Further memoirs from Peter Brett
Earlier in these memoirs I mentioned how easy the use of the undercarriage control was on the Typhoon. My familiarity with this now led to my undoing.
On 30th June 1945 I took up one of our new Spitfire IX's for 'experience on type'. As on the last occasion that I had flown a Spitfire, I was impressed by the lack of vibration. After 20 minutes I returned to base and commenced my circuit. Everything was going well; I slowed down on the downwind leg and selected wheels-down. On base, I throttled back and selected flaps down and fine pitch. I floated gently over the threshold of the runway and eased back on the stick. I felt the tail wheel touch and a few seconds later the nose dropped and I was looking at a bent propeller blade whilst the aircraft slid along the runway somewhat noisily on its belly. NO WHEELS!
Looking back it was obvious what had happened. Being so used to the Typhoon, I had just flipped the undercarriage lever down, expecting it to lock, not remembering that on the Spitfire you had to physically moved the lever down AND sideways to engage the bottom lock position. I learnt later that I was doubly unlucky in that the ACP (Airfield Control Pilot) had been watching a Miles Master which landed before me and by the time he saw that I had not got any wheels down, he was too late to do anything about it. An eye witness said that he had leapt into the ACP van as soon as he saw me, grabbed the Verey pistol and came out again, firing the pistol practically horizontally as he shot through the door, but the red Verey light passed just behind me. I had checked the u/c warning lights as I came downwind but the sun was directly behind me and I must have taken the reflection as the green lights. Needless to say, I felt a right Charlie sitting in the middle of the airfield whilst I waited for the jeep to arrive to take me back to Flying Control.
Of course, an inquiry was held and as a result my log book was scheduled to be endorsed 'Gross carelessness'. I was also grounded from then on whilst awaiting posting. In fact I did not fly again until Sept. 25th. After being grounded until the end of August I was sent down to Fighter Command Headquarters at Stanmore in Middlesex to receive my posting. I expected to be sent off to a target-towing job which was considered the lowest of the low posting. However, when I arrived it was very obvious that nobody knew that I was due for a naughty-boy posting since I was treated quite normally and the chap in the posting office even asked me if I had any preferences. Incidentally my logbook endorsement also never caught up with me!
I deemed it expedient to try to get out of the country again and I asked if there were any non run-of-the-mill postings available, preferably abroad. He thought a minute and then said "I know, we'll post you to 130 squadron in Norway. They are equipped with Spitfire IX's but don't fly them much as they have other duties". He refused to say more but said "I think you might enjoy it". I reported to Northolt and was flown by Dakota to Norway, landing at Oslo. I remember the trip mainly because the pilot set 'George' the autopilot and then he and the navigator came back into the cargo area and we sat around a packing case playing cards, with the pilot or navigator occasionally going up into the cockpit to check things during the 2 and a bit hours it took us to make the journey.
At Oslo airport I was directed to the RTO (Rail Transport Officer) and issued with a ticket to Kristiansand. Also at the RTO's office I met another pilot being posted to the same destination. He was Swedish and had volunteered early in the war, and was one of the very few Swedish members of the RAF. We travelled together for the two hour journey, he spoke faultless English and of course we talked in English as we travelled.
It was very amusing that, sitting opposite us were two attractive Norwegian girls who spent quite a lot of the time apparently talking about the two of us. As we left, my companion said something to them in Norwegian and my last view was of them blushing furiously. It seems that he had said that we had enjoyed their remarks, not mentioning that I of course was completely ignorant of the language. Swedish and Norwegian are sufficiently similar that my companion was quite able to converse with them. I never did find out his name and when we arrived at Kristiansand he was met by a different vehicle and whisked off somewhere else. I was met by a corporal who drove me the thirty five odd miles to the airfield which was only some two miles away as the crow flies on the other side of the fjord, but by road we had to go all the way round!
The thirty five miles was up the western side of the fjiord, across a bridge and down the Eastern side to the airfield. On all my future visits to the town I travelled by the ferry which plied regularly across the fjord ever hour.
I then officially joined No.130 squadron. After all the usual round of reporting to the various admin sections I had my interview with the C.O. (No mention of the Spitfire prang!) and met the rest of the pilots in the mess. Almost immediately one of the chaps showed me a copy of the “Daily Sketch”, a few days old, and lo and behold, there I was pictured with my foster brother Eric and Wg Cdr Bill Brown, accepting the flag at the ATC Parade in Harrow during my last leave! The headline however gave me a jolt, it said something like “Impostor receives dedicated flag”. It turned out that my acquaintance “Wg Cdr Bill Brown, DSO, DFC & bar, AFC” had never been in the RAF at all!!! He had been turned down on medical grounds and had commenced his deception almost immediately. He had been very circumspect in giving himself promotions and medals in sequence over the years and had even fooled his mother, with whom he was living. She was not too well educated and accepted his stories of being based near London which allowed him to live at home. He even went so far as to leave home in uniform and take with him his holdall containing his set of civilian clothes into which he changed, probably in a public toilet somewhere, before proceeding to his job as a bank clerk!
What had finally led to his unmasking was when he overreached himself by attending the end of course party at Tangmere Fighter Leader’s School where he was thrown in contact with some genuine Battle of Britain pilots. Some of them got suspicious and started enquiries which culminated in his unmasking just after I had left England. The newspaper merely reported his arrest. I never heard any more, I was not called as a witness and I don’t even know if he was brought to trial or what happened after that. I only know that he must have immersed himself completely in his assumed role because he fooled a lot of people, including me! He should have realized that every genuine Battle of Britain pilot was at least aware of some of the names of the others!
[This story made the national newspapers in October 1945 - see link below... tow]
Alan Allport's website: Saturday, 6th October, 1945
Last edited by tow1709; 2nd Dec 2016 at 06:33.
Reason: deleted personal information of third party