Secret Letters

by John Willis

  After telling me he had been posted, Harkness gave me an appealing look, as if to say, ‘Well, Geoff, it was not my fault.’ My eyes did not reply. He was cut up for about half an hour. Then he suggested going out to the cinema together. It really seemed as if the loss of his command had already ceased to worry him. Curious man, with round shifting eyes and changing pupils like those of a bird. Curiously shaped head too – an egg with a bump behind. His vanity saved him. He always argued and he always assumed that everybody else was wrong.

  When Gundry heard that Harkness was leaving the squadron his eyes lighted up and he said, ‘I suppose I shouldn’t say “Whoopee” but that’s how I feel.’

  That’s how we all felt. But Beresford, who could have pulled the squadron round by himself alone, had gone a week too early. And Mitchell had gone without being made an Acting Flight Lieutenant.

  In Billericay Hospital, Terry Hunt waited anxiously to know if her husband would live, let alone see again. The doctor told her that he would not know until the next day if David Hunt would live or die.

  ‘Geoff rang up, a sane and friendly voice, and asked for details so that he could make his report. I went like an echo to and fro along the corridor, from the telephone to the bed and back again. Dry facts were what we gave: the time, the place and his position in the formation; though I remember that Geoff rang again to ask what colour the flashes from the cannon had been, and that would be picturesque.’

  They also discussed her husband’s lucky scarf and Myers offered to help. ‘Would Geoff find David’s Lucky Scarf for him? He had never flown without it, without some small thing happening; and a fortnight ago he had left it behind in a plane. Geoff would do his best.’

  The next day Terry Hunt heard the news she had been waiting for, ‘The doctor came to me in the corridor, and told me that he had been out of danger and was going under his own steam after all. He asked how long we had been married, and I told him nine weeks. He looked amused but they still did not know about his eyes. Until he opened them, they could not know if he would see.’

  The full picture of what happened to David Hunt finally emerged and he described what happened on that fateful September 3. ‘A dazzling array of multicoloured light appeared on the starboard side of the cockpit, accompanied by explosive concussions. Immediately, flame came through the instrument panel, filling the cockpit and burning my hands, legs and face. The reserve fuel tank had exploded and I had neither gloves nor goggles, which I had pushed over my forehead in order to get a better view. I then tried to open the hood but found it had jammed. Using both hands on one side, I managed to pull the hood open, undid my Sutton harness, grabbed my helmet off and plunged out of the starboard side of the plane. I started to survey the damage. My hands were all bloody, like I was feeling and they were covered with projecting tissue; that was the skin; and all that was left of my sleeve was a charred ribbon of rank.’

  David Hunt was worried about being shot at on the way down but nothing happened. He was struck by the stillness and peace, as he floated down towards the ground. ‘All I could hear now was the fluttering of the canopy, which reminded me of a yacht, and the fading drone and crackle of the battle going on above. There was a scrape, a swing and then a light bump. I had landed. I lay as I was for a time, then sat up, and leant my arm downwards so that the ridiculous ribbon fell off my wrist, attached by a single thread.’

  47Letter to Geoff Rayner, July 28 1981

  48Letter to his parents August 1940: Imperial War Museum

  49Memoirs of Margot Myers translated by her daughter, Anne

  50BBC TV ‘ Inside Story: Missing’ September 7 1980

  51RAFA Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire

  52BBC TV ’Inside Story: Missing’ September 7 1980

  53BBC TV ‘ Inside Story: Missing’ September 7 1980

  54Patrick Bishop, Fighter Boys (HarperCollins, 2004)

  55Nick Thomas, Hurricane Squadron Ace (Pen and Sword, 2014)

  56Larry Forrester, Fly for Your Life (Frederick Muller, 1956)

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Robert Stanford Tuck was probably the most famous pilot to emerge from the Battle of Britain. By the time he arrived at the dispirited 257 Squadron, he was already a legend. Tall, thin-faced with slicked back hair and a moustache, he looked like a man about town playing roulette on the French Riviera, but there was no mistaking his courage and skill in the air. Geoffrey Myers was delighted to see the departure of Squadron Leader Harkness, but he was also cautious about Tuck’s reputation.

  Some weeks ago, I tried to write to you about Stanford Tuck. I could not put the words down, so I tried to write in code. I had something very secret that I wanted to say, but the code would not work and I fell asleep while struggling with it. Now I will write in clear.

  When he took over command of our squadron, he was regarded as a hero. He soon told me of all the aircraft he had shot down. Something like eighteen. Most of his claims seemed a bit hazy to me, but that did not matter. The very sight of him seemed to give confidence to the boys.

  He thought that Tuck could inspire the demoralised pilots of 257. In Fly for Your Life, his biography of Tuck, Larry Forrester describes Pilot Officer Geoffrey Myers as ‘small, plump and fortyish – a foreign correspondent for a big national daily before the war. He was a placid, soft-voiced and gentle-eyed Jewish intellectual.’

  Geoff Myers clearly looked older than his years as he was then only thirty-four, still some years away from being ‘fortyish’. Forrester described the first meeting between Squadron Leader Stanford Tuck and the men at 257 who were now under his command. ‘They were a sorry-looking lot. Scruffy, listless and leaderless, they were quarrelling among themselves over trivialities, drinking hard but entirely without zest. Over the last few weeks they had taken a severe mauling – this was probably the only squadron in Fighter Command to lose more aircraft than they’d shot down. For all their failures and frustrations they blamed “organised chaos up top.” They really believed they were being betrayed by their leaders.’

  That was not an unreasonable view held by the pilots. After all, they had been trained on Spitfires and then mysteriously retrained on Hurricanes. Then their ‘leaders’ had been surgically removed; against his will, the superb boss who was effectively shaping them into a coherent fighting unit had been replaced with a weak and incompetent squadron leader transferred from a training unit.

  The other new arrival as flight leader, Peter Brothers, from Lancashire, was a crucial support to Tuck as they tried to knock 257 into shape. When he was still at school in Manchester, Brothers had learned to fly, aged just sixteen. Brothers was more understanding than Tuck of the pressures on the young pilots of 257. ‘Morale in the squadron was way down the bottom, naturally. They were a bunch of young chaps, only two of them with pre-war experience. The others were chaps with minimum training. Naturally they were thinking, if these two experienced chaps [Beresford and Mitchell]can be shot down, what sort of chance have we got?’57

  Tuck was lucky to have Brothers at his right hand. ‘Pete Brothers turned out to be a corker. He was highly intelligent and devoted to his job – an excellent flight commander.’58

  Tuck would have just a few days to sort out the chaos and knock 257 into good enough shape to fight the Luftwaffe again. As Forrester wrote, ‘To them [257] he seemed a lean, mean and vainglorious person. He had a dry, arrogant face and he walked with his head held high, like a blind man. The immaculate uniform, the glossy hair and the ‘Cesar Romero’ moustache kindled their instinctive scorn for all forms of bull-shine. It was true that, outwardly, he often seemed a noisy show-off and a bit of a fop, too. Lately, he had taken to using a long, slim cigarette holder and his mannerisms were very haughty indeed!’

  On arrival, Tuck and the pilots studiously ignored each other. Myers was puzzled as he waited while Tuck downed pint after pint. ‘Geoff stared at the mug in his hand. He couldn’t think what it was doing there. He disliked beer – never accepted a pintful – at a push he coul
d make half a pint, forced upon him, last all night. Geoff wondered whether to perform the introductions, but decided to wait until Tuck gave him a clear hint. Geoff didn’t notice the first of them [the pilots] drift over. He only knew that suddenly they were shaking hands with Tuck, looking a bit sheepish, and telling him their names, and he was buying them drinks. And then, in no time at all, he had one or two of them talking – cautiously at first, and then, with amazing candour.’

  Myers was impressed with the man-management skills of Tuck, who gradually dominated the conversations with the bedraggled group of pilots, his questions growing more forensic by the minute. Myers could see that he was winning some of the men round. ‘Most of the pilots remained silent, suspicious and some openly hostile. But Myers was amazed, and deeply stirred, to see their faces losing their blank, wrenched expressions, the eyes coming alive for the first time in weeks.’

  For the first time since Squadron Leader David Bayne had been unceremoniously shunted out of the unit at the beginning of the Battle of Britain, Myers felt some grounds for optimism. Here was a man, for all his surface glamour, who he knew deep down to be a fine pilot. But Tuck also seemed to have the ability to win over the disaffected and the angry.

  Larry Forrester had clearly interviewed Myers at length for his biography of Stanford Tuck. ‘Myers had knocked round the world enough to know that no man, no matter how gifted or successful, was without human failings, and he tried to decide what Tuck’s faults might be. He guessed – and he wasn’t far wrong – that intolerance of others’ weaknesses might be one, snap judgement another. Myers the writer, the student of human character who vaguely sensed this, had an opportunity to confirm some of his theories later that night.’

  Tuck and Myers had dinner and then went to the orderly room together. Tuck, all the jollity of the beer-drinking gone, was very direct. ‘Right, let’s have it. I know the squadron’s record – what a miserable shower of bloody deadbeats! Not worth a bag of nuts as far as I can see. Now, you’re going to tell me which of them are worth salvaging, and which should be given the boot.’

  Myers, loath to accept the responsibility, raised his hands, shoulders and eyebrows in an ancient Hebraic gesture, but before he could protest, Tuck smashed his fist down on the trestle table between them and positively snarled, ‘Look, if you’re going to stay on here yourself, you’d better get on my side right this minute. I want the personal record of every pilot. I’ll see their files later – first I want your opinions, the straight gen, and no bloody nonsense.’

  Myers slowly began to tell Tuck what he needed to hear, commending Pete Brothers, Jimmy Cochrane, and Jock Girdwood, among others. As Tuck’s biography put it, ‘Myers knew all right. He had a deep affection for every one of these young men and he understood their terrible disillusionment and bitterness. He had watched their spirits ebb and their cynicism grow, and he had lain awake for many a night because there was nothing he could do to help them.’

  Over the next few days, Myers saw a different side of Bob Stanford Tuck. He studied the personal files of every pilot with great care and Myers could see that, for all his flamboyance, he was a meticulous pilot, forever checking and rechecking the working order of his Hurricane and its guns. Tuck immediately set about restoring confidence and discipline in the embattled squadron at Martlesham Heath. He even grew to like the Hurricane which he had initially described, compared to the sleek Spitfire, ‘like flying a brick – a great lumbering farmyard stallion compared with a dainty and gentle thoroughbred.’59 Indeed, he admired the gun platform, and the visibility for the pilot was better. The Hurricane was heavier to handle but easier to land, and it was just as well powered as any other fighter in the world.

  Several new pilots arrived around the same time as Tuck. They replaced the young men who had been killed or injured. Among them were Pilot Officer Percy Mortimer from Wales, Pilot Officer Jan Pfeiffer – a Pole, and Flying Officer Alan Hedges. They were later joined by John Martin from New Zealand and the Scot, Jack Kay. Between them these new flyers had little or no experience of aerial warfare. 257 was, as before, a mixed bag of personalities and nationalities for Tuck and Brothers to lick into shape.

  For three days, according to Forrester, Tuck and Brothers tutored the squadron intensively. The new boss immediately abandoned the inflexible tactics favoured by Hill Harkness, introducing flying in pairs and loosening the formations. He taught the unit how to exploit the weaknesses of the Luftwaffe in the air and to not waste bullets by firing from too long a range. Tuck carefully explained all the reasons for the changes. The only break in the drill was to refuel or a quick lunch from a hot box. In the evenings there was no heading for the pub. Tuck gave lectures in the briefing room, explaining the blind spots of German bombers. Models were built by the fitters so he could explain the best angles of attack. The pilots were given intelligence reports that analysed other, more successful, squadrons and learned about engine revs and throttle positions.

  Although the operational records do not fully corroborate the intense training, Sergeant Reg Nutter could immediately see the improvement. ‘I found him to be a very charismatic leader and this, combined with his exceptional combat record, gave one a great deal of confidence in him. His style of leadership contrasted greatly with that of his predecessor, Squadron Leader Harkness. Tuck would make suggestions to the ground controller as to how we might be better placed to intercept, but Harkness would follow instructions slavishly. There was no doubt that before Tuck’s arrival the squadron’s morale was at a low ebb. Under his leadership there was a tremendous improvement. In many ways he was an individualist but he would nevertheless go out of his way to give sound advice to other pilots.’60

  Myers himself later reflected, ‘Tuck wanted to know everything about the squadron. It made me feel he was the right man for the job.’61

  Larry Forrester noted in his book, ‘Myers was astounded by the metamorphosis. After deep thought he attributed it to the simple fact that Tuck so obviously knew his trade and fortunately had the ability to explain things lucidly.’

  By the third day of Tuck’s leadership the improvement was significant. Even the most sceptical of the pilots in 257 were won over by Tuck’s sheer professionalism. Nearly all of them felt more confident in the air. Tuck told Group HQ that he was progressing well and that his squadron would be ready for combat earlier than expected, in three or four days, but he was informed that Fighter Command could not wait that long. Pilots and planes were at a dangerously low level and every single aircraft and pilot would be needed for the climax of the Battle. Group HQ knew that the next few days would be the most critical in the Battle of Britain and no squadron, even one as embattled as 257, could be spared.

  As luck would have it, Tuck was at a conference in Debden and missed the big morning scramble on Battle of Britain Day, Sunday September 15 1940. It was a bright, windless day and the Luftwaffe sent 1,120 aircraft, a mix of bombers and escort fighters, to hammer southern England.

  The squadron went up under the command of the new Flight Lieutenant, Pete Brothers, whom everyone liked as soon as they met him. His movements were so quick you could never be quite sure if he was facing you or turning his back. He was like that in the air too.

  At midday, Brothers and eight other pilots were airborne. Pilot Officer Jimmy Cochrane was one of the first to land after the Blitz. Cochrane was angry about being shot at by the ack-ack guns of British defences.

  But Jesus! Our ack-ack fire’s a bugger! I saw a direct hit on one poor devil in a Hurricane which burst into flames and broke into bits in the air. The poor chap hadn’t time to bail out, I guess. The crazy devils! Not a single Jerry plane anywhere near us. The ack-ack was after us all right. Thought we were Jerries.

  Sergeant Robinson also came down cursing the anti-aircraft guns. ‘Bloody disgraceful firing into the middle of us, with nothing else around.’

  As Myers recorded again in his notebook, not all of the pilots had yet been transformed by Tuck’s magic. One Se
rgeant Pilot Squire, who had never flown in combat before, returned from that first sortie looking deeply anxious.

  ‘I didn’t quite know what happened,’ he said, ‘I suppose it’s because I haven’t got into the way of things yet. I expect I’ll get my nerve next time.’ I did not press him. It was his first encounter with the enemy and obviously something had gone wrong.

  ‘Come and sit down, old man,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, lots of chaps get queer turns at the beginning.’ When he felt a bit reassured, he said, ‘I passed clean out at 14,000 feet. No, it wasn’t a blackout or anything. The sight of all those bombers just made me feel queer and I fainted. It’s a poor show and I find it difficult to explain.’ I quickly put in my word, ‘You needn’t worry about that sort of thing, old chap. The first time the boys went up in a blitz, they all felt a bit queer.’

  It had been a hot, windless day. Just as the squadron were having lunch the telephone bell rang and the operations clerk in the neighbouring tent yelled out, ‘Scramble!’

  They grabbed their yellow life jackets – their Mae West’s as they were called – from their beds and dashed out to their aeroplanes which had all been re-serviced. The operations clerk yelled out the full order, ‘Scramble angels fifteen over Duxford.’

  Just as they were about to depart, Tuck arrived back from Debden. He immediately grabbed a Mae West and took Squire’s plane since the young pilot, as Tuck’s biographer kindly put it, was not feeling too well.

  A massive attack was being launched on London, the strongest mounted in daylight during the Battle of Britain so far. There were scores of Luftwaffe bombers escorted by fighter squadrons of Messerschmitts. The total was around 250 enemy aircraft, all headed for London, and with a huge bombload.