Old Comrades
February passed into March (as usual!) and spring came. There was some improvement in the weather, and our flying prowess also improved, except for some of our unfortunate comrades. There were a number of fatalities at night, when aircraft inexplicably crashed to the ground, sometimes from great heights. Every crash meant the deaths of two more trainee aircrew. I heard a theory many years after the war, that carotene was the cause, in the pounds and pounds of carrots served to us with our meals, on the assumption that carotene was good for night vision. The new theory I heard was that carotene caused drowsiness to a greater or lesser degree, according to the metabolism of the individual.
My friend Harry Beck was one of the victims. I was up on an exercise one night, and heard the Control Tower making vain attempts to contact him. His call-sign was "Six-one" (61), and mine was "Six-five". He had been at about 10,000 feet for the purpose of his exercise, and simply plunged to earth for some mysterious reason. Fortunately, hwas flying solo on this occasion, and we didn't lose his observer. His death was a sad blow, especially when his mother telephoned me about a week later to ask about a dog she thought her son had recently bought.
About the beginning of April 1942, the great day came when we had finished our training on Blenheims and each was required to "go solo" on a Beaufighter before being posted to a Squadron. The Beaufighter was a very powerful twin-engined aircraft, allmetal, armed with six machine guns in the wings, and four 20mm cannons that fired through the nose. There was room in the front of the aircraft only for the pilot instructor. The pupil was required to stand behind him, in the "well" created by the entry and escape hatch when closed. In this hazardous position, I gasped with wonder at the surge of speed as we took off, a Warrant Officer pilot at the controls, and we swooped around the countryside with an overwhelming sense of power.
I watched the controls and instruments carefully, and at how the W/O was handling the 'plane. We landed beautifully, taxied to the hangar, and the instructor climbed out after giving me a few last-minute tips. Then I taxied out to the runway, called the Tower for permission to take-off, and was airborne, in what was virtually a repeat of my first solo on the Miles Magister. A most exciting and satisfying one hour of practice followed, and I was delighted to make a very passable landing at the end.
My posting was to No. 219 Squadron, stationed at Tangmere, near Chichester, a lovely old cathedral town on the south coast of England. My Radar Observer was Bob Hessey, another Londoner about my age. I don't think we were received very cordially on the Squadron. One of the members was Wing Commander Max Aitken, son of the late Lord Beaverbrook, who afterwards succeeded to his father’s title. My Flight Commander was Squadron Leader Wight-Boycott, but I didn't get to know him very well.
At interview by the Squadron CO on arrival, he asked me how many hours I had flown in the Beaufighter. “One hour sir” I told him. Imagine the look on his face. “One hour?” he said incredulously. “You’re no good to me yet” was a short version of his retort.
I was sent almost immediately to St.Athan, an Air Force Base in South Wales. Beaufighters were fitted there with the radar equipment essential for their role as night fighters. The equipment had to be tested before the aircraft were despatched to squadrons. My temporary job was to fly each newly-fitted aeroplane, with a radar engineer in the observer's back seat, putting the radar through its paces. In three or four weeks, I built up about 40 flying hours, and became much more useful when I returned to 219 Squadron.
Last edited by Walter603; 1st Jan 2016 at 22:21.
Reason: Add title