A Spitfire Pilot's Story: Pat Hughes: Battle of Britain Top Gun

by Dennis Newton

  Desmond Sheen had been born in Sydney bu t his family moved to Canberra where he was educated at Telopea Park School before joining the Prime Minister’s department as a junior. Noticing newspaper advertisements inviting young men to apply for cadetships in the RAAF, he decided to apply.

  Bill Edwards was from Leichhardt in Sydney’s west, not far from Pat’s home in Haberfield. The other Edwards on base, Hughie Edwards, was from Fremantle on the opposite side of the continent. He was in the senior course which had started in July 1935.

  A Victoria native, Geoff Hartnell did not have far to travel to reach Point Cook. He was from East Malvern in Melbourne and had been educated at Wesley College. It did not take long for him to become a capable pilot, showing particular skill in navigation as he was something of a perfectionist. Pat would count him among his closest of friends.

  Tall, dark-haired and handsome, Carl Kelaher attracted girls ‘like iron filings drawn to a magnet’, much to the envy of the other cadets. He was originally of German extraction but his family changed its surname during the First World War to avoid any problems associated with being German.

  Cec Mace was called ‘Grappler’ because of his powerful build which was reminiscent of a medium-sized gorilla, but this was offset by his pleasant and humorous face. Grappler told jokes and had a seemingly endless supply of funny, spicy, stories. His voice was high-pitched and he normally laughed furiously at his own yarns as he habitually reduced his listeners to helpless fits of laughter.

  The intense twelve-month officer cadet course was packed with some twenty-two subjects. Many of these applied to the problems of flying such as navigation, the theory of engines, the theory of flight, and airmanship – the art of ‘conducting oneself around an aerodrome and an aeroplane in an intelligent and safe fashion’. There were subjects relating purely to the service such as General Administration, Air Force Organisation and Air Force Law. A comparable knowledge was required of the army and navy, and of civil aviation. All had to be clearly understood.

  Tactics and strategy had to be studied very carefully and seemed to be the content of numerous lengthy dull books. Meteorology was another obscure and inexact science, as was the case with photography and photographic interpretation. In a more practical vein, Morse Code had to be learnt by using the buzzer and lights, plus each cadet had be able to read semaphore, the procedure of sending messages by flags.

  Knowledge of armaments was essential. Guns of various calibres and bombs of numerous types had to be understood, their construction explained and remembered, and the theory of ballistics studied. The application of these to the aeroplane and the theory and practice of their use were important. Other requirements were that the anatomy of machine guns, bombs and cameras had to be known to the extent that cadets could dismantle and reassemble them ‘without enough parts left over to go into the second-hand business’. There were also the practical sides of engineering and rigging which had to be mastered. This involved dismantling and reassembling aero engines and repairing damaged aeroplane parts. It was a formidable array of subjects, as was the six-day routine each week.

  The cadets’ day began with the 0600 hours bugle. From then on, the pace was hectic – bed made, room tidied, shower, shave and breakfast. Out on the parade ground at 0700 in immaculate order with boots, buttons and all leather polished followed by forty-five minutes of ‘tramping up and down the parade ground learning the finer points of ceremonial drill’. Then it was back to the barracks to divest himself of his rifle, belts and paraphernalia, and grab books, pencils and notepaper ready for the mile and a half march around the perimeter of the aerodrome to ‘The Flights’ area. ‘The Flights’ were old sheds, hangars and lecture rooms where everyone worked for the rest of the morning. At 1200 hours, the cadets were marched the mile and a half back to the Mess for lunch. Forty minutes later they were on their way back to ‘The Flights’ on foot for the afternoon sessions.

  For the most part, the days were divided into theory and practice. If the morning was all theory, the afternoon was practice, which was learning to send and understand Morse code, practical work on engines or air frames or on guns or bombs and the like, and, hopefully soon, flying. On alternate weeks the daily routine was reversed, with practical work in the morning followed by theory in the afternoon.

  At 1600 hours, the cadets were marched back to the barracks for a ten-minute tea break before sport from 1630 to 1800. The choices were cricket, tennis, football or hockey and everybody had to mix in. There was no let-up here either. If the instructors found anybody shirking, the defaulter was sent for a run around the perimeter of the aerodrome, or out to a line of trees roughly a mile and a half away. The victim had to be back within a given time, or he had to do it again each evening until he could.

  From 1800 to 1830 hours, cadets were supposed to maintain their personal kit, clean boots and so on, and then prepare for a formal dinner or supper at 1900. After this, by 2000 hours, everyone had to be back in their rooms studying. At 2145 hours a whistle was blown, allowing fifteen minutes to tidy up and get to bed. Lights-out was at 2200 hours sharp and by 2201 nearly everyone was asleep from pure exhaustion, particularly at the start.

  The severe system of training and discipline left many new cadets in constant fear of being dropped from the course, an attitude which tended to make some fail. To overcome this fear, the attitude had to be one of ‘do your best and to hell with the consequences’. For all this, the rate of pay was the princely sum of £3 10s per week, with uniforms supplied. Most, including Pat, adjusted to the long hours of work fairly quickly.

  Meanwhile, there was still very much of the mischievous schoolboy in Pat. ‘Everyone was trying manfully to be in good spirits,’ he wrote on a Sunday, ‘but we are all damn tired from yesterday’s rifle drill, so I was mainly accused of being stupid by annoying and playing tricks on everybody. The weather was OK, the meals were lousy and all in all a very rotten day.’

  One Sunday each month there was time off for leave to go into Melbourne to see the sights or visit local friends and relations, if any. These days were anticipated with great relish. About the worst disciplinary restraint for misconduct was to be confined to barracks for that one day of freedom.

  During the practical half day the cadets were taught to fly at an average rate of half an hour per day. Again the subject was dealt with in great detail. Not only did they all have to learn to take off, turn, glide and land, they had to learn spins, aerobatics (loops, half rolls, rolls, stall turns and so on) instrument flying for flying through clouds, map-reading and practical navigation, forced landing procedure and practice, formation flying and the principles of aerial combat, bombing and gunnery.

  Initial flying training was carried out in de Havilland Gypsy Moths for the first fifty hours and that was to be followed by Westland Wapitis for the last fifty hours for cadets who were still in the course.2 A few cadets already had some flying experience. Gordon Olive had obtained his private license in Queensland but the majority, like Pat, were new at the game. To start with they had to learn to take off, climb, glide and finally land. This involved considerable coordination of the eyes and hands and feet. This was especially true of the landing when the cadet had to keep the machine straight by using the rudder pedals and at the same time hold the machine a few inches above the ground by means of juggling the control column (‘joystick’) backwards and forwards. To make things more complicated, the same control column moved sideways to roll or bank the Moth right or left. The skill was to keep it level both fore and aft and laterally simultaneously and place the wheels gently on the ground, keeping it straight using the rudder pedals. This was one of the most difficult parts of flying.

  There were more mistakes made at the instant of landing than at any other time of flying. It always aroused the critical interest of those on the ground when not actually flying to just watch other pilots landing. As for those coming back to earth, the knowledge that critical eyes were watching for errors of judgement resulti
ng in bounces (‘kangarooing’), swings off line and other types of rough landings, could be unnerving in itself. Although the average cadet could land an aeroplane after about three or four hours of instruction, he would probably spend years perfecting his technique.

  At the beginning landings were the bane of Pat’s life. His regular trainer was Moth A7-69. On Tuesday 25 February, he wrote:

  On the Defaulters Parade again today for no apparent reason.

  Flying was worse than terrible and I don’t know what’s the matter. I can’t even fly straight much less land a plane safely.

  But I’ll get over it, and I tried to forget it and went to the pictures, but alas some weepy lovesick stuff made me feel worse.

  Cursed day.

  His diary entry for 10 March noted:

  Flying in full swing again today and in old 69 again to the general imperilment of all other planes. Mucked about and did some damned horrible landings. Went to the pictures and saw once more ‘The Nitwits’ and laughed almost fit to kill myself. Reminds me of Pete and myself.3

  The next day was completely different. In capital letters at the top centre of his diary page he printed in capitals: ‘SOLO’.

  Today was the day. Flew splendidly in a wooden test machine, so Squadron Leader Bladin tested me and I did four corker landings in succession, then to my delirium he got out.

  I flew off and around for twenty minutes, and it is quite unnecessary and impossible to tell how I felt.

  I went mad, whistled, sang and almost jumped for joy.

  Thursday, 19 March:

  Solo period today and turned the plane upside down as usual to wear off my sleepiness.

  F/O H…. was given a farewell dinner tonight as he has been promoted and posted to Richmond. We made whoopee in a big way with a bang. Ruined a dinner shirt completely, but won an obstacle race over the piled up furniture with no little applause. Needed a shower before going to bed – Hells Bells!

  Formation flying had a fascination of its own. To fly close alongside another aircraft was always an exciting business. The manipulation of controls, throttle, rudder and control column required the finest judgement and in the early stages at least, the impression of nearness could be almost terrifying. To fly in formation the leading aeroplane flew at a reduced throttle setting and had to give plenty of warning of his intentions to turn, climb or dive either by hand signals or by radio telephone. The pilot of the following aeroplane concentrated on keeping in the same relative altitude regardless of what happened to the horizon. This required considerable faith in the leader and mutual confidence in the ability to act as a team.

  Monday 6 April:

  Started formation flying. Bloody queer – old planes bob up and down like lunatics. Damned hard at first. Got 2 good chaps with me, Jackson and Gilbert. Good pilots – not afraid to come in nice and close – but it would be funny for their propeller to chew the behind off my tail, I know.

  Tons of mucking about after break up. Flat turns and dives at one another – be a smash one day.

  Aerial attacks and air-to-ground gunnery were similarly exacting. The pilot had to concentrate on maintaining a steady aim through his sights whilst closing rapidly on his target. He had to judge the exact instant to break away or he would be in real danger of flying into his target. If this was a ground target, that was the end of it. Many a pilot was killed in just this way. The secret of success lay in a steady hand, holding fire until close and then flying down as near to the target as possible without actually crashing into it – all requiring split-second timing.

  Low-flying practice was exhilarating and dangerous. This came into the category of the greatest killer of pilots. Normal flight above 500 feet gave almost no impression of speed on the senses. The ground appeared to move past very slowly and the higher one flew, the less the apparent movement. On the other hand, coming down low, the impression of speed suddenly increased until, when a few feet above the ground, objects loomed up and flashed past at an alarming rate. Any mistake at such a height could be spectacular and very likely fatal.

  Wednesday 15 April, after the Easter break:

  Hell of a day – Flew like a barn door but did some unauthorised low flying – hot stuff – should let us do it anytime we like especially after holidays. Met Gilbert at 2,000 and engaged in a restricted encounter – would have been shot to pieces if he had a gun on his plane. Escaped several times by rudder in steep turns but resulting in a sickening side slip. Gilbert – Good – Egg.

  Next day there was a tragedy. Thursday 16 April:

  A fearful day – Blowy and gusty.

  Chaplin tore his wings off and tried to jump but his parachute tangled and he rode her in from 2,000 feet. Bloody awful – First death – boys are taking it pretty badly.

  The officers put on a show in the mess tonight but even though it has taken the sting out of things – the thought of Chaplin’s death still hangs around.

  Vale – Cadet.

  It was Pat’s turn to have a mishap on Tuesday 21 April:

  Positively an unlucky day. Chased Gilbert out to sea where I left him doing aerobatics. His engine cut out and he squeezed home to land by about 20 yards. Meanwhile I careered down to the deck and turned up on my nose in A7-40. I have requested permission to obtain damaged propeller.

  Gilbert and I seem to be Siamese twins – either we are in or out of trouble at the same time – good effort of Gilbert’s.

  Monday, 27 April:

  We have a cove called Eaton here, a really blinking mad snake – turned up for flying with a distorted bundle of blue wool that proved to be a helmet his lady love had knitted for him – Good God – he looks like Frankenstein. He has been reading how the German ace Boelcke wore a knitted helmet I suppose – but perhaps he doesn’t know Boelcke was shot down while wearing it.4

  The cadets were well aware of the exploits of Australian fliers in the First World War and some were instructors at Point Cook. After a guest night dinner, several legendry figures like ‘Kanga’ de la Rue and Adrian ‘King’ Cole would visit the cadets’ ante room where, with a little prompting, they could be ‘persuaded’ to tell some first-hand accounts of combat over the enemy lines. ‘Stories would flow of Spads and Sopwith Camels, Fokkers, and Albatros scouts hurtling about in monumental dogfights with their Vickers, Spandaus and Lewis guns blazing, spitting out sudden death. They could all see the bullet holes punching their way across the black crosses and into the sides of some doomed Fokker.’5 There was much to be learned by listening.

  When there was weekend leave, Geoff Hartnell (‘stout fellah’) often took Pat to his home at East Malvern in Melbourne. ‘Makes me feel like I really know some decent people after all. P.S., Hartnell’s family is all kindness.’

  Despite all the pressure, the first half of the year passed very quickly and then for the young men in Flying Course No. 20 there was two wonderful weeks of leave. However, something else happened at this time which was of particular interest to them. Cadets from the senior course finishing at the end of June had the opportunity to apply for short service commissions in the Royal Air Force in England. Five of them did so, one of them being Hughie Edwards from Fremantle. They departed for England in July. Here for Pat and the others, there was a tangible chance of overseas travel and adventure, and the opportunity to fly the latest and best aircraft in the world.

  After his middle-of-the-year leave, Pat began his diary again on 13 July. Flying in the second term was a matter of the senior cadets applying their knowledge of flying and the theory of flight to the actions required in war. They began by flying Westland Wapitis, biplanes with a similar performance to the Bristol Fighters of the First World War.

  Each instructor was allocated four pupils. To start with, there was a great deal of cloud flying and close formation flying practice. To oblige the pupil to trust his instruments, there was flying ‘under the hood’. A canvas hood was pulled over the pupil’s cockpit so that he could not see out. High-altitude flying exercises usually involve
d two hours of extreme cold and misery. Struggling up to 20,000 feet in a winter sky over Victoria in an open cockpit with no heat and a 100 mph draught whistling around subjected the occupants to sub-arctic conditions. The temperature in the atmosphere dropped by three degrees Fahrenheit for every thousand feet of altitude. The aircraft had to climb fully loaded as if for wartime operations and clawing up the last few thousand feet was extremely slow and painful – a character-building experience! Much more to their liking was the air-to-ground gunnery and dive-bombing practice. The Wapitis gathered speed very rapidly in the dive and cadets found it ‘quite impressive’, with the wires in the rigging howling and vibrating as they hurtled down. The more nervous cadets tended to pull out too high and the reckless ones to go down too low.

  A squadron of Bristol Bulldogs was located at Laverton, five miles to the north. Bulldogs were nimble little biplane fighters of the early 1930s and it was good sport for the Wapitis to engage them in mock dogfights. Mostly a pair of ‘Dogs’ would launch surprise attacks from above out of the clear blue sky, if possible from out of the sun. The idea was to evade and counter-attack. The pupil hung on, watching and learning as the instructor would weave, dive, roll and pull around in violent climbing turns, striving to keep one or another of the ‘Dogs’ in his gunsight. Good sport indeed! The time would eventually arrive for the pupil to take over.

  The antics of another flying instructor in particular made him really stand out. He was regarded by most of the people at Point Cook as easily being the best pilot in the RAAF. This was a flying officer by the name of Sam Balmer. He was a relatively uncommunicative man with a permanently sour expression on his face and he tended to instruct in monosyllables, but when he did talk you listened. His flying ability was unsurpassed and it was he who absolutely relished baiting the Laverton Bulldogs and engaging them in pitched battles. They never succeeded in catching him by surprise. Sam was reputed to own a large, sporty Vauxhall car in which he made record-breaking runs such as Darwin to Adelaide, Perth to Adelaide and possibly Perth to Melbourne at a time when the highways were dirt tracks. Of him, Gordon Olive wrote: