Spit stuff

[Seeker]

A guy I know in another newgroup corresponds with some Spit drivers; and posted this recently. Thought it might be of interest:

I got that book only recently too. Someone else interested in 21s had mentioned
it to me.  It's got a lot of photos I wish I had.  Ray Nash supplied many.  When
I was really digging into the Spit XII I was corresponding with H.D. Johnson who
was also in 91. He's in the photo of Brunhilde a Spit XIV from the summer of 44
on page 99.  He talked to Nash for me, but at that point he wasn;t sharing other
then the photos of EN625 that I have that are included in the book on pages 76,
77, 81.  It appears he got more open with his stuff since

It's fairly accurate although some of the detail on the XII are not, at least
from my research.  I got the address of Peter Hall from the Osprey folks and
plan to write him.  A couple of examples would be the Brunhilde photo.  That's
not RB188, its RM687.  Johnson loaned me the original photo and when looking
close you could see the serial number penciled on the nose cone.  S/L Johnson
remembered, when I pointed it out to him that it was common to do this so not to
mix things up.

The other is the ID on page 90 of the crashed Spit XII as MB832.  That first
appeared in Alfred Price's "Spitfire at War".  Mr. Price gave me the address of
Jim Oughton who had the original photos and he loaned them to me to make
copies.  After lots of digging, it turned out that Price was wrong in his book
that the wreck was rebuilt and flown.  And Hall is wrong in his book in that it
is not MB832 but MB839 DL-V.  The wreck occured on April 24, 1944 AFTER 91
transitioned to the XIV.  It was at AST  Hamble and it was not rebuilt.  MB839
DL-V had been French Ace Jacques Andrieux kite in which he scored 3-4 kills in
the Fall-Winter 43-44.

Just picky stuff for me I know, but what the heck

Otherwise it's a good read with lots of good photos.  He refers to Sammy Hall's
book Clouds of Fear, which I'd not heard of.  I tracked a copy down and it was
well worth it.  A totally different look at the life of a fighter pilot. Not at
all like most of the bios.  The guy talks openly about his mental breakdown
after two years of combat flying.

The other good stuff involved the info on Art Donahue.  He was from a small town
in southern Minnesota called St. Charles which is in fact on the way to where
Earl lives when I make that drive.  He'd flown in the B of B and had been
wounded.  He wrote a book called "Tally Ho-Yankee in a Spitfire" about that
experience.  He then went to Singapore to fly Hurris and wrote "Last Flight from
Sinapore" while recovering from wounds recieved.  He ended up a flight commander
in 91 and wa killed over the channel when dueling with the rear gunner of a
Ju88.

Oh, the cover painting is good but it has a five blade prop on that Spit XII.
For shame it should be 4

I've got many of the photos in the book, but need to get the rest of the Spit
XII connected stuff. I've got some he doesn't have.  I corresponded with a few
folks in 91 he didn't as well so I think we can share the wealth.  Bill Mart
being one, as he died suddenly in the midst of our correspondance back in the
mid 80s.  Chris Doll and Ray McPhie are a couple of the others.

Bruce Moffett's logbook (Flight Commander in the summer of 44 with 91) is my
prized posession, autographed by numerous Spit XII drivers. He'd also flown XIIs
with 41 Squadron prior to his move to 91 so it covers the entire active Spit XII
operations time.

Needless to say thems my boys

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and....
*******
Just for the fun of it to flesh out a couple parts in the book. These are from
my correspondance with S/L Johnson in the mid 80s.  I posted them a long time
ago, but since you've been looking at the 91 book, they might make more sense.
First is regarding the first 'tipping of the V-1" by F/O Collier.

"I do not think that any history of 91 Squadron would be complete without the
name of Flying Officer Collier, Royal Australian Air Force being enshrined in
it.  Known as "Junior", he was young, brash, noisy, completely fearless, and
having arrived late in the conflict was very anxious to make his mark on the
enemy before it all folded up.

The V-1 "Buzz Bombs" turned up shortly after Junior arrived and in keeping with
the rest of us, he saw his share, and managed to get behind some.  But at this
point Junior's shortcoming became apparent.  He couldn't shoot.  He would hose
cannon and machine gun shells at the target until he exhausted his supply and
the V-1 would either rumble on its way, or someone else around at the time would
slip in behind it and knock it out of the sky.  The latter was the supreme
indignity for Junior.  This state of affairs went on for some time, and at our
gatherings in the bar in the evenings, the usually ebullient Junior was
noticeably becoming more and more depressed about his lack of success.

One evening, when Junior in keeping with the rest of us had taken aboard a
fairly healthy quantity of alcohol, he remarked if he couldn't shoot them down,
what was to stop him coming alongside and getting his wingtip under the wingtip
of the "Buzz Bomb", giving the control column a smart pull and then tip the bomb
onto its back and out of control?

Simple stuff-It was agreed it was a good idea when drunk, but when sober it
might not be so inviting.

Junior was sober the next day, and so were we, and had placed the idea firmly in
the back of our minds.  Apart from the amount of explosive in the thing, that
might go up when the aircraft was only feet away, there was the damage that
could be caused to the aircraft's wing or aileron, bringing about a nasty
corkscrew towards the ground.  Anyway we generally could manage with the guns
that were provided.

Junior however, brooded on.

Shortly after this, Junior was once more in the close vicinity of a V-1.  He'd
used up his ammo as usual, and there was another member of the Squadron
alongside waiting to do his stuff, when Junior reached this situation.   Not
this time.  The lad closed up beside the bomb, steadied the aircraft, edged the
wing under its wing, and gave it an upward tap.  The bomb started to roll until
the directional gyro in it asserted itself and brought it back to an even keel.
As it had failed to explode, Junior's confidence increased and he repeated the
treatment, giving it a harder crack this time.  Over it went some 45 degrees,
but again the gyro did its stuff.  Yet a third time did our boy close, and he
gave it an almighty heave, which took it near to 90 degrees from the horizontal,
and this did the trick.  Over it went out of control to explode in a field.

One to Junior and what a way to get it.

The aircraft needed a mainplane change as the wing tip was in a pretty mashed up
state.  The "Brass" intimated that it was nice to have such a young "press on"
chap in the Command, but would he please persevere with his guns, and not his
wings in the future.

Junior was much discussed among the aircrew in the area, and having got his
problem sort of solved, became his old self again.

Junior was killed in a dogfight over the Ruhr later in the year, and I've often
wondered if his shooting let him down yet again.  Sometime after this, there
were two more incidents of a bomb being disposed of in this way by rival
squadrons. One was taken up by a London Tabloid, with a blazing headline about
the pilot who "Spooned the Bomb", intimating that this daring chap was the
first.

Not so----a copycat only---It was Junior's brain and Junior's courage that
pioneered this particular method, and if anyone tells you different, refuse to
believe them."

[Seeker]

*****
And....
******


Next is regarding Jean Maridor, the French pilot who has a prominant place in
the book.

"Jean Maridor-A Frenchman with a mercurial temperament to match.  An unrelenting
practical joker.  One always needed to know where Maridor was, if you had any
sense.

Can you imagine the Crew room at first light.  Badly "Hung-over" aircrew dozing
in deep armchairs in a ring about a roaring circular solid fuel stove.  Maridor
creeps in, quietly opens the top of the stove, and drops a "Very Cartridge" into
it.  A muffled thud as it explodes and an ensuing unearthly red or green glare
issues forth-utter chaos.  Maridor hooting and capering almost helpless with
laughter, safely outside looking through the windows.

We quickly tumbled to his gambit and blocked any future moves.  The frustration
drove him on one occasion to climb on to the roof and FIRE the cartridge from
its pistol, down the narrow pipe that was the chimney.  When it came to the bend
at the bottom it burned clean through it.  Once again the unearthly glow and
even more chaos.

A Koffman starter cartridge was like and overlarge shotgun cartridge. It was not
filled with buckshot however, but a highly combustible gelatinous substance.
Maridor found that a small hole make at the opposite end to the percussion cap,
and a match with the live head pressed into the hole, and the wooden stick lit,
produced a very satisfactory result when it burned down to the match head.
Inserted into the crew room with the stick was blazing, with ignition it flew
about like a demented low level rocket.  Generally speaking it was far safer
being airborne irrespective of what the operation was.

He was deadly in the air and one always knew when Maridor was on to something.
As he went in to the attack, he would whistle the first few bars of the
Marsellaise over the R/T.  It sounded particularly appropriate.

He bounced a section of four Spitfires on day, mistaking them for 109s and shot
one down.  When he realized his error he just flew straight and level while the
remainder of the section came in and blasted him, until they in turn realized he
was a Spit.  He came back with his aircraft like a "Colander" and some minor
injuries but one had the impression he felt the books had been balanced.

He was killed behind a V-1.  He had disabled it and it was going down towards
the center of a town in Kent.  He must have appreciated the carnage that would
ensue if it indeed did hit, so he closed in firing continuously until it blew
up.  He was so close when it went that it took him with it. So came the end for
a gallant ally.

As a footnote, it was Maridor that offered to take me to the dispersal from the
mess on my first day with 91 Squadron.  We climbed into the care outside the
mess, which was an exceedingly large country house with an exceedingly spacious
and imposing gravel drive fronting it.  The clutch was engaged, we shot forward
at a face flattening speed, and it took him all of thirty yards to turn the car
upside down.  Both of us were inextricably intertwined lying in the roof, which
in turn was being supported by the ground.  We remained like this until the
engine started to burn, and I found I could get out after all.  Maridor's hand
was trapped, but help soon arrived and all was well.

Needless to say it wasn't Maridor's car.  He'd borrowed it from a friend.  What
a man, and a characteristic introduction."

Last is what 91 Squadron was doing on Bastille Day 1943

"Bastille Day, July 14, 1943

Your countrymen put up a huge formation of B17's on Bastille Day to bomb a
target in France, which undoubtedly was also designed to show the flag, and lift
the morale of the French.  My memory 'Flickers'-a ball bearing factory, and
perhaps Le Mans.  At any rate it was a fairly massive attack for those times.
We were briefed for "Withdrawal Cover" in the Le Havre-Caen area, which entailed
taking up position there to await the bomber force on its return, and give any
assistance that may be required.

We patrolled about for some time in company with a number of other Fighter
Squadrons and eventually the bombers came into sight.  Three boxes in close
formation, each box covering the sky to something like 2000 feet in each plane.
When we had first sight, one got the impression of an aerial tank, massive,
imponderable, unstoppable, as they slowly advanced across the wide blue towards
the coast and home.

As they came closer, some small dots could be seen diving and climbing around
the flanks.  Enemy fighters trying to make an impression on this formidable
mass.

Ray (Squadron Leader Ray Harries 91 Squadron CO) was leading of course and
itching to get to grips, but the controller would have none of it, and insisted
we maintain our position.

As the formation came closer, the enemy fighters seemed to depart.  I suppose
they had seen us as we had seen them.  We were still being vectored inland just
behind Le Havre, with Ray frequently calling for permission to go in deeper,
only to be denied.  Then the "controller" came up and said "I have a big friend
who is in difficulty" He then gave us a course to steer which took us towards
the Channel and away from potential action.  Ray had a "moan" then turned the
squadron onto the heading and very shortly we saw our "Big Friend", a B17, and
indeed he was in difficulty.  I should think losing one engine in these
circumstances is more then enough, but he had lost two, and in addition was
slowly losing height, with a fairly large section of the English Channel still
to be negotiated.  I should think the occupants were feeling pretty vulnerable
at the time, and to find twelve Spitfires suddenly wheeling about no doubt gave
some degree of comfort, but there was still a deal to exercise their minds in
the immediate future.

The bomber was making a slow but noticeable decent from the 5000 feet at which
we picked it up.  It had something like one hundred miles of Channel to traverse
to the nearest point on the British mainland.  The weather was fine, and the sea
calm, but it was clear to all the onlookers that the crew were going to get
their feet wet.

We were swinging about in "pairs" around the "friendly" trying to keep out of
each other's way, but also not wanting to miss anything that might be happening
to the Fortress.  It called for some pretty nimble "air work".

Ray was keeping the ground stations informed of the progress, and the
possibility of a ditching.  Unfortunately we were unable to raise the bomber on
the R/T as we didn't have it's frequency.

Slowly we progressed across the Channel, and the big aircraft was down to about
a thousand feet, when all kinds of unnecessary goods and chattels began to be
flung out from the side exit door.  It went on for some time suggesting the crew
had scoured the fuselage for anything movable and jettisonable.  Regrettably it
didn't help much and the wavelets on the surface of the sea got steadily nearer
the belly of the "Fort".

In the fighters, the fuel situation was beginning to get a little 'dicey'.  Ray
came up on the R/T to say that he would stay with the bomber, and the rest of us
should return to base.

He had some hopes.  While we had a deal of sympathy with the situation of our
American allies, human nature being what it was, there was no way we were not
going to be there when it went in.  So we kept wheeling about the sky with one
eye on the fuel gauge and one on each other.

By this time we had crossed perhaps seventy miles of sea and were about thirty
miles south of Brighton.  The "Fort" was virtually down to sea level and we were
in great anticipation of the Final Act.

He had to go in.  We were short of fuel.  The Air Sea Rescue boat was on the
way.  It was a good day to put down.  But would he ditch it?  Would he hell.

God knows what they were doing in the cockpit to keep it airborne, but whatever
it was it stretched the drama to the absolute limit.  It was some ten miles
nearer Brighton, with the aircraft so close to the surface that the slipstream
from the two propellers was throwing up a fine spray, before the Captain finally
put it down.  So competently and smoothly, it literally floated onto the bosom
of our receptive Channel.  A Beautiful "ditch", one, which brought forth much
approving comment and whooping on the R/T.

It had hardly come to rest when a number of the crewmembers appeared on the
fuselage and wing. A couple of dinghies were rapidly inflated and in they
piled.  We of necessity hurriedly left the area for West Hampnett, leaving the
approaching Rescue boat to ring down the curtain.

The Bomber's crew turned up in the mess the next day and a good time was had by
all. "

(B17 was Memphis Blues of the 303rd BG)

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and....
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Arghhh, almost forgot.  Any excuse to post a photo.  The boys of 91 and 41 with
Ray Harries as Wing Commander, October 1943 after their 9 for nought fight of
October 20th.  Harries is in the center, Ian Matthew on the prop.  Norm
Kynaston, 91 CO is on Harries left, Bernard Ingham 41 Co on his right. The
pilots of both squadrons are mixed in together with Andrieux off to the far left
of the photo and Maridor right behind WingCo Boris, Harries dog.

OK I'm done.  Ya shoulda never got me started