A Spitfire Pilot. Part 14.
Again, a lengthy extract, including some previously posted material. I have included it so as to keep the continuity of the memoirs
Posted to 72 Sqn – December 1941, Gravesend
We drew for Christmas leave and I was lucky enough to get it. One of the reasons, I think, that I was posted to 72 Sqn, was because at that time they’d gone through a rough patch and had lost a number of pilots and were going round 11 Group trying to scrape up some more. So two of us were posted from 111 to 72, which meant I didn’t get my Christmas leave.
I wasn’t particularly experienced, as you can imagine, by this time, but in any case, when you had to post someone from your Squadron, you never give the best pilots you’ve got, you always find some reason to give them, to whoever is asking, a pilot who has either just reported to you that week or been with you a fortnight. This happened to me in reverse later on.
The two of us who had been posted had our gear stowed in a 15cwt truck and were driven off to Gravesend, where 72 were based. I met the CO, Sqn Ldr Masterman who was quite a reasonable chap, but not exactly a ball of fire when it came to air-fighting. The Sergeant Pilots at that time were billeted in a large house called Polperro on the main Gravesend to Rochester Road and I shared a room with two really old sweats, Flight Sergeant Jack Hilton and Flight Sergeant Jim Norton. Jack was King of the groundstaff and Jim was the armaments chap and when I got into the room, there they were both, sitting on their beds, polishing like mad. I think they were the only two I ever saw on the squadron who had shiny buttons, shiny cap-badges and boots all polished. The rest of us used to wander around in flying boots and battle-dress, where we had no shiny buttons to polish.
Things were fairly quiet for the first fortnight or so. We did a couple of Channel sweeps and escorted some Hurri-bombers to Dunkirk, but there was no flak, no excitement. But at least we got used to flying across the Channel and looking for aircraft and even if nothing happened, at least your confidence was gradually beginning to get established.
An Eventful Christmas – 2 Spitfires damaged . . .
At that time there had been some trouble with bolts on the aircraft and they had to be sent back to either Brize Norton or South Cerney for checking, so on Christmas Eve, with another Canadian chap, I flew to South Cerney to have the aircraft checked over. I landed, no bunts, quite smooth, all going when all of a sudden I saw my port leg disappear behind me and the aircraft came to a grinding halt, fortunately not damaging the prop and very little damage to the port wing. I felt a right idiot sitting there, wondering what I had done. I eventually got back to the control tower, phoned Gravesend, spoke to the flight commander. The first thing he asked me was had I damaged the prop and I said no, so he said, well you’d better come back. So I hiked the parachute out of the aircraft, was given a parachute bag and a pass, and told to get back to Gravesend, which was great on Christmas Eve!
Anyway, I got to the station and eventually got back to Gravesend quite late at night. I wasn’t at all happy about explaining everything to the Flight Commander the following day. He seemed to think I was a bit of an idiot and I couldn’t think what I had done wrong. Anyway, the next day being Christmas Day, they decided I’d do the whole trip again. So the following day I got in another aircraft that had to be checked and flew it into Brize Norton. I got the aircraft checked over and came back to Gravesend.
Now Gravesend was a funny sort of aerodrome. It’s all grass and it ran down towards the river and there was large patch in the middle which we didn’t use. It was roped off because the ground was so bad. Anyway, I landed alright, all the wheels were down, the tail-wheel was down, shut the throttle, pulled back on the stick, put the brake on and nothing happened. I worked furiously at the foot-pedals to waggle the tail to and fro in the hope of making at least some impression on the brakes and nothing happened at all and it trundled very gently to the end of the grass, over the perimeter track and then there was a bit of building going on on the other side, got to the rough bit of ground, then tipped gently onto its nose.
It didn’t do a lot of damage, but I felt a bit of an idiot, especially when the CO and half the squadron came galloping round the perimeter track to look at me and help me get out of the aircraft, which was on end. I wasn’t particularly popular with everybody at the time and I must admit I felt a bit miserable. I still couldn’t see what I had done wrong and for two or three days after that, I lay in bed wondering what the hell was the matter. At any rate I couldn’t understand why the leg had come off, because all the lights had shown the legs were securely fastened. The two little tabs that come up on either side of the cockpit by the edge of the wing, to show the wheels were locked and down and that should have been alright.
Now so far as the Gravesend effort was concerned, I knew I’d pulled the brake handle as tight as I could and I went and checked one of the aircraft and the answer came in a flash. I rushed to a phone and got hold of the engineering officer, explained what I thought had happened, and he was quite a decent chap. He came up, had a look at the aircraft and I was proved right, I was glad to say.
What had happened was, you probably know on a Spit, you have a control column with a large ring at the top on which you have the gun-button on the top left, a camera gun-button just to the right of it and a brake handle comes down the centre of the middle of the ring, so when you hold it with your right hand, you stretch your fingers across, grab the brake handle and pull. Now, what had happened was that they’d run the wire from the camera gun button, instead of round the rim of the top of the handle, they’d brought it straight down. Consequently, when you heaved on the brake handle, the base of the brake handle, instead of going right across to the far side of the ring, caught onto the wire, was held tight and whilst you were putting on full pressure and thinking you were holding the brakes full on, they were scarcely on at all. So they checked all the other aircraft and found two or three other cases. It could have happened at any time at all, to anybody, so I was absolved of all blame there and patted on the head.
So far as the wheel coming off at South Cerney was concerned, they decided to check all the undercarts of the aircraft on the squadron, and found that the locking nut, which is something like a door lock with a chamfered edge. This locking nut, or pin, or bolt or whatever, had become worn and although all the instruments stated that the legs were fully down and locked, because the locking nut was in its right position, having been worn, it didn’t hold the leg tight. Consequently, once pressure was put on it, the leg just collapsed, because there was nothing to hold it. So, again, all was well, but I must admit, I had a very miserable two or three days, especially having just joined the squadron.