Dogfight (12 page)

The German assault would be delivered across the broadest front of the campaign thus far, incorporating the Scandinavian-based units of Stumpff to take advantage of the alleged dearth of men and machines in the north. Fighter Command's Commander-in-Chief, however, had maintained the numbers of squadrons in 13 Group and had continued to use it to circulate units that were in need of a break and refit from the rigours of battle. Consequently, 13 Group had six fighter squadrons on hand and many were manned by some of the RAF's most seasoned fighter pilots. With regards to radar, Luftwaffe planners assumed it would be less well monitored, giving greater opportunity to surprise the defenders. As bad luck would have it for the Luftwaffe, a convoy was moving north from Hull around midday and radar operators had been ordered to maintain extra vigilance in view of its significance. Added to this was the much greater distance between the German-occupied Norwegian and Danish airfields and targets in Britain. This worked to the defenders' distinct advantage. The time available between radar picking up intruders and having fighters at the right altitude to intercept was much greater than for Park's 11 Group.[26]

For Stumpff, the distances involved also hamstrung his forces. Missing from the raid would be the most potent weapon facing Fighter Command
airmen: the Me 109. The single-engine Messerschmitt simply did not have the range to make it to Britain from Scandinavia. Sixty-three He 111s from Norway were to raid the Dishforth and Linton-on-Ouse fields, with Newcastle, Sunderland, and Middlesbrough as secondary objectives. Protection was to be provided by twenty-one Me 110s fitted with bellydrop fuel tanks to allow them to complete the nearly 1000-mile mission. The Danish component was made up of fifty Ju 88s to attack the Driffield, East Yorkshire, airfield. These would fly without fighter escort, though a modicum of protection would be provided by a handful of Ju 88s fitted out as fighter-bombers.

Stumpff hoped to bamboozle the northern radar by undertaking a feint employing twenty floatplanes. This flight was designed to deceive the defenders into thinking that the German targets were heading for the Firth of Forth, well north of the bomber targets in Dishforth and Linton-on-Ouse. The enterprise was a complete fiasco as a three-degree error in the following bombers' course in fact placed them on the same course setting as the decoys that had left Norway thirty minutes earlier.

‘Thanks to this error,' noted a staff officer within Luftflotte 5, ‘the mock attack achieved the opposite of what we intended. The British fighter defence was not only alerted in good time, but made contact with the genuine attacking force.'[27] Among the defenders were a good smattering of Anzacs.

First into the air was Australian Desmond Sheen of 72 Squadron operating out of Acklington. The Heinkel crews, belatedly aware they had been flying off-course, turned south towards their targets—and right into the path of Sheen's unit. At 12.45p.m., contact was made thirty miles east of the Farne Islands. The twenty or so bombers turned out to be approximately five times the size of the anticipated force. Facing nearly 100 bombers and Me 110s, the twelve Spitfires had more than a handful to deal with. The squadron leader continued out to sea in order to come in behind the large formation, hoping to dive out of the sun on to the bombers cruising at 18,000 feet. Sure that the Spitfires should by now have made contact, the controller asked the squadron leader, known for his stutter: ‘Haven't you seen them?'

The reply, which was subsequently widely reported throughout the RAF, came through: ‘Of course I've seen the b-b-b-b-bastards. I'm trying to w-ww-work out what to do.'[28] In the end the separation of the German force decided the matter and, while some of the squadron attacked the bombers,
Sheen, as leader of B Flight, took his Spitfires into the escorting Me 110s. While some twin-engine fighters formed up into a defensive circle, Sheen latched on to a straggler. The young Australian misidentified the drop-tank on the machine as a large bomb. Many of the German pilots had already divested themselves of the dangerous tanks but it appears that at least one pilot had not. Sheen hit the ‘bomb' and the enemy aircraft disappeared in minute fragments.'[29] One of the Me 110 pilots recorded his own frightening run-in with Sheen and his colleagues:

Sheen followed his first run with another on an Me 110 and he hit the port engine, which was soon sprouting flames and smoke. With another aircraft dispatched, his action for the day was complete. Seven Me 110s had been destroyed—a third of the force. Although on returning from their ill-fated sortie the dejected German airmen went on to claim that they had shot down eleven Spitfires, none had in fact suffered this fate. While the remaining enemy fighters fled for cloud cover and home, the main body of bombers continued tenaciously towards their targets.

Having identified a much larger force, 13 Group unleashed further squadrons. First on the scene was another Acklington formation, 79 Squadron, with New Zealander Owen Tracey and Australian William Millington each at the controls of a Hurricane.[31] The former, a Dunedin store-hand, had been turned down three times for a short commission in the RAF and was finally informed that he did not meet the educational requirements for the service. Determined to achieve his dream, he undertook private tuition. The latter pilot's English parents had made the voyage to Australia when he was a young child and put down roots in South Australia at Edwardstown near Adelaide. Millington returned to England and took up a short service
commission in 1939. Both men were now pilots in a unit that had a heritage stretching back to the Great War. The fighters fell mercilessly on the Heinkels. Tracey claimed one and Millington three.

Close to 1.00p.m. the Hurricane squadrons that had been scrambled from Drem, in the north of the Group's area, and Catterick in the south, arrived on the scene. New Zealanders James Samuel Humphreys of Greymouth, formerly a clerical cadet in the Government Audit Office, Wellington, and John Mackenzie, the son of an Otago farmer, were pilot officers in 605 and 41 Squadrons respectively.[32] The airmen of 605 squadron boasted they had taken down four bombers, although the boyish Humphreys, a veteran of the fighting in France, was not one of the claimants. Mackenzie, on the other hand, did get to put in a claim. In an interview years later, Mackenzie still vividly recalled the events: ‘We had a bit of a to-do on the 15th. They came in from across the North Sea. I fired my guns but don't know what happened. It was a real mess-up and the Germans went in all directions.'[33]

In an impossible situation, many of the He 111s simply jettisoned their bombs and limped back to Norway as quickly as possible. The more southerly attack from Denmark was somewhat more successful and though they destroyed ten Armstrong Whitworth Whitley bombers at Driffield, Yorkshire, they were heavily mauled in the attempt. Seven of the fifty Ju 88s were shot down and a further three made crash landings on the Continent. In all, Luftflotte 5 lost a full fifth of its raiding force while Fighter Command had lost only one Hurricane. This was the first and last time the Luftwaffe attempted to raid Britain from Norway and Denmark in the Battle of Britain.

Meanwhile in the south, major raids were continuing against the RAF.

CHAPTER 6

The 15 August opening southern sallies caught New Zealander John Gibson with cards in hand learning the intricacies of bridge at 501 Squadron's forward coastal airfield at Hawkinge.[1] The Hurricanes were dispersed around the all-grass airstrip and the pilots clustered in battered chairs by their temporary canvas accommodation. Chess, reading and card games were distractions and time-fillers before the inevitable call-up. The first indication that something was afoot came at 10.45a.m. when thirty or so aircraft were picked up by radar and plotted heading for the English coast from Cap Gris Nez. Along with a handful of other units, 501was sent aloft to patrol the Hawkinge airfield. ‘Gibbo' was leading a section in his second sortie of the day.[2] With seven confirmed and two unconfirmed victories, plus seven damaged enemy aircraft to his name already, the former rifle-shot champion of New Plymouth Boys' High School was already an ace and leading member of his unit.

Gibson spotted twenty incoming Ju 87s and immediately pushed his Hurricane to intercept with two wing-men in his wake. The slow Stukas were no match and the New Zealander and his compatriots took out one apiece. Over the radio the squadron received a hasty recall as another formation of Ju 87s was in the process of bombing Hawkinge. But on this occasion the Stukas proved they were not without defences. Although Gibson was able to wing a Ju 87, he was badly damaged in the process. The rear gunner had fatally wounded his Hurricane over the town of Folkestone and Gibson was forced to bale out at low altitude. Unaware that the New Zealander had vacated his machine, one of his fellow card players gleefully asked Gibson via the radio: ‘Did you get one? By the way, three no trumps doubled! See you back at base.'

The late afternoon forays in the south drew in the day's biggest clutch of Anzacs. A large force including forty Ju 87s, twenty Me 110s and a massive escort of sixty Me 109s was making for Portland. To counter this, Fighter Command put up three squadrons. Around 5.00p.m. the Hurricanes of 87 and 213 Squadrons were vectored to break up the dive bombers and scatter the Me 110s, while the Spitfires of 234 had the unenviable task of taking on the numerous Me 109s. In all, only thirty-six fighters stood in the way of the 120 intruders. Of the RAF airmen at least eight—that is, a quarter—were Australians or New Zealanders.

The dapper Squadron Leader Terence Lovell-Gregg led 87 Squadron. The unit had just finished rebuilding from its fall-of-France hammering and, because of its westward location at Group 10's Filton sector airfield at Exeter, it had seen little action thus far. Like the other New Zealand Squadron Leader at Exeter, McGregor, Lovell-Gregg was an early entrant into the RAF. The Nelson College graduate was academically brilliant and only denied entry to the University of Otago's medical school due to his youth. He turned his hand to flying and became one of the youngest qualified pilots in Australasia. Though considered too scrawny for air service by the New Zealand medical examiner, he made his way to England and entered the RAF in 1931.[3] In spite of operational experience in Iraq and Syria, most of his pre-war service was as an instructor. Sporting a carefully groomed moustache and slicked-back hair, Lovell-Gregg had been keen to resume operational duties when war broke out. He was appointed commanding officer in late July 1940. The decision was a popular one and the well-liked Lovell-Gregg was simply known as ‘Shovel'.

Recognising his lack of recent operational experience, the ‘old man' of the squadron (at twenty-eight years of age) often relinquished operational command in missions to younger combat-hardened officers.[4] On this occasion his right-hand man was fellow New Zealander Flight Lieutenant Derek Ward.

After lunch, 87 Squadron pilots had taken to their motley collection of chairs under the hot August sun. In addition to ‘Shovel' and Ward, the 87 crew boasted another Kiwi, Wellingtonian Kenneth Tait. Like Ward, Tait was a veteran of France, already able to catalogue a series of death-defying adventures including having crashed on the wrong side of the Maginot Line on one occasion, and waking to the sound of artillery shrapnel ripping his tent to pieces on another. His escape from France was widely reported in newspapers and chronicled his inspired requisitioning of a Dutch aircraft
and alighting in England near naked, lacking a shirt, scarf and flying boots.[5] In the mass exodus he had reluctantly abandoned his personal effects.

The inevitable warning phone call came through and pilots who had been sunning themselves tugged on their shirts, along with the obligatory yellow Mae West. Twenty-five minutes later the operations bell harshly broke the reflective calm and sent Tait and others scampering to their aerial mounts, encouraged by one of the pilots' dogs, a barking bull terrier named Sam.[6] Not far behind was Exeter's other Hurricane unit, the McGregor-led 213 Squadron.

‘Shovel' sighted the enemy ten miles south-west of Portland. The intruders had already been engaged and the area of combat resembled a tall cylinder stretching from 12,000 to 16,000 feet within which an angry swarm of bees engaged in a life-and-death dance; at the lower altitudes the Ju 87s were formed into defensive circles with escorting Me 110s at their shoulders, and in the upper reaches prowled packs of Me 109s. It was a jaw-dropping sight for the relatively unpractised Lovell-Gregg. Nevertheless, swinging his Hurricane over into the fray he yelled the traditional ‘Tallyho' over the radio. Ward followed:

The interception had broken into individual dogfights with the RAF pilots outnumbered. Tait was almost immediately attacked as he ‘waded into a circle of 110s', but managed to turn the tables on the enemy pilot and gave him a short burst.[8]

In the breathless minutes of combat Tait did his best to protect his fellow airmen, while 87 and 213 Squadron pilots returned the favour, prying loose enemy machines from his tail. His closest call with the enemy came in the dogfight's latter stages when he climbed to 9000 feet to join a formation of eleven Hurricanes ‘only to find they were Me 109[s]'. Tait beat a hasty retreat, leaving the Messerschmitts to the Spitfires of 234.

In the battles of August, 234 Squadron was heavily stacked with Anzacs. Nicknamed the ‘The Dragons' and operating under the motto
Ignem Mortemque despuimus
(‘we spit fire and death'), the unit was based at Middle Wallop. Its cadre of airmen included the Australians Flight Lieutenant Pat Hughes and Vincent ‘Bush' Parker. The New Zealanders were Cecil Hight and Lawrence. The fight was furious and costly. The fifty enemy single-engine fighters simply overwhelmed the squadron. Of the Anzacs, only Hughes was able to take down an Me 109 and share in the destruction of another. Hardy and Parker were less successful, struggling to avoid cannon and machine-gun fire. Both pilots were hit and wounded. The mêlée took Hardy well out over the Channel. Low on fuel, his only hope was a safe landing on the wrong side of the Channel. Parker's engine was mangled by cannon fire and he was forced to bale out over France. While no combat report remains for the Southlander, Lawrence, he did survive the lopsided struggle, which is more than can be said for Hight. The car salesman from Stratford, New Zealand, was fatally struck and the Spitfire crashed in the city of Bournemouth.[9] The Dragons were fortunate not to lose more.

Parker was one of three Anzacs to be taken into enemy captivity during the Battle of Britain. While little is known about the capture and subsequent imprisonment in October of New Zealanders George Baird and Sergeant Douglas Burton, Parker's escapades were the stuff of Boys' Own stories.[10] An English immigrant from Townsville, Queensland, ‘Bush' Parker briefly resided in New Zealand, training as a magician with well-known entertainer and conjuror of the pre-war period Leslie George Cole, self-titled ‘The Great Levante'. It was here that Parker perfected the sleight of hand and the mysteries of ‘escapology' that would increasingly frustrate his German captors.[11]

At Stalag Luft I at Barth on the Baltic coast, Parker took part in numerous tunnelling efforts and assisted other airmen in escape attempts. He was particularly renowned for the compasses he manufactured from slivers of steel extracted from razor blades and rubbed against a magnet he had stolen from a camp loudspeaker. These were used in at least one successful ‘home run'.

In the first of his own three attempts, he was recaptured and thrown into ‘the bunker' for a fourteen-day stint of isolation. His second attempt was a reworking of one that had recently seen a would-be escapee shot as he
crawled across the snow-blanketed playing field camouflaged by a white sheet. The field was swept by the eyes and searchlights of two guard-towers and the wire fence was patrolled by armed guards. Parker's plan was to join in a rugby game and, when a scrum was formed over a furrow in the snow, he would lie in this and be covered with more snow by the players. Clad in ‘two pairs of trousers, two jackets, four pairs of socks and numerous layers of underclothing', the young Parker waited for an opportunity to make for the fence, cut his way through and make good his escape. ‘Those six hours were an eternity; my legs grew wet, ached and became numb; I couldn't move...'

His final attempt was a bold impersonation of one of the camp's ‘ferrets', Unteroffizer Piltz, whose main vocation was the sniffing-out of prisoner tunnels and escape plans. Clad in dirty overalls, wearing a security personnel-style cap and sporting a ‘torch' cobbled together out of painted Red Cross tins, he successfully navigated his way through two barriers of sentries. Unfortunately, Parker was met in the woods by the very person he was impersonating: Piltz.[13] The young Australian was promptly arrested and awarded fourteen more days of punishment in the cells for his audacious efforts.

Parker was transferred briefly to Stalag Luft III at Sagan, scene of two famous escapes later dramatised for the movie-going public as
The Great Escape
and
The Wooden Horse,
before entering, in May 1942, his final residence at the Second World War's most famous POW camp Oflag IV-C, popularly known as Colditz Castle.

In surviving photographs from Colditz, Parker smiles impishly—looking much younger than his twenty-two years. He joined a stellar cast
of inmates at what the Germans designated a ‘special camp'. Although sprinkled with men with family ties to Allied governments and the British Royal Family, the great majority of the inmates were hardcore recidivist escapers from other camps. Perched on a cliff overlooking the town, the sixteenth-century castle was considered escape-proof by the Germans—apparently an ideal holding pen for prisoners who needed to go cold-turkey on their escape addiction. The inmates had other ideas, and with such a concentration of incurables, Colditz saw more successful escapes by officers than any other German prison.

As an inmate, Parker made at least two unsuccessful bids for freedom and aided and abetted many others thanks to his ability to pick the ‘unpickable' locks of the castle.[14] Coat hooks, iron bed framing and coal shovels were transformed into keys of various shapes and sizes. Combining a magician's sleight of hand and his eventual collection of over 100 keys, the Australian proved a handful for the Germans. A fellow inmate recalled how Parker on one occasion handled with great aplomb a surprise search by the Germans.

Parker was able to gain access to some of the most valued areas of Colditz, including the parcels' office and the attics. The former furnished the prisoners of war with everything from maps to radio equipment, while the latter enabled them to listen undisturbed to Allied broadcasts and construct the famous but never used Colditz glider. Although a skilled, if relatively inexperienced, combat pilot, Parker was blessed with considerable nonaviation-related talents that severely tested the patience of his German captors. By the end of the war he had probably caused the enemy more headaches as a prisoner than if he had been flying.

The early evening brought with it the final day's action for the Anzacs Francis Cale, John Pain, Irving Smith and the deadly pairing of Deere and Gray. Cale's 266 Squadron was ordered to patrol over Dover and at 6.30p.m. encountered bombers and Me 109s to the south-east. The eight Spitfires were able to separate some Ju 88s from the fighters and engage the quarried prey. The exuberant Cale, educated at Guilford Grammar School, Perth, was caught by an Me 109 and shot down, baling out at low altitude.[16] His body was recovered from the River Medway the following day.

At 7.00p.m. 32 Squadron encountered Do 17s and Me 109s at 19,000 feet. The Scotland-born Queenslander Pain was jumped by six Me 109s. The fresh-faced nineteen-year-old pilot was in his first real action, flying a machine he had only become acquainted with over the previous four weeks.