Meanwhile, growing more obvious was the Third Reich’s ambition to expand and dominate Europe. In September 1937, Hitler unilaterally declared the end of the Treaty of Versailles, which he had ignored from the outset anyway. The following December, Italy too withdrew from the League of Nations. With the arrival of 1938 events moved faster. The world was shocked when on 12 March Austria’s Anschluss with Germany was achieved by German troops crossing the border in a bloodless coup d’état. There was no political opposition to the move. The following month, because of agitation by German minorities in Czechoslovakia’s Sudetenland who wanted to ‘return’ to the Fatherland, the Czech government ordered partial mobilisation.
From early in the year, Britain’s Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, sought a general appeasement throughout Europe which would ensure peace. To do this he and his partners in the League of Nations found it necessary to make concession after concession to the wishes of the expanding Third Reich. In return, Chancellor Hitler assured that his re-emerging Germany had no further territorial claims. His words were hollow. By September his army was threatening Czechoslovakia. The world was tottering on the edge of a terrible abyss.
On 15 September, Chamberlain flew to Berchtesgaden for peace negotiations with Adolf Hitler. On 22 September, he flew to Bad Godesberg for more. During a speech in Berlin on 26 September, Hitler stated that the Sudetenland was Germany’s last territorial claim in Europe. On 29 September Chamberlain flew to Munich for more peace negotiations. Also in attendance at this meeting were Italy’s Benito Mussolini and France’s Premier Edouard Daladier. Next day, the negotiated agreement weakly ceded Czechoslovakia’s Sudetenland to the expanding Third Reich for more hollow assurances that Germany had no further territorial claims.
Returning by air to Britain, Prime Minister Chamberlain held up his scrap of Munich Agreement paper in front of the media, asserted ‘peace for our time’ and the world breathed a collective sigh of relief. The immediate crisis was over, but as the piece of paper signed by the German Government was being held up, what had been going on in Spain since 1936 was totally ignored. The war in Spain was a dress rehearsal for what was to come …
While Mr Chamberlain was going back and forth that September, Pat celebrated his twenty-first birthday. There were of course congratulations from home and Pat made mention of them in a lengthy letter to his sister Constance in November.3
Dearest Con,
Don’t pass out with shock at getting a letter from your long lost young brother, as besides having several duties to perform by me, you are now laden with those of being a mother.
I suppose by now the infant is more or less grown up, and the day is not far off when she will be eating the same menu as the family.
Honestly Con, your letter was the most welcome thing in years so thanks again for it and the best wishes. More about birthday celebrations later.4
I’m quite happy, but shant be sorry to see a few familiar faces and some sunshine, so don’t despair, as I’ll be home in another couple of years.
Congratulations on the infant’s names, and from your letter I’m glad to see you regard her as more or less an ordinary kid and not one of the prodigy with which the other married members of our family were blessed.
Midge’s letter and Val’s telegram arrived on my birthday and also a cake which appeared from some other person, and from Midge’s letter I know all the gossip possible and what has happened in Kiama for all the last few months.
I don’t seem to be a very good correspondent as far as home mail goes but Con, unless something startling happens I can’t sit down and write a lot of letters on nothing but bombing and aerobatics and parties and all such nonsense as goes on every day; so there it is.
Peter has arrived and is now fairly settled, he’s down in Oxfordshire at a flying training school and he’s more or less accustomed to things now. I’ve introduced him to half a dozen people at the air force club and had him nominated for entrance, so after Christmas he’ll get to know a lot of people. He and I have had several decent parties in London but now he can’t get any more leave for a while, so he’s got to get down to work for a while. He’s going onto a fighter squadron also, and although it’s too much to expect him to come to the Fighting 64th, he’ll at least be in either one of the groups close by.5
His coming to England seems a good thing, although I fear he won’t get much flying as they seem to be overcrowded at present. I’m actually luckier that most of the chaps from home because for the last 12 months our squadron has done more flying per pilot day and night than any other fighter squadron, so I’m mighty pleased.
I have just returned from a five week’s leave, down the south of France. It was absolutely marvellous, miles of sun, sea and sleep, with a few decent parties flung in for good measure. My French is now colossal, and my appetite for French wine is superb. Had a hell of a good time tho’ and returned through Paris. Our original intention was to stay the night and drive on immediately, but a hasty telegram to the adjutant of our squadron brought forth an extra six days leave and the necessary money to enjoy it with, and so we saw Paris in no uncertain manner.
Came back to this God forsaken place and almost had to get some more leave to recover. I should think our dear mother would have been completely flabbergasted.
Flew up to Edinburgh to see the Glasgow ‘exhibits’ and all that and thought it was absolute tripe and onions so to speak, and from Glasgow we flew to Northern Ireland, and the fog came up and we had to stay there for three days. Needless to say neither of us have much recollection of what happened, but the first thing which woke me up properly was finding myself about 10 feet off the water passing over the Isle of Man. You’ll probably think that is nothing, but the Isle of Man was only 40 miles south of where we should have been, and what’s 40 miles between friends. The funny thing was the chap with me fell asleep and when we drove up in our aeroplane to Church Fenton I woke him up and he said ‘By Hell, I thought I was still in bed.’ Decent chap he is. A South African Air Force chap. We have joined the same rugby club in London now. You might tell Bob that I have developed in a rugby fanatic, and except for cracking a couple of ribs last November I would have been playing for the Air Force Fighter Squadrons. The cracking of ribs isn’t looked upon as a good thing I guess, and I don’t think they knew at home, because you know what Mum is. She’d have a fit.
King George has come to the conclusion that Paterson C isn’t such a bad type after all and although my promotion is three months late, I’m a flying officer at last.6
Promotion in the RAF isn’t nearly as quick as at home, because Hartnell has been a flying officer for more than a year. Still, such is life, and five years flying in these weather conditions is worth 25 at home. At least I think so.
Incidentally, whist on leave I learnt to water-ski, but by hell! Con, did I come some awful busters at first. The reason why the ink is so funny is because it really belongs to King G VI’s map department and is indelible. Hence the pyramids.
The world isn’t such a large place after all. [I] was given a job a couple of months ago to fly an old type single seater fighter called a ‘Bulldog’ from here to Farnborough to hand it over for experimental purposes.
It was a bit too old however, and just as I was admiring the scenery and sunshine of the Midlands near Nottingham when the engine gave a sort of despairing cough and gave up the ghost completely. Old dame luck flung her arms round my neck and I hit in a great park next a hell of a great house without even bending the aeroplane! After being invited in to the house to telephone and have a glass of sherry I got to talking to the wife and daughter of the house. And believe it or not when they saw my uniform they got curious and when I told them I was Australian, it transpired they knew everybody for miles around Cooma, like the Hains and the Harnets and such. They asked me to go and see them again anytime so some day I’ll trot along. The Bulldog was repaired and I eventually got to Farnborough.
Three other chaps and myself flew to Hend
on on Monday the 19th and leaving our aeroplanes we proceeded en masse to London to celebrate the birthday.
Today is Wednesday and we’ve just got back; and even if we do say so, it was a good party while it lasted and although we put up various black shows round the London circle, everything is OK. I’m afraid details of the whole show are somewhat obscure, but vague recollections of four rather befuddled officers commandeering a Hansom cab in Hyde Park on Tuesday morning still come back to us.
Your letter seems absolutely chock block with news and things. I’m glad to hear (without telling Pete) that Dot Lee is more or less tangled up; and your news of the Paterson family is hellish pleasing. From all accounts my name is taboo sort of in the Appian Way and although the whole thing is tremendously funny, I am damned sorry that Judith thought you were sort of shaking her up on account of me. If old Hitler doesn’t start a war I shall probably write to Judith, although I think I sent her a Christmas card which she either didn’t get or sort of forgot about.
Geoff Hartnell seems to be thriving on the RAAF; and is almost married, and Peg Colville is well on the way I gather; although I don’t know whether you’ve met them yet.
I’m still more or less unmarried and innocent, and don’t smoke as yet, although some fair female presented me with a couple of pipes many moons ago on the assurance that I should be a more serious and sober man if I indulged in the solace of Barney’s Punchbowle or some other such foul promise.
John MacGuire, a test pilot from Martlesham, who was in the Point of old Cook several years before me, has told the RAF what to do with his commission and returns home next Christmas. He’s promised to look everybody up and take a meal off the Hughes clan. He’s a hell of a good chap; and an absolute wizard pilot.7
Nobody knows what is happening in Czechoslovakia at present, Con, and although the only people who aren’t worried are the chaps in the air force and 64 Squadron particularly, because if there’s going to be a war, let’s have it now. Our new aeroplanes have started to arrive, and they are honeys. Dangerous as yet because they are probably as fast as any aircraft in the world, and naturally in a new aeroplane a lot of faults crop up, but these things do, under good conditions, more than 300, and they just roar along without any nonsense.
Anyhow there won’t be a war.
These ten pages are more than I’ve written for more than a year, Con, so I’m off. Give my best regards to Bob and to Sandra, and tell her she has a very noisy uncle who will shake her hand in a few years time …
Love to all and thanks again
Pat
There were changes for 64 Squadron as 1938 wore on. Hawker Demons coming from the production line at the Boulton Paul Company were equipped with a hydraulically operated, segmented metal shield in the aft cockpit. The shield was introduced to give the gunner a measure of protection from the slipstream. A programme was implemented to modify the earlier machines to this standard retrospectively and they were then known as Turret Demons. Then in May there was a much bigger change when the squadron relocated from Martlesham Heath to Church Fenton near York. It was here that Pat discovered a familiar face from Point Cook days – Desmond Sheen. Sheen had been allocated to a fighter unit too and he was in 72 Squadron, which was also stationed at Church Fenton.
But Des Sheen was flying real fighters – Gloster Gladiators!
72 Squadron had been reformed on 22 February 1937 at Tangmere in Sussex out of a flight from 1 Squadron. The flight commander, Flight Lieutenant E. M. ‘Teddy’ Donaldson, had actually taken the pilots of his flight to Gloster’s factory to collect the first production machines. After building the squadron up to full strength the unit moved Church Fenton, which became its home base. Here it was involved in working the Gladiator up into operational RAF service and it was the precursor of numerous Gladiator squadrons. Sheen had joined the squadron from 9 FTS at the end of June 1937. By the time of the Munich crisis, the Gloster Gladiator was the RAF’s main single-seat biplane fighter but by then it was already obsolescent, if the reports concerning the Luftwaffe’s new Me 109s and fast monoplane bombers were true.
And what of the RAF’s fast new monoplane fighters? It was said that Hurricanes and Spitfires were coming into the squadrons, but where were they? First deliveries of Hurricane Mk Is had gone to 111 Squadron late in 1937, but only ninety-three of these new eight-gun fighters were available by September 1938. The first order for Spitfires had been placed in June 1936, barely three months after the prototype flew for the first time. Finished machines began trickling through to Fighter Command from June 1938 onwards, but at the time of Munich not one squadron of Spitfires was ready. The RAF’s remaining 666 aircraft were outdated biplanes.
To have opposed Germany in September 1938 would have been suicidal. What had been made painfully clear was the fact that Britain’s armed forces, and in particular those of the RAF, were not ready. Facing Fighter Command was the Luftwaffe’s strike force of an estimated 1,200 modern bombers and rumour had it that the Hurricanes, without heating for their guns, were useless above 15,000 feet, even in summer!
After Prime Minister Chamberlain held up his scrap of paper from Munich and the world breathed its sigh of relief, the realities of the international situation actually became clearer – there was an almost inevitable drift to war. The Munich Agreement did at least have one positive effect. It stalled the inevitable. There was a breathing space in which Britain and France had precious time to plan and rearm.
British intelligence and a combined-services planning section compiled a list of potential targets that would be vital to any German war effort. The main assumption the planners made was that Germany would immediately commence operations in western Europe either with intense bombing raids on the British Isles or with a land offensive through France and Belgium. The assumption was flawed – no plans were put in place for the prospect of the Germans attacking in the opposite direction, towards Poland.
As for Fighter Command, after the September 1938 crisis Spitfire and Hurricane production (and indeed production of all types) was pressed forward so that if war should come the RAF would have defences revolving around at least 500 modern monoplane fighters. To defend Britain effectively, the Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief of Fighter Command, Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, calculated he needed fifty-three squadrons at his disposal. Given this number of squadrons he felt confident he could break Luftwaffe assaults on Britain, but with anything less … More new squadrons were sorely needed.
No Hurricanes or Spitfires came to 64 Squadron, but new ‘fighters’ did begin to replace the Demons in December. They were Bristol Blenheim Ifs – more modified bombers!
In October 1938 the Air Ministry belatedly realised that there may be a need for a long-range escort fighter. Germany already had one in the final stages of development, its new Messerschmitt Me 110, and in the United States the USAAC had issued a requirement for such a type back in 1936. Britain had nothing – but there was the Blenheim light bomber. At this time, the twin-engined Bristol Blenheim was regarded as a modern aircraft with an outstanding performance. It was capable of easily overtaking the Gloster Gladiator, the RAF’s main single-seat biplane fighter, and was, in fact, the only aircraft available that could be suitable. The Air Ministry ordered a crash conversion programme.
Browning machine guns had been designed in the USA as a 0.3-inch calibre weapon in 1916 for use in the First World War. Because of their reliability, and in the absence of any modern British machine gun, they were adopted by the Air Ministry in 1934. Production was carried out by the BSA Company after it acquired a licensing agreement in July 1935. These were the weapons for the eight-gun Hurricanes and Spitfires; they would be the guns for the Blenheim long-range fighters as well. Contracts were placed for over 1,300 packs of guns, each pack containing four .303-inch machine guns. The pack was bolted on under each Blenheim’s bomb bay which stored four belts of ammunition, all containing 500 rounds. They were capable of twenty seconds’ continuous firing. Other companies sup
plied reflector gunsights and extra armour to afford some frontal protection. The first contract was for kits to convert 200 Mk I Blenheim bombers into Mk If fighters, and these began to enter service in December 1938. Later contracts covered the similar conversion of the newer ‘long-nosed’ Blenheim Mk IVs into Mk IVf fighters.
The first Blenheim Ifs had gone to 25 Squadron. Now 64 Squadron was getting them too, but there is little to suggest that Pat was impressed! He was probably even less impressed when Squadron Leader Ron Lees, 72 Squadron’s new CO, announced that his squadron would begin trading in its Gladiators in April for brand new Spitfires.
Ronald Beresford Lees had been born at Broken Hill, New South Wales, and attended Adelaide University. On 15 January 1930, he joined the RAAF and training at Point Cook before taking up a short service commission in the RAF in 1931. His commission was extended in 1935 and in June the following year he was granted a permanent RAF commission. After promotion to the rank of squadron leader in October 1938, he had been given command of 72 Squadron two months later.
A month after that, in January 1939, 64 Squadron changed leaders too. Victor Beamish left for a course at the RAF Staff Collage at Andover and his place was taken over by Squadron Leader J. Herber-Percy. With the arrival of Blenheim Ifs, the squadron began to concentrate more and more on night flying. In daylight, as 1939 wore on towards summer, Pat was only able to watch as Ronny Lees and Des Sheen paraded their brand new Spitfires, real fighters, in front of him.
Around this time Pat acquired a dog, an Airedale pup he called ‘Pilot Officer Butch’. Butch’s rank would rise each time that Pat’s did, but the dog’s rank would always be one below Pat’s. When nobody was looking he took the pup flying in his Blenheim (it was one of those well-kept secrets that everybody knew about), and in his letters home to his mother Pat would tell her how many flying hours Butch had accumulated!
A Spitfire Pilot's Story: Pat Hughes: Battle of Britain Top Gun Page 8
