by F. M. Worden
I really felt sorry for him to lose his family that way.
“This fine fellow is from South Africa, Flight Sergeant Lee Rolland.” Sgt Rolland came and shook my hand.
“Glad to have you aboard, Old Chap, Please call me Lee, I like the name.” He laughed saying his name.
Lee was another good looking young guy. Looked to be six feet tall, brown neatly combed hair, brown eyes, weighed about one-seventy or -eighty pounds. Looked like the kind you would want to be your friend.
The last NCO was standing next to Lee. He looked young, maybe seventeen or eighteen.
“My name is J.W. Allison, call me JW.” He was very handsome, reminded me of the American movie star Tyrone Power, I could see he was full of himself. You have to be that way to be a fighter pilot. He shook my hand. “Glad to meet you.”
Officer Martin said, “Your gear and kit are in your hut, these men will show you where. The NCO mess is open all the time, If you have any questions, feel free to come and ask. You will not fly until tomorrow morning, we rise at four a.m., be ready to scramble by five a.m.”
The three Sergeants led me to our hut. The hut was primitive to say the least; it had four cots, a wall locker for each, a clothes hanger, four chairs and a small writing desk. A small lamp hung over each cot.
I had letters from Allie and Mother lying on my cot. I waited a while to open them.
We four sat and talked awhile, I wanted to get to know these men. I asked Lyseek about his time in France. He wanted to talk, he told of the fighting in France, he was hit by ground fire and had to bail out, he landed in a field near a road that was being used by hundreds of refugees. He told of the German aircraft bombing and strafing the road. There were people and animals killed all along the road, it was pure slaughter. “I was lucky not to have been killed. It took two days to get back to my airfield, I shall never forget that time.” He showed a lot of anger in himself. Who could blame him?
The pilots left and went out to the dispersal area as they might have had to fly at any time.
I was alone and got to read my letters. Allie said all was good at home, the baby was growing like a weed. She enclosed two pictures, I would not have recognized our little girl. Mother said Popie had been sick with the flu and Uncle Bob was getting bad with cancer. They were worried about Frank, they had no word from him in weeks. Boy, oh boy, I hoped he was all right. The last they heard he was somewhere in Europe trying to get to Italy.
I spent the last hour before mess writing letters. After mess, we all returned to our hut. As I was finishing my letters, my wing man, Flight Officer Tim, came by and asked if anyone wanted to go to a pub. J.W. was ready so I decided to go along. Tim said we would be back by ten p.m.
Tim has an English Ford four-door sedan. JW and Tim got in the front seat; I sat in the rear seat behind the driver Tim. We were pulling out of the airfield gate when four WAAF’s in blue uniforms waved down our auto. One of the girls called, “You chap’s going to a pub?”
Tim, through the open driver’s window answered, “Yeah. You girls want-a go with us?”
One of the ladies yelled back, “Yes, we do.”
Tim invited them to hop in. Three of them got in the back seat with me. The other one opened the door next to me and popped right in onto my lap. She remarked, “You’re the Yank all the girls are talking about, right?”
“Yeah, I am.” She was the WAAF with the ammo I met at my plane.
“Hope I’m not too heavy?”
“No, you’re just fine.”
The WAAF who stopped us said, “I’m Maggie.” The one next to her said, “I’m Edith.” The other one said, “I’m Ginger.” The one on my lap said she was “Sarah.”
I told them, “I’m Tom, the Yank.”
“Are you a single man, Tom?” Sarah asked.
“No. I’m not, but I like pretty girls just the same.”
“Look out Sarah,” Ginger quirked, “He’ll have you in bed shortly.”
“No way,” I said.
Maggie looked in the dim light to be in her late twenties, rather husky and sharp featured lass.
We arrived at the Red Barn shortly and our entire group entered a typical English pub. There were three men and two ladies at the bar. Sarah, Edith, Tim and I sat at a table, Sarah sat next to me. Maggie, Ginger and JW went straight to the bar. Maggie ordered a jinn, she took off and laid her cap on the bar exposing her short cropped man’s hair cut. I thought, “That woman is the bossy kind.”
Edith was a very quiet sort; she was pretty, five-two and nicely built. Ginger was the party type, a beautiful blonde with blue eyes and a well-built body that even the blue uniform could not hide, she was a real butterfly. Sarah was pretty with her dark brown hair and flashing brown eyes, full lips and gorgeous smile. A most pleasing voice, I liked her immediately. She reminded me of a woman in the American movies, darn if I could remember her name. I could see Sarah wanted to talk. The waiter came; I asked Sarah what she would have to drink. “I’ll have a pint,” she replied. I ordered the same. And I put money on the table, she said in no uncertain terms, she was paying. She was so forceful I put my money away.
I asked her how she became a WAAF. “I wanted to be a nurse, but my father talked me out of it. You see he was a Doctor, a Surgeon, in the first war in France. He was gassed by the Germans in a field hospital. All the time he was with us, he was kind of sickly. He told me he didn’t want me around sick people, so I trained to be a WAAF, my father died when I was fifteen. I have a little Brother, who will be ten this year. I was born in a small hamlet north of London, I want to hear about you. How come you came over here to fight?”
“I know America will have to soon be where I am.” I asked, “Where are your Mother and Brother now?”
“They moved in with my Mother’s Brother as soon as the war started. They live on a farm in the center of the country. I hope they won’t get bombed there.”
We made small talk for over an hour, I really like her.
Maggie announced, “We have to go, we must be back in our quarters by ten fifteen.”
Tim got to his feet and said loud and clear, “Drink up, we’re leaving.”
We all returned in Tim’s auto. We sat in the same arrangement as before with Sarah on my lap, Sarah put her left arm around my neck and whispered, “I like you Tom,”
“I like you, too, Sarah.” She rubbed her cheek against mine.
Ginger heard it and said, “O-o-o-o-o what’s going on here?”
I said, “Nothing, Ginger. We two are just being friends.”
“I bet, if I were her, I would like it.” Ginger was laughing.
Tim turned, “I better get to know you Ginger.” We all laughed.
We dropped the girls off at their quarters. Sarah waved and called, “I’ll see you again Tom.”
As we pulled away I remembered, “Teresa Wright,” I said out loud. “Teresa Wright. You chaps help me to remember that name.” They both said they would.
At our hut, Tim let JW and I off. Inside, the black-out curtains were pulled, Lee and Lyseek were both in bed. Lyseek was snoring the roof off. I got out my pj’s, robe and slippers and a set of ear plugs. I undressed, put on the pj’s and robe, grabbed my kit and went to the wash room. I brushed my teeth, washed up and hurried back to the hut.
Lyseek was still snoring, with ear plugs, I went to bed. I turned my lamp off, dark as sin in the hut. I lay in bed thinking I had a good day. When I fly, it is always a good day. When I had shut my eyes, I could see war planes in my mind, black ME 109's, lots of them. All of a sudden I was tired, I felt a little guilty about Sarah, what would Allie think if she knew? Oh well, tomorrow I fly my first combat scramble. I adjusted my head on the pillow to get more comfortable and soon fell asleep.
Chapter 5
1st Combat – September 1940
I was awakened by a bright light, I pulled out my ear plugs and sat up in bed. The sound of aircraft taking off filled the room. Sgt. Lyseek was up and dressing, when he finished dressing, he opene
d our hut door. The smell of fresh mown grass sifted through the screen door. Birds could be heard chirping from the trees, A new fresh fall morning. The morning sunlight had not begun. Lyseek called, “It’s four a.m., everyone up.”
Lee slowly put his feet on the floor, he stretched and yawned, “God. What a terrible time to get up.” JW was the last to rise, he took a cigarette and lit it. I watched as the smoke he blew drifted up and disappeared.
I took off my pj’s and hung them and my robe in my locker. Dressed, I slipped on my flight boots. Carrying my Mae West, Lee and I went together to the NCO mess for breakfast. Two eggs, bacon, hash-brown potatoes, sliced tomatoes, toast, tea and coffee.
All the pilots who were to fly this morning gathered at the dispersal area. Our Squadron commander came to talk to us. “We will fly the {vic} formation. Tom, any questions?”
“No sir. I know the {vic}.”
“You will be number eight, Lee number nine.”
I was ready.
The telly rang, “SCRAMBLE!”
What a rush. By the time I reached my machine, Smithy had the engine started, I was in the cockpit in a flash. Smithy helped me buckle up, first, the parachute harness, then the seat straps.
I taxied out with the other planes. We were all in the air in minutes; up we went and formed into the Vic formation. Oxygen masks on, we leveled out at twenty thousand heading east, only slight cloud cover.
In a few minutes, we could see below a guppy of forty or fifty J 87's Stuka, dive bombers. They were ready to attack the radar towers on the Dover coast, no escort fighters could be seen.
Our Squadron Leader called on the R/T, “Tally-Ho.” He peeled off and dove down at the Stukas. The Squadron followed one by one. Me, I was in the eighth place, I lined up a Hun and gave him a two second blast. Shit 0h dear, too far out, the tracers showed I was missing badly. In closer I hit home, he started to smoke, I must have hit the engine, he rolled over and dove into the ground, HA! My first kill.
As I started to climb, I saw three Stukas heading east. They had dropped their load and started scampering home. “Not so fast old boys,” I said. “Sitting ducks, just my meat.” I proceeded to chase them. After a few minutes, I was on the tail of the rear Hun. A two-second blast found the mark, pieces of aircraft began to fly at me, one hit my wind screen, no damage. The three man crew bailed out. We were out over the Channel; the Huns were going to get wet.
I was closing on the next one so fast I had to throttle back and hit the flaps to slow my speed a little. It worked fine. Now the rear gunner was firing at me. The blink-blink of his machine gun sent red fire tracers at me, he was missing badly. I squeezed the firing button, dead on, sparks of my tracers showed I was hitting damn good. He began to show black patches of smoke, I must have hit his engine. The Stuka began to shake and flop around, it did a slow roll and dove straight toward the water, and No one had gotten out. I looked to the last one, he was quite a ways ahead. I opened the throttle, I was closing fast. Damn, black smoke flak bursts began to fill my space, Ack-Ack. To my surprise, looking down I was over land, I had flown into France. I banked hard right and did 180, I wanted away as fast as I could. I said out-loud, “I’ll get you Huns some other time.” I just wanted to put distance between me and the Anti-aircraft guns; luck was with the Hun this day.
Out over the Channel, I was feeling darn good, and then it happened. My wind-screen began being covered with green slim. Crap, my engine coolant was leaking, Ack-Ack had scored a hit, in a few minutes my engine would freeze , the coolant was gone, I knew I didn’t have very long as the engine would seize. I was now at three thousand feet altitude and I hadn’t seen any enemy aircraft, luck was with me. I had a heading of dead east toward England; my engine began to miss badly.
The white cliffs were coming closer, I was going down fast. I tried to gain more altitude. “Come up baby, come up.” I kept yelling, “Come up, come up.” No go, I had to get higher or I would crash into the cliffs. I pulled back on the stick with all I had, still no go, I had to ditch. The plane was going down fast, fear grabs at you. What if the plane summersaults? Scary, one dead pilot. My best shot was to drag the tail in the water and try to make a soft landing. Still pulling on the stick, I thought, “Flaps, flaps,” no good.
Still hauling back on the stick, I could feel the tail dragging in the water. All of a sudden the plane stood on her nose, turned to the right, then settled back down. It was all over and I was in one piece. I pushed back the canopy, unhooked the harness and got out on the left wing. The wing was slowly sinking into the water, I crawled over to the right wing.
Looking around, I could see I was in about four feet of water, I could wade to the beach. Looking north, I saw a small boat coming my way, maybe Germans? I pulled my pistol ready to make a fight. As the boat got closer, I could see a woman in the bow waving. As the boat drew up to the wing, the woman yelled, “Jump!” I did right into her arms.
The boat backed out and turned around, we headed north. She said, “Come into the cabin, I want you to meet my husband and father.”
I followed her to the cabin. I soon discovered these people look for downed pilots in the Channel all the time, these are great people. A cup of hot tea and a biscuit, the lady introduced her husband and father. The husband was a rather stout fellow with coal black hair and a friendly smile; he darn near shook my arm off. The father was smoking a stinky pipe, a cap cocked on his head, he gave me a big bear hug and said, “We saw you go after the Huns, we saw you coming back trailing smoke, we headed for the spot where we hoped you would come down, we will take you in.”
“You people do a great job.” I had to ask questions. “Do you pick up many downed pilots?”
The father answered, “Everyday.”
“Enemy pilots?”
“Everyday.”
“Do they give you trouble?”
“Not often; they are happy to be saved. We do run into German boats once in a while, we never have any trouble from them, we both respect what we do.”
In a short hour, we entered a small inlet, leading to a pre-war fishing village. The boat people dropped me and headed back to the Channel. I got a wonderful reception from the villagers. All the food and drink I could take and I got a lot of attention from the children of the village, all kinds of questions. When I told them I was an American, I really got a lot of cheers and they sang, {He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.} I got on the telly and informed the airdrome where I was, I was told to sit tight; a car would come for me.
Just as darkness fell a car arrived, the driver, to my surprise and delight, was none other than the female WAAF, my friend Sarah. I thanked the village people, got in the car and Sarah and I started for the airdrome.
Sarah said very little until I thanked her for coming to pick me up. She got very talkative, “Did you know your R/T was open and sending during your flight.”
“No, I hope I didn’t embarrass anyone with my language, I had no idea you guys were listening.”
“No, the operation room got a real kick hearing you, all of us were praying for you. There’s a pub just ahead, would you like to stop and have a pint?”
“Yeah, I would like that.”
We stopped and had a pint and some fish and chips. The pub was warm and the people friendly. We fighter pilots leave the top button on our tunics undone. People all know when they see that we are fighter pilots. I got a lot of slaps on the back and lots of cheers. It was all a lot of fun for me.
We heard many stories about the dogfights that raged in the sky above them. One older man told us, very proudly, that he had captured three Nazi Airmen when their bomber crash landed in his field. With a shotgun he held the airmen until the home guard came for them. Another said he had pulled a pilot from his burning crashed Spitfire. We heard several similar stories. Lots of cheers after each story.
We both hated to leave such a friendly group. Sarah and I arrived at the airdrome commanding officer’s office around ten p.m.
As I started to lea
ve the car, Sarah grabbed me by the right arm and said, “Tom, I’m becoming very fond of you.” She was such a sweet girl, she pulled me to her and pecked me on my cheek, I hardly knew what to tell her. All I said was, “Good night, you sweet thing.” I hurried into the office, I knew I had a good balling out coming, I was not disappointed. Officer Martin gave me a real tongue lashing for disobeying orders. “Don’t chase the enemy across the Channel again.” Then he said in a demanding voice, “Go get some rest.”
As I left, he said with a big smile, “Jolly good bloody show, old chap, you will get a new Hurricane in the morning.” I gave him a quick salute and headed for my hut. A hot shower and some sleep was all I needed.
At six a.m. on September 15, 1940, I entered the NCO’s mess and got a rousing welcome from my brother pilots. I got a lot of “good shows” and slaps on the back. The roar of aircraft engines filled the morning air, three new Hurricanes arrived. After my breakfast, I hurried out to my park to find Smithy giving my new aircraft a real going over. The ground crew refueled and armed her ready to fly.
I climbed into the cockpit to look her over, she smelled new. An envelope was pinned on the dash, I opened and read the letter inside. The ladies who had worked on the aircraft wrote they would pray every day for my safe time in this machine, six ladies signed the letter. We have great people we have backing us up.
I heard over the loud speaker, “SCRAMBLE!”
Smithy helped to fasten my parachute and seat straps, and then he pulled the wheel chocks. I turned the engine switch on and pushed the starter button. The twelve hundred and eighty horse engine burst with a roar into life. Following my squadron leader, we taxied to the downwind end of the grass airfield, I lined up for takeoff. I followed number seven in my takeoff run. Throttle forward, airborne, we lined up in formation. We headed northeast, climbing all the time. A near cloudless sky greeted us, at ten thousand we leveled out.
The raiders shown on the operations screen appeared below. Six Heinkell-15 float planes were flying at four thousand. I guessed they were going to plant mines in one of the inlets just off the Channel, sitting ducks for us.
