Danny tries to remember what he did at Hawarden.
I flew 75 hours on the Spit at Hawarden, but have only the haziest recollection of what we actually did. My logbook is no help, the entries being, as usual, Ex(ercise) 15B or something of the sort, which is no use to me now. There was a lot of formation practice, up to 12-aircraft "balbos"*, cross-countries and we must have done a fair amount of aerobatics and mock combat. What I am more clear about is what we didn't do. There was no night flying; it would be difficult in any case because of the exhaust flame dazzle (particularly on the overrun, with throttle closed on landing).
It must have been contemplated at one time, though, for I remember that the undercarriage tell-tale** (a very simple little two-part panel with red "down" and green "up" sections) - [EDIT, got it wrong, haven't I? Short Term Memory Loss!] - had a tiny dolls-house roller blind to reduce glare after dark. But in any case, the Spit wasn't used as a night fighter.
Note* : Pre-war, a Marshal Balbo led 12 Italian flying boats on a world tour. The RAF used his name as a generic term for any large formation.
Note** : From the top surface of each wing, quite close to the cockpit, a retractable, pencil-thick, about four-inch long rod would pop up to confirm "wheels down".
You'd think we would practice air gunnery. Not so, the only time I pressed the "fire" button was in a Mk. II with two 20mm cannon. The idea was to give us an idea of what it felt like to fire the things. They loaded half-a-dozen rounds into each gun, and sent us off to a ground range near Prestatyn to blaze away into the sands. What a row! I thought the wings would come off with the hammering the guns gave them, and was glad to see them still hanging on after I'd loosed off my ammo.
There was an amusing (for the bystanders) incident in which this Spit was involved. An armourer was tinkering with the firing button in the cockpit. A second airman walked past right in front of the aircraft when the guns unexpectedly fired. As he was exactly in line with the nose, the rounds passed harmlessly either side of him and off to the Welsh hills. The gun camera (in the port wing root) still had film in it, it worked and this was developed. Seemingly, the prints clearly showed his hair standing on end!
In hindsight, I can't think why they didn't use these gun cine cameras for our training. All Spits had them - or did when they left the factory, and we could have been put up on mock combat practice. The film, developed and analysed, would show how well (or how badly!) we'd "fought". But no, I suppose it would have taken too much time, or would be too much trouble, or would cost too much, or film was in short supply. Whatever the reason, your brand-new fighter pilot might well join his squadron having fired nothing bigger than the popgun he had as a toddler.
Clay-pigeon practice would have been better than nothing, it would have taught us the basics of deflection shooting, but we didn't even do any of that.
Really, I suppose air combat (I never did any) must be rather like learning to ride a bike; there's absolutely no way to learn except by having a go and seeing how you get on (here's a Heinkel, lad, see what you can do with it!) The best pilot by no means ends up with the best score:
Can't fly but can shoot,
He still can be a bit of a brute.
Can fly but can't shoot,
For him the Huns don't give a hoot!
All things considered, I think the CFI's "lesson" alone was worth more than everything else we learned at Hawarden put together. After all, if you can just stay alive, chances of a "kill" are bound to come along from time to time, aren't they?
A Swordfish landed one morning and lumbered across to the Duty Flight. This large and obsolete (but still very effective) Navy biplane had most likely come in from a carrier in Liverpool Bay. What caught our expert eyes was a strange, convoluted array of tubing under both lower wings. Some new kind of radar, perhaps? We toddled across to have a look. But before we got there, all was made plain. A bike was lashed to each practice bomb rack. The two matelots hopped out, untied them, straightened the handlebars, then booked-in and pedalled off to the fleshpots of Chester. Full marks to the True Blue!
That'll do for the time being,
Goodnight, all.
Danny42C
(The curious "wraparound " failure in my 8th para seems to stem from my laptrop).
Thank God we've got a Navy (or have we?)
Last edited by Danny42C; 31st Mar 2012 at 14:57.