For Five Shillings a Day: Personal Histories of World War II. Dr. Campbell-Begg Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ the sea, which was down below me, thinking, “God, is that chap on my tail?”

      Anyway, I just went down and down and I found I still had a measure of control. The engine had just stopped dead, and as far as I can remember the prop was dead in front of me. Anyway, I got down and I was able to level off and I could see a naval vessel way ahead and I thought, gosh, I don’t know what the speed was then, but I seemed to be going at quite a fast speed, and I thought, well, I’m going to try and land beside that naval vessel. Anyway, I overshot it and I went on and on and on and my speed was dropping off and dropping off, and finally I got to the point where I felt that at any minute now I was going to have to make a landing. Now, why I did it I don’t know, but I undid my straps, thinking I’m just going to plop on to the water and get out quickly. The result of that was, when the aeroplane finally stalled on to the water, the next thing I knew I was in Stygian blackness and I was in the water.

      Anyway, I realised that I had to get up. I got out of the cockpit – I must have been knocked out just for a fraction – and I managed to struggle up to the surface which seemed a helluva long way up. Anyway, I came out of the surface and I realised that I’d been hit on the head; I felt a bit sore on the head, but otherwise I felt OK.

      During this sortie, immediately after I knew I’d been hit by the enemy from behind, I had no response from my gunner – I’d heard no shooting from the gunner, my gunner sitting in the back there, and I presumed at the time that he must have been hit, because whilst I had armour plating behind my head, I knew that all he had to protect him was his own big gun turret. So when we went down and into the water, I did worry about him, but then he didn’t appear. I’d landed beside another little naval vessel – I think it was just a little torpedo boat of some sort which came roaring over and picked me up – and I recall again seeing my parachute, which I’d been sitting on, floating on the water, and I’d kicked off my lovely big black leather flying boots and they appeared to me to be floating almost side by side on the water. I suggested to the chaps who were picking me up, please go and pick up my boots, but they ignored me.

      At this time I realised that I’d had a gash on my forehead. I was wounded in the sense that blood was pouring down in front of my eyes and I kept seeing blood, then I can’t recall much after that. I do know that the next thing I found myself in was a hospital in Dover, a small public hospital there, and there I came to again with stitches up the back of my head and stitches on my forehead and so forth, but otherwise unharmed. Thinking back on it, I realise, I think, that what got me on the back of the head was the fact that some bullets or something had hit that armour plating and had shattered something and had just torn the back of my head.

      Anyway, I stayed in that hospital in Dover, and actually it was beautiful weather and I was lying in a bed and I could watch some of the battle going on and I was able to look out and see blue sky and the vapour trails of aircraft, whilst battles were going on just over that narrow part of the Channel where Dover is. I stayed in the hospital, I think it was about 10 days, and I was posted off on sick leave and I had the next two months on sick leave, where I was joined by another New Zealander who, unfortunately, was killed later on in the war, but he and I were on sick leave together. We had a marvellous time under the auspices of the Lady Frances Ryder Scheme. We went to Northern Ireland and even into Southern Ireland, and I stayed in some of the stately homes of Britain and it really was an interesting and exciting time of my life.

      However, good things come to an end and I was posted back to 141 Squadron, by which time they had been converted on to night fighting. After my sick leave period I reported back to the Squadron at Gatwick. Now at Gatwick we were on to night fighting, but at some stage after that the Squadron was moved over to Gravesend. But I know most of my night fighter work, done on the Defiant, was out of Gatwick, and it was during this period that London was being heavily bombed and we in the Defiants were sent up over London night after night. I recall vividly that the night of the really big fire of London, I happened to be airborne that night and I was being controlled by some control unit from the ground, who was getting most frustrated, as I was, because he kept telling me I was right alongside enemy aircraft, and neither I nor my gunner could see any enemy aircraft there, and during this whole time when I was airborne and I had many, many operational flights out of Gravesend, but I personally never saw a thing.’

      David Hunt left his studies at Birmingham University to take a short service commission in the RAF, and during his training the war started. He has recalled that:

      ‘As the threat of invasion loomed closer, some of the single-engined pilots, having now acquired their wings, were posted direct to squadrons with no time left for operational training courses. I was posted to Hendon and no one appeared to know our purpose, least of all ourselves. It was an interesting time during the fall of the Low Countries, with Sabena and KLM Dakotas flying into that historic Hendon airfield. Parked around the perimeter track were these venerable Imperial Airways biplanes, Hengist and Horsa. We spent our time watching these arrivals and inspecting the ancient aeroplanes with their cane and bamboo “pomp-forming” splendour, redolent of Empire.

       David Hunt

      Eventually planes started arriving, brought in by Air Transport Auxiliary pilots, including some lady pilots – a Magister, two Masters and numerous Spitfire Mark 2s. We sat in the cockpits of the Spitfires, which felt as small as Tiger Moths, and wondered if we should ever be able to fly these sleek, powerful machines. Later we found that they handled as easily as Tiger Moths, with a few additional complications like flaps and retractable undercarriages and massive instrument panels.

      Our spell in wonderland had to end sometime, and after the fall of France and Dunkirk the war-torn remnants of the Allied Air Striking Force Squadrons returned from France. It wasn’t long before we were flying, first the Magister, which is a light open-cockpit, club-style plane, then the Masters, real gentlemen’s planes, and at last the great day, the first flight in a Spitfire. This had to be at Northolt with its single long runway. Everything went well and it called for celebration.

      During June all the Spitfires were removed by the ATA pilots and replaced with Hurricanes, because Spitfires were in short supply, and we grew to like the Hurricanes. Another thing happened in my life at this time: I got married and we managed a honeymoon of a few days down at Midhurst, Sussex.

      On 14 July we were posted to Northolt where our training went on apace, including formation flying and air-to-air firing at Sutton Bridge with a target towed by a Hawker Henley. Air-to-ground firing was at Dengie Flats in East Anglia. One amusing experience was RT practice – that’s Radio Telephony. We were taken by coach to an Uxbridge football ground complete with stadium, where we pedalled around in low gear on El Dorado ice-cream tricycles which had been converted for blind flying with screens around and magnetic compasses and RT sets and headphones. We had to carry out the orders received over the RT to “fly” on various courses using the appropriate call signs and terms such as “Fly victor 120”, “angels 20” and “yellow through”, “pipsqueak in”, “scramble”, “pancake”, “tallyho”, “under bandits” – all that sort of thing.

      In July 1940 operational flights were becoming an everyday occurrence with convoy patrols and interception of enemy sorties. The Squadron was operating from forward bases at Hawkinge near Dover and Tangmere near Portsmouth, as required, and intercepted small formations attacking the ports and radar installations. The Squadron was now at readiness from an hour before dawn until an hour after dusk for most of the time. The Squadron RT call sign was “Alert” and my section was Yellow section.

      At this point I should say something about the Hurricane, powered by the Rolls Royce Merlin of a 1,030 brake horsepower. Its top speed at 15,000 feet was over 300 miles an hour, and the three-bladed propeller converted this power into thrust, and the aircraft ceiling was 30,000 feet. An optical gunsight projected СКАЧАТЬ