of the crews were playing with ouija boards and scaring themselves silly about who might not return from a raid. Of course, this was banned straight away.
There was another occasion when the Padre arrived to wave off the crews on an op. This was greatly frowned upon and he was soon dispatched and ordered not to do it again.
While OC at Syerston (I think) Dad got wind that some of the crews were playing with ouija boards and scaring themselves silly about who might not return from a raid. Of course, this was banned straight away.
Last edited by Sandisondaughter; 29th Nov 2015 at 12:33.
His final stint was with No 49 Squadron, Syerston where he was OC.
A fitting end to a wonderful Service record, and well done to a proud daughter for reproducing it so interestingly here.
Could it be that she might now feel able to fill in a gap in the list of 49 Squadron OCs at OCs 41 - 60 Sqns ?
Jack
A fitting end to a wonderful Service record, and well done to a proud daughter for reproducing it so interestingly here.
Could it be that she might now feel able to fill in a gap in the list of 49 Squadron OCs at OCs 41 - 60 Sqns ?
Jack
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Danny,
Re your 7732 I understood that if an nco or w/o (master aircrew) was commissioned his pay, if greater than that of the commissioned rank he achieved, would remain frozen until his new rank pay caught up i.e. you couldn't be worse off pay wise. In 1954 one of my mates had been a f/sgt pilot, was commissioned as a fg off and earned more than me as a fg off who had been commissioned when I got my wings.
Re your 7732 I understood that if an nco or w/o (master aircrew) was commissioned his pay, if greater than that of the commissioned rank he achieved, would remain frozen until his new rank pay caught up i.e. you couldn't be worse off pay wise. In 1954 one of my mates had been a f/sgt pilot, was commissioned as a fg off and earned more than me as a fg off who had been commissioned when I got my wings.
Sandisonsdaughter #7734,
Great post and clears up my anomaly with my Father in laws service at Woodhall Spa with 617 Sqdn. Your dad certainly did his duty for us all, I can only add my respect and appreciation for his service, as would all on this thread.
Smudge
Great post and clears up my anomaly with my Father in laws service at Woodhall Spa with 617 Sqdn. Your dad certainly did his duty for us all, I can only add my respect and appreciation for his service, as would all on this thread.
Smudge
49 Squadron
Thanks Union Jack - yes I could update the list of OCs for 49 Squadron with Dad's details.
However, when I click on the 'contact me' link on the home page of the website it requires me to set up Microsoft Outlook in order to get the email address, which I don't want to do. The other option 'Guest Book' link doesn't work. Any chance someone could click on the 'contact me' link who already has Outlook and let me know what the email address is?
However, when I click on the 'contact me' link on the home page of the website it requires me to set up Microsoft Outlook in order to get the email address, which I don't want to do. The other option 'Guest Book' link doesn't work. Any chance someone could click on the 'contact me' link who already has Outlook and let me know what the email address is?
Sandisondaughter, thank you for that amazing post. As an index to the distinguished military career of your father, each entry could be a chapter full of detail. I hasten to add that I am not suggesting any such thing from you, but it would allow of some fleshing out on the armature that you have now provided us with.
Danny has embellished his story with anecdotes and seemingly mundane details, about troopships, train journeys, meeting the locals (in the USA and India), kit issued, then handed in, and then reissued...I can assure you that all here hung onto his every word (and still do, I hasten to add).
So there is no call for anything linear or prescribed. We flit here from hither and thither. Obviously there may be some things for you alone, there is no desire to be intrusive, but the internet has at last enabled this silent generation to speak out. They have a very receptive audience I promise!
Warmtoast, a heart warming description of Tony Benn's first solo, of the ups and downs of learning to fly, and of the joy of flight itself. Whatever one's opinion of his political beliefs, he was a man of principle, successfully seeing through the passing of the Peerage Act 1963 that allowed him to renounce his inherited title of Lord Stansgate in order to seek a seat in the House of Commons.
Interestingly he was granted an Emergency Commission in the RAF as a Pilot Officer on probation:-
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Benn
Danny has embellished his story with anecdotes and seemingly mundane details, about troopships, train journeys, meeting the locals (in the USA and India), kit issued, then handed in, and then reissued...I can assure you that all here hung onto his every word (and still do, I hasten to add).
So there is no call for anything linear or prescribed. We flit here from hither and thither. Obviously there may be some things for you alone, there is no desire to be intrusive, but the internet has at last enabled this silent generation to speak out. They have a very receptive audience I promise!
Warmtoast, a heart warming description of Tony Benn's first solo, of the ups and downs of learning to fly, and of the joy of flight itself. Whatever one's opinion of his political beliefs, he was a man of principle, successfully seeing through the passing of the Peerage Act 1963 that allowed him to renounce his inherited title of Lord Stansgate in order to seek a seat in the House of Commons.
Interestingly he was granted an Emergency Commission in the RAF as a Pilot Officer on probation:-
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Benn