by Benn, Tony
Tuesday 6 June 1944 – Liberation Day for Europe and the World
I went up for over an hour and a half during which time I finished spins and started on my final and crucial task – finding out whether I will ever be able to land an aircraft. It was not until breakfast time that I heard the great news. The story was consistent and persistent, then during the airmanship period F/O Freeman told me the real ‘gen’. He had heard General Eisenhower’s broadcast announcement to the world of an Allied invasion of the French coast and containing the gist of issued orders to the underground movement The strain of having old Mike in the front at a time like this must be very great for Ma, for the burden is probably more heavy on those near and dear to the fighting men who are left behind than on the men themselves. I am still depressed.
Thursday 8 June
The WingCo’s inspection was strict and searching. We were all in best blue and the sun came down blazingly on the ranks. One man halfway down our rank suddenly fell forward limp on to his face with a soft thud; he was carried off.
The WingCo began by saying that he was sure that we all agreed that the occasion of the King’s birthday was significant at this time and that our minds were probably not only turned to the King personally or to all that the Crown stood for but also to the men engaged in the second front. I for one certainly failed to see why the King’s birthday mattered at such a time since everyone was solely preoccupied with the European onslaught.
Then swinging to the right after an order to remove headgear and give three cheers for the King which was certainly not rousing, the WingCo walked over to the native Rhodesian Air Askari Corps and addressed them through an interpreter in this manner. ‘Everything here, the land, the hangars, the aircraft are all the King’s and it is all your duty to guard them. Do your duty well.’ I felt sick at the failure to thank them or refer to Matabeleland as their country, used by us. It was a dictatorial speech that Goering might make to the conscripts of an occupied country about Hitler.
Wednesday 14 June
At six this morning Crownshaw told me to get into 322 straightaway, a PT-26A Cornell trainer. I apologised to him for boobing the check yesterday and he remarked that they were really only nominal things and that they didn’t really matter. However we took off, did a circuit or maybe two, and then as we taxied up to the take-off point, he said to me: ‘Well, how do you feel about your landings?’ I replied: ‘Well, that’s really for you to say, sir.’ He chuckled. ‘I think you can manage one solo,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get out now and I’ll wait here for you,’ he went on.
So this was it, I thought. The moment I had been waiting for came all of a sudden just like that ‘OK, sir,’ I replied. ‘And don’t forget that you’ve got a throttle,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened to go round again – OK? And by the way,’ he added – he finished locking the rear harness and closing the hood then came up to me, leant over and shouted, in my ear – ‘you do know the new trimming for taking off?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, and he jumped off the wing and walked over to the boundary with his ’chute.
I was not all that excited. I certainly wasn’t frightened and I hope I wasn’t over-confident but I just had to adjust my mirror so that I could really see that there was no one behind me.
I remembered my brother Mike’s words: ‘Whatever you do don’t get over-confident: it is that that kills most people and I only survived the initial stages through being excessively cautious.’ So I brought my mind back to the job, checked the instruments, looked all around and when we had reached 500 feet began a gentle climbing turn. It was very bumpy and the wind got under my starboard wing and tried to keel me over, but I checked it with my stick and straightened out when my gyro compass read 270 degrees. Then I climbed to 900, looked all round and turned again on to the downwind leg. By the time I’d finished that turn we were at 1,000 feet, so I throttled back, retrimmed, got dead on 180 and I felt pretty good about things. I thought I was a little high as I crossed the boundary so I eased back to 800 rpm, and as I passed over, I distinctly saw Crownshaw standing watching where I had left him. Now we were coming in beautifully and I eased the stick and throttle back. A quick glance at the ground below showed me to be a little high, so I left the stick as it was, gave a tiny burst of engine and as we floated down I brought both back fully. We settled, juddered and settled again for a fair threepointer.
I was as happy as could be. I taxied up, stopped and braked. Try as I did, I couldn’t restrain the broad grin which gripped me from ear to ear and Crownshaw, seeing it, leant over before he got in and said ironically with a smile. ‘Happy now?’ I was more than happy, I was deliriously carefree, and as he taxied her back I thought about it all and I realised that the success of my first solo flight was entirely due to the fine instruction I had received; it was a tribute to that instruction that I never felt nervous once, and all the time had imagined what my instructor would be saying, so used had I got to doing everything with him behind me. We climbed out, and attempting to restrain my happiness I listened while he told me where and what to sign. Then I wandered back to my billet and one of the greatest experiences of my life was behind me. The lectures were pretty ordinary, and it being my free afternoon I had a bit of lemonade in the canteen and then wrote this.
Tuesday 20 June
The whole afternoon Ken Brown, Phil James and Johnnie Walker were in my hut and the time was wasted absolutely in worthless nattering. I tried to keep my temper and in fact never showed any annoyance at all and pretended that I was in a listening competition or that this was practice for political work. The evening went in the same manner though the room became more crowded still.
Sunday 25 June
In a 5,000-word letter to Mike I wrote out a full description of my flying and the lessons I learned. It gave me a chance to clear my mind. After tea I went along to listen to the Padre on the text, taken from the Christ-child’s visit to the temple where he amazed the professors. After which, according to the story, he ‘waxed strong in body and in wisdom and gained favour among men and with God.’ He constructed his talk round the belief that everyone should make their life like the life of Christ and should develop in those four ways – bodily, mentally, be a tower of strength among men, and be close to God. On physical fitness, which the Padre started with, the three main reasons for developing and maintaining it were: first because our bodies are the temple of God, secondly because if we are really fit we are less likely to fall into temptation, especially the temptations of drink and sex. And lastly because we must keep as fit as possible so as to do our own work the better for the glory of God. Very sound arguments, I thought. He bitterly attacked those who despised an intelligent interest in religion. Gaining favour with men did not mean that we should be so ordinary and popular that we didn’t strike a line of our own.
After the service I went along to the last of F/Lt Goulton’s gramophone recitals. He played Chopin’s first pianoforte concerto which was absolutely wizard and the Dance of the Hours which I must get when I’m home again.
Tuesday 27 June
We did PT this morning and the first lecture was meteorology. Gannidiffe brought the mail in and there was a telegram for me. I don’t like telegrams as a rule so I didn’t open it immediately, and when I did it was quite unhurried.
R5 OXTED 41 24 1440
1850035 BENN
DARLING JAMES OUR PRECIOUS MICHAEL GAVE HIS LIFE JUNE 23RD AFTER OPERATIONAL ACCIDENT DAVE AND I REACHED HIM DONT GRIEVE DEAREST HE SUFFERED NO PAIN IS SAVED COMPLETE PARALYSIS FAMILY HOLDS TOGETHER FOR ALWAYS DEAREST LOVE.
YERMA-STANSGATE
When I saw the words at first, I was stunned and felt as if something inside me had stopped.
For a few minutes I didn’t think about it really, and I just went on writing meteorology notes. The realisation of the desolation came to me in waves. For the rest of the period I was either on the verge of tears or quite calm.
When at last the lesson ended I went into the post office, picked up
some telegraph forms and walked to my hut. There I let go and sat sobbing for ten or fifteen minutes. It was good to give vent to my feelings – it eased things a lot. I was sick at heart. I never knew how much Mike’s example, his interest and advice, were responsible for maintaining my desire to be a pilot.
The outburst over, I sent a telegram to mother:
MIKE’S GREAT SACRIFICE AN INSPIRATION TO US ALL. FAMILY MORE UNITED THAN EVER. GOD BLESS YOU ALL. JAMES
Then I went back into the lessons and stayed until lunchtime. I wanted to share my sorrow but it was difficult to speak about it. I was eating my dinner with Jim Boulton, Ken Brown, Tony Evans, Budgett and Peter Smith and Bob Morgan when a fresh wave of realisation caught me. I was asked whether I had bad news. They were very kind and after just expressing their sorrow they went on as usual and I was glad for the diverted attention, as my lower lip was quivering.
When I got back to my room I made my bed and lay on it once more in the grip of the instincts of affection and friendship which tie me doubly to old Mike who is a brother and my best friend.
I went and sat in the station chapel where before and beside God and with Mikie very near me I began the task of pulling together the shattered fabric of love and companionship which had protected me. I began to realise that the greatest blow fell not on me but on Mother and Father and little Dave. They gave him life and nourished him to healthy boyhood and courageous manhood.
I went across this afternoon to fly with Crownshaw. We did steep turns and forced landings, spinning and compass courses and all the time I thought of Mike. It wasn’t until this evening, when I faced the problem squarely, that I reached a new peace and harmony. I did realise when I was flying that a new determination had entered me and that his courage was to become mine. I felt a special sense of mission and of duty that while a Benn still flies with the Air Force, my standard would be as high as his. I asked Crownshaw when I came down how I could get on twin-engined bombers.
After tea I dressed myself up in my battledress and great coat, I pushed my cap on my head, took my pipe and tobacco and went out to have a walk round the aerodrome. I thought of Mike as a pilot flying in North Africa or over France and Germany, I felt proud I was following in his footsteps. I thought of him as a companion through life and as a partner and a colleague in times of struggle for a better world which we can and will create out of this war. I thought of him as a friend with whom so many plans had been made.
When I had finished thinking of the past a great calmness came over me.
Friday 30 June
Prepared for the weekend in Salisbury. Changed my clothes and packed the stuff in my blue pack.
Monday 10 July
I had a letter from Mike today written on the day before he was killed – bless him. It was full of his activities – how sweet and natural it was. It finished ‘Oh James, how I miss you – but we must see this through. Ever your old, M’.
Wednesday 19 July
I had many letters today about Mike. They were so sweet and sympathetic that I had a new outburst of emotion which I could not control. I wept bitterly when I read the inspiring words with which the RAF Padre concluded his sermon at Golders Green. The hymn was ‘I vow to thee my country all earthly things above’. This made me sob as I haven’t since I heard the news.
Wednesday 2 August
Crownshaw and I took off just after 1300 hours for low-level cross-country. Most of the flight was carried out over the native reserve. Of the natives I saw the majority were women. Stark naked, jolly little piccaninnies waved and jumped about. If we were passing fifty yards or more to the side of a village they would stand up and wave. But if we passed closer or over them, they ran in all directions, or crouched on the ground. At the eastern side of Longwe in the foothills, I saw one poor mother kneeling with her two children, attempting to shield them, as we roared across. I felt quite ashamed and I was preparing to climb Longwe when Crownshaw took her off me and began to beat up this village mercilessly. I was really sorry to see him do that because I felt so warmed in my heart at the spontaneous welcome they all gave when they first saw us, that to frighten them, as our dives undoubtedly did, seemed needlessly unkind.
As soon as we had gone over, out they all came to watch and the whole process was repeated.
Previously to our shoot-up at Longwe we had been up and down the Lundi river looking for crocodiles. We saw three hippos in the centre of the river and as we flew over them they submerged like U-boats.
I went back to the billet to gloat over the tobacco and cigarettes that my dearest Ma had sent me. I had reached the stage where my pipe was laid aside because I couldn’t find any smokeable tobacco for it.
Saturday 5 August
I saw and heard things tonight which have strengthened my determination to remain teetotal all my life. There was a cabaret show which I left after a few minutes. There were only two sorts of turn, those that were dirty and in thoroughly bad taste, and those that were clean and not funny at all. The dance was rather a flop. You couldn’t hear the band and most people were tipsy. I paid a visit to the Corporals’ Club and saw Crownshaw obviously having had too much to drink but quite steady as a policeman invariably is, the only visible sign being that he was enamoured of some deadly popsy well in her thirties. I was caught in a conversation with a drunk Rhodesian sergeant with whom I nattered for five or ten minutes and was then shaken warmly by his hand and bidden good-night and lifelong good luck.
As I wandered by the dining hall I saw in a corner two men fighting. One was lying on the ground and the other was standing over him, picking him up only to knock him down again. Then he hurried back into the dance and as he passed me. I saw that it was Taffy Hinds – quite a pleasant fellow when he’s sober. Jim Martin and I hurried over to where the other fellow lay, his face a mass of blood and his clothes crumpled and bloodstained. He was unconscious – in fact he looked half dead.
With the help of a couple of ground staff wallahs we started to carry him across to the sick quarters. However, he woke up halfway, started to mutter and swear and began to kick. I wasn’t prepared to help someone who for two pins would have attacked us so we all dropped him and he ran, or rather staggered, to his billet and sat up in a stupor on the steps there.
It all arose because Hinds called De Sylva a bastard and De Sylva called Hinds a Welsh shithouse.
Friday 15 September
We arrived in Bulawayo about six and after a cup of tea at the canteen we walked to the Services Club for breakfast. Our luggage had all been left in error in Gwelo station.
We embussed and arrived at RAF Heany in due course where I was billeted in the old church – an extremely grim building with no box, locker or wardrobe.
Tuesday 17 October
There were three letters for me in the sergeants’ mess. One from Dad was on the subject of standing for Parliament. Apparently he had opened a letter for me, from John Parker, in error, in which Parker requested me to consider contesting a seat at the next General Election as a Labour Party candidate. My first sensation was amazement, then of intense pleasure, in the first place at having been remembered by my Party friends and in the second at having been considered as a suitable candidate by Parker, the MP for Dagenham, whom I hardly know. Pa wrote a few words of sound advice. I know that it is his heartfelt wish that I should finish at Oxford. Bless him for promising to use his influence with the Party to get me a good seat if I decided so, and also for his generous offer of the necessary financial support.
Wednesday 25 October
The flick was not very good except for Veronica Lake, who is lusho. Anna was pretty unresponsive tonight and I almost had a crick in the neck. I wonder why she is like this, because she is always very eager when speaking to me.
Monday 30 October
We had the first fatal accident on the station since I have been here this morning. An instructor and a pupil hit the high-tension cables while on low-level cross-country. The kite caught fire and they were burnt. A
s a matter of fact, of course, they were killed by the kite striking the deck probably at 140 mph, so they were already dead. It is just another example of what unauthorised low flying does for you. I feel strangely calm about it, and everybody jokes about it. I can’t make up my mind if this is wrong or not. If I thought of it too seriously and pondered each implication it might worry me to the extent of affecting my morale and my flying.
Frankenstein’s Monster meets the Wolfman was on tonight and I took Anna. The question of popsies arose and she asked me if I had one in England. I made a joke of it and said, ‘I have six – one in England, two at Heany, two at Bulawayo and one at Salisbury.’ This solved the problem.
Saturday 25 November
At a quarter to ten Bob, Ken and I were summoned to the Chief Instructor’s office. We had to wait an hour and three-quarters while he interviewed five scrubs.
He saw us individually and the conversation went something like this:
CI: ‘Benn, you have been recommended to me as an under-officer. Do you want to do this and live in the officers’ mess?’
‘Yes, sir.’
CI: ‘You are young and may find it difficult at first – a lot of men older than yourself will be under you and you will have to use tact. Don’t be put off by the “old chum” racket. If an old chum disregards an order he will expect you to report him and you must do so.’
Then we went across to the Chief Ground Instructor’s office. He gave us a long talk referring especially to home troubles. When he had given Willshire two buttons and Ken and me one each as cadet leaders he told me that I was to be moved to the other group so that Willshire could keep an eye on me and give me a hand with discipline. Then he dismissed us and told us to meet him at the officers’ mess for lunch.
