To the dismay of the crew, the night met forecast at Portreath was thoroughly unfavourable and time was running out. The Prime Minister was due to arrive at Gibraltar by British Airways Clipper on May 27th and, for elementary security reasons, there could be no delay in his departure from the Rock. Mr. Churchill's figure, buoyant and chunky, was not one to pass unnoticed and the Nazi 'duty spy' at La Linea had powerful binoculars perpetually trained on Gibraltar's airstrip and the arrival of a York-a type of aircraft at that time unknown in North Africa-would be instantly reported to Berlin. It was! Ascalon had to make Gibraltar punctually in fair weather or in foul-and the bold decision was taken to cross that lethal stretch of water by day, come what might.
The crew spent an anxious night.
The following morning, May the 26th, met. had rather better news and promised cloud cover as far as Finisterre on the north-west tip of Spain. At 12 o'clock, Ascalon roared into the sky and was immediately lost in the murk. Those on the ground crossed their fingers as the sound of her engines died away.
*****
"After two hours, the cloud thinned and shredded and suddenly we were in brilliant, dangerous sunshine. Met. had been over-optimistic but there could be no turning back. We flew on at 3,000 feet, acutely aware that we were an ideal target for marauding J.U. 88's and for Kondors! But this must have been a Nazi half-holiday. When we reached the latitude of Finisterre, our track lay due south to a position off Cape Roca and thence to Tarrifa Point. We hit off exactly right and finished the run into the Straits, within sight of both continents. We were over the North Front at Gibraltar exactly eight hours after take-off. We had flown 1,310 track miles and had seen nothing in the air other than the sun. A solitary destroyer was hove to in the Straits and the sea so calm that she hardly had a ripple at her bows. It could have been a peacetime flight.
"The landing of Ascalon on North Front was as unexpected as it was dramatic. Sunburned men rubbed their eyes at the sight of this strange aircraft-as did the Nazi spy sitting on his sunny perch at La Linea. It was to become a standing joke with us that our movements were signalled by tie-line to Berlin faster than they were by wireless to London. And the yacht-like inside of our aircraft indicated the V.I.P. status of our future passenger. We answered all questions with what we hoped were enigmatic smiles, put Ascalon in one of the parking spaces and made our way to the Bristol Hotel.
"Bananas, oranges and several different kinds of sherry! It was almost incredible that we had been limited to an ounce of Spam in Portreath a few hours ago and that a few hours hence we were going to be in the company of the Prime Minister .There was little sleep for any of us that night…"
*****
The following morning Ascalon's crew were up early. The Rock was positively buzzing with rumours which ranged from the reputed arrival of Stalin to that of Mae West on a goodwill mission from America or Ribbentrop emulating the escape of Hess. Ascalon' s inside was swept and garnished and her engines lovingly cared for by Jack Payne. The aircraft was taken to the western end of the airstrip, on the section that juts out into the Bay. Security had insisted on this move so that the Prime Minister should have the minimum distance in which to be seen before embarking for Maison Blanche at Algiers. It was, like so many security arrangements in the future, capable but over-elaborate.
By the afternoon, it was obvious that strong head winds over the Atlantic would so delay the British Airways Clipper that Mr. Churchill would certainly not get away to Algiers that night.
He came into the Bay of Algeciras in the evening, the Clipper flinging up arcs of foam. On shore the security grip tightened-but to no avail. Rejoicing to be on the British soil of the invincible Rock, Mr. Churchill stood in the bows of the launch, smiling and waving, a cigar cocked at an impudent angle. Nobody could possibly mistake that thick set, challenging figure-or that cigar. Mr. Churchill wanted to be seen and welcomed. He was seen and welcomed, not by a few but by virtually everybody on the Rock. The phrase: "Winston's here" seethed up and down the narrow streets and he finally stepped ashore to a storm of applause. The duty spy put through a priority call to Berlin.
While Mr. Churchill set off to spend the night with H.B. The Governor at The Convent, the crew of Ascalon went back to the Bristol Hotel. But, as was inevitable, their rooms had meanwhile been let to other migrants. To comb packed Gibraltar for half a dozen beds would merely be to invite ridicule. Why bother to do it when the Prime Minister's aerial yacht and its bunks were at their disposal?
The crew bedded down in the austere comfort of Ascalon
and slumbered in vicarious glory.
Ascalon was marshalled at the harbour tip of the runway shortly after dawn. A fleet of service cars arrived on the airstrip at noon and from the first of them stepped Mr. Churchill.
He came stumping up the steps of Ascalon and demanded luncheon for himself and everybody in his glittering retinue. He was accompanied by the C.I.G.S. Lord Alan brooke, by General Lord Is may, by Mr. Roosevelt's trusted representative, General George C. Marshall and by one who was to become possibly the crew's most popular passenger, General Lord Alexander. Watched glumly by the inevitable Scotland Yard detective, Mr. Churchill's patient and long-suffering valet Sawyers vanished into the galley, with an air of sad speculation as to its facilities for cooking and the extent of its cellar… Corporal Shepherd and he got on with the cooking while bottles were uncorked.
The Owner had taken possession of his yacht. Five minutes later Ascalon roared off the end of the runway and climbed eastwards into the brilliant sunshine.
Torpedo Attack Page 18
