A Spitfire Pilot. Part 15.
Bob Tuck vents his wrath on the RAF and the Luftwaffe.
At the end of December we were given a convoy job, so in company with a flight from 124 Sqn, led by Sqn Ldr Duke Willis, we flew down to Manston, refuelled, and took off in flights over this convoy, which turned out to be, as far as we could see, a mine-sweeping job. We were miles and miles out into the North Sea, very nearly Sweden I think we got to. We couldn’t stay out there very long, but we stooged out there for about an hour and a half. There’d be four of us each time, and we’d wait until the next four came to take over, then we fly back to Manston, land and pop back to Gravesend.
Gravesend was a satellite to Biggin Hill, where the Wing Commander Flying was Bob Tuck and he used to come down to Manston with us and sometimes pop out with us on this convoy patrol just to see if anything was happening. He was very good inasmuch as we’d get to Manston, early in the morning, and if coffee and sandwiches weren’t ready he’d get on the blower to the Station Commander, the Station Adj, everybody down to the lowest AC2 (Aircraftsman Second Class, the lowest rank in the Royal Air Force), just to make sure that his aircrew were looked after and we thought an awful lot of him. There was one occasion when all the aircraft had landed and were lined up and one of the radio mechanics decided, as was usual, to check each aircrafts’ radio. Now the normal thing is for the mechanic to pick up a helmet, then go along the aircraft testing all the time. There was only one snag, the aircraft parked immediately outside dispersal happened to be Bob Tucks. He tried the first aircraft, that was alright, so he took the helmet off the seat where Bob had left it and proceeded to check all the other aircraft, which was great until Bob Tuck decided he was going to fly and then he couldn’t find his helmet. When it was discovered what had happened, Bobs rage was a joy to watch, so long as it wasn’t directed at you! He fairly screamed and jumped, shouted at the top of his voice,
”Don’t let me get near the barstard, I’ll kill him!”
Anyway, he got his helmet back, flew off with the others, and all was well.
It’s been said that Bob Tuck was a very lucky flier. Well, he probably was. But he was also very good. On one occasion he was sitting in our dispersal with us and we’d just landed. Another flight were due to take off to pick up from the flight that had relieved us and Bob thought that he’d go and join them. So he ambled along, making a section of five as opposed to four, and on all the times we’d flown over this convoy business, we hadn’t seen a thing. Nothing had come near us, nothing had been reported. We were just stooging round and round the North Sea. Anyway, on the occasion that Bob decided to fly out and see what was happening, he went with Duke Woolley and a few others. Just as they arrived over the convoy, that made nine Spitfires, a Ju88 decided to have a look at the convoy and needless to say it was shot down by Duke Woolley and Bob Tuck.
Once, when we were coming back from the convoy to land at Manston, the weather closed in and there was thick fog up to 1500’ and we all got a case of the jitters, and were imagining we’d have to bail out, because we couldn’t see a thing. The flight commander, Campbell, who was leading us, asked Manston to shoot up flares, so we’d get some idea where Manston was. They shot up quite a few flares and we actually saw one red one, coming to the top of the clag and Campbell, apparently, could see a lot better than we could, said “Well, follow me!” and we all piled in and flew very close to him until eventually, one by one, he got us down to Manston. Campbell didn’t land himself, he’d come down with each one, fly around, pick up the next chap, bring him in, let him land and fly off again. Well, I was last but one to go in and I couldn’t really see a thing and I started to land, and I thought better of it, so I opened up and went round again. He was cursing like the clappers because he thought he’d got us all in by then. Anyway, I went round again, and I eventually did land, but I still couldn’t see much. I was highly delighted to get down in one piece. The last chap didn’t even make it, he crash-landed just outside Manston, but he got away with it. For that and various other things, Campbell was given a DFC.
72 Sqn – January 1942
January was a pretty quiet month. For one thing the weather was grim and there wasn’t much chance of getting any enemy aircraft up, even if you went across the Channel. I only did twelve and a half hours, of which five and a half were operational. At least a couple of convoy patrols and a bit of a short sweep up and down the Channel and home again. I did some cine-gun practice with Sgt Larry Robillard who was a French-Canadian. He’d been shot down earlier in 1941 near Lille and he managed to escape, come through France via Paris, got to Spain, got brought back again. He’d shot down two or three and had a DFM. He was a dark-haired chap and talked nineteen to the dozen, most of the day. Also at that time, we had an Australian Sgt pilot with us, Al Hake, who was a very monosyllabic character, who used to speak about three times a week. The longest speech he ever made was one day when Robillard was nattering on as usual and Al had been sitting there saying nothing, suddenly turned round and said
“For Christ’s sake, shut up Robillard!”
We were so staggered that Al had actually managed to put two or three words together, that we rolled about laughing. But at least it shut Robillard up.
Al had just been given his commission in early 42 when he was shot down over France. He managed to bail out and was sent to the prison camp from which 50 officers escaped and Al unfortunately was one of those shot by the Gestapo. (Stalag Luft 3, immortalised in the film, “The Great Escape”).
During the bad weather Sqn Ldr Masterman did his best to keep up morale, and as I’ve said he was no great shakes as a flying CO and leader, but he always had the interest of the Squadron at heart and arranged football matches, shooting, shove ha’penny and darts competitions. He also ran a sweep on who would prang the next aircraft. Our names were put in a hat and selected and everybody was hoping to get me inasmuch as I had pranged two aircraft on two separate occasions at the end of 1941. I got Daniel who later became CO of 72 in Tunisia and, lo and behold, Daniel was the first one to crack up an aircraft after the competition started and whilst I was delighted and won two or three pounds, Daniel was most upset and he and I never really got on after that.
I’ve already mentioned the square in the middle of Gravesend aerodrome which was unusable, so Masterman decided that he’d put a target in there and we’d do ground to air firing and he would do the first run. We all stood around watching him come down and open up, but none of us had really considered that you’re likely to get the odd ricochet, and before we knew where we were, there were ricochets all over the place, so we all took shelter and that was the end of the air to ground firing.
We used to have normally one day off a week which ran from 1 o’clock on one day to 1 o’clock the next and on the 28th January I was due to have a day release from 1 o’clock and at half past twelve, Bob Tuck decided to do a sweep and I was on it, which irritated me a bit inasmuch as I thought, well, I’m not going to get back here by 1 o’clock, and by the time I’d got up to London I shall lose half my day release. Anyway, we took off and tore up and down the Channel, Bob Tuck demanding information from base as to what was happening and nothing was, so we just tore up and down the Channel for about a quarter of an hour and eventually came back again. The minute I landed I took off for London on my day off and when I came back on the 29th I was staggered to hear that Bob Tuck, having got fed up with nothing happening on the sweep, had decided to do a
Rhubarb with another chap from Biggin Hill and he’d been shot down by flak over France. We simply couldn’t believe it.