- Contributed byÌý
- Billy_Drake
- People in story:Ìý
- Billy Drake
- Location of story:Ìý
- Over France
- Background to story:Ìý
- Royal Air Force
- Article ID:Ìý
- A2284102
- Contributed on:Ìý
- 10 February 2004
One of the reasons I wanted to join the Tangmere squadrons was that they had the Hawker Fury, which I'd already been trained to fly. As far as I was concerned it was the type of aeroplane that I wanted to carry on flying in my service career. Then we were switched to monoplanes. There was no training as such, so I was pleased that we were one of the last squadrons to be re-equipped with the modern monoplanes.
Before the Blitzkrieg things were rather leisurely because of the phoney war. A routine had to be continued - we were still training our new pilots, and we were still learning ourselves. We were finding out more about the geography of that particular part of France and Germany, just over the border. So we had an idea of what our programme was going to be, for example, a cross country exercise, a formation flight with one of the new pilots, or your own flight, depending on what the squadron commander or flight commander had in mind. But there was no operational necessity for anything we were doing.
No radar
The difficulty of that period was that neither the French or ourselves had an early warning system - we had no radar - so the only methods we had of sighting a possible enemy was either by the noise (the German aeroplanes had a very particular sound), or by sight. But to actually see an aeroplane with the naked eye beyond an altitude of around 15,000 feet was improbable. The main source of information was condensation trails, whether they were from enemy or friendly aeroplanes. A lot of our interceptions at that period were triggered by the sight of condensation trails, followed by instructions to investigate and report back whether they were friends or foes.
Having intercepted and verified that we were targeting the enemy, we had to work out a plan of action. We estimated a speed of approach because there was no great speed differential and you had to get in close to fire your guns effectively — you had around ten minutes to get into range. In the process of catching up with the enemy we had a lot of things to think about. We had to think of gun sights, and whether our guns were loaded and ready to be fired. And we had to be alert in case any friends of his [the enemy] might be lurking around the corner. We had very little ammunition, only about fifteen seconds' worth for eight guns, so we had to make absolutely certain that we were within range before we started to fire, otherwise all those bullets would have been wasted.
With more experience I learned to get in as close as possible to make the best use of the sophisticated gun sights and lighting system, which told us whether we were within two to three hundred feet of that particular type of aeroplane, depending on the width of their wing spans. We had to be certain that we weren't going to collide with the enemy aeroplane.
Man for man
At the beginning of the Blitzkrieg we suddenly realised what was happening — the war had really started and this was why I was in the Royal Airforce. I now had a job to do, which up until then had seemed like a game, teaching oneself and preparing for the use of the aeroplane as a lethal weapon. To begin with, we had a very short lifespan - days or weeks of intense warfare where we were scrambled up to three or four times a day without any form of guidance. All we were doing was looking for the enemy to attack. In the meantime, they were looking for us to attack. So it was a very hectic period, which didn't give us a great amount of time to delve into what was happening. We were unprepared for the actual killing and being killed. We were quite able to fly the aeroplane and fire the guns, but that was about all. The Germans were a step ahead of us as they had sent a specialised unit called the [Legion] 'Condor' group to Spain during the Spanish Civil War [1936-39], where they learnt to fight the Russian type aeroplane.
I felt that Germany was a war-like nation and had been for years. The Germans were geared up for this type of modern warfare. The hierarchy of the German airforce was based on the Prussian army, with its built-in disciplines and tactical appreciations. On the other hand, we thought we were the 'bees' knees' — there was nobody as good as us. We were confident and I we felt we were as good as the Germans, man for man.
Three Dorniers
On 12 May I took off with Prosser Hanks and two others, but not in my own aeroplane. At about 18,000 feet I realised that I wasn't getting any oxygen so I called Prosser and said, 'I've got no oxygen - instructions please.' His instructions were, 'Piss off and go home,' which I proceeded to do.
I happened to look around and saw three [German] Dorniers. I was in a good position to attack them, but I broke all the rules by not having a good look around before taking on another target and was, therefore, caught napping. Anyway, I positioned myself behind one at a reasonably close range, fired at him and I was quite happy that I had done enough damage - any more would have been a waste of bullets. I slid on to attack number one, the leader, when I in turn was attacked by a German. He must have been a b good shot because I thought he had blown my leg off. I felt a thump in my back and some bullets actually hit the armour plating behind me. A bullet must have hit me in the back, as well. Some bits and pieces of shrapnel from another bullet or cannon hit my leg, which was more painful than the back but less harmful. The aeroplane was in flames, and there were one or two other definite indications that I was no longer operational.
I knew I had to get out, so I did all the necessaries - releasing the Sutton harness (a safety harness), oxygen and RT leads, which I just had to pull, and I was ready to jump with my parachute. Then I realised I'd left the hood shut, which in retrospect probably saved my life because the flames would have come into the cockpit, and, as I was covered in petrol, I might well have gone up in flames myself. In the end I was able to turn the aeroplane upside down, release the hood and get out with the flames going in the right direction - not into the cockpit. I counted to ten, b* quickly, before pulling the ripcord. I was then at about 8,000 feet. I think the 110 [Dornier] was firing at me, but he didn't hit me.
In a French field
I wafted gently towards a French field and landed with a thump, then realised that the battle was still on as a bunch of French farmers, with scythes, pitchforks and any other lethal instrument, came straight at me. They certainly did not look friendly and I, who was in white overalls and very blonde, could have been mistaken for a German. But before they came into range I was able to demonstrate that I had RAF wings (I realised I was quite badly hurt then, because doing so made the wound in my back ache). As soon as they saw that I was an 'Anglaise' they couldn't have been more helpful, and they put me into a car to take me to the local medical clearing station, where I was given the news by a soldier that the doctor was not on duty and they'd run out of anaesthetic, but they'd do their best.
All they had to alleviate pain was morphine. It was a very unpleasant experience, which I don't want to go into or ever experience again. When they'd finished and realised that my leg had only been splattered by some shrapnel I was put into another car and taken to hospital.
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