With the kind permission of the author, One Man’s Addiction to Flying will be published online each and every day except on Remembrance Day when a special tribute to Shorty Dawson will be featured.
After the online publication is completed, a PDF version will be available for download.
One Man’s Addiction to Flying – Introduction is here.
When war was declared in September and we were called up, we expected to be posted to operational squadrons. We were, like most young men, desperate to have a go at the Germans before the war finished! To my dismay I was informed that my standard of flying and the number of hours that I had flown made me ideal material for training as a flying Instructor, of which there was a desperate need for training the vast intake of trainee pilots. (With hindsight, this action by the Air Ministry probably saved my life. Had I gone straight into the Battle of Britain I doubt I would have survived).
Since I had no choice anyway I duly reported to Hamble, No.3 Flying Training School and received a VERY rude shock. My own opinion of my flying ability was quite high. The opinion of my instructor, a regular RAF Flight Lieutenant with a sour outlook on life and bad breath, was quite different. He spent the first five days teaching me to fly PROPERLY but also to synchronise my instructor’s “patter” with what I was actually doing with the aircraft. We trainees practiced in pairs and our efforts were pretty hilarious. My instructor was, of course, quite right and it did me a power of good. But what a horrid three weeks that was. I passed out with good marks eventually.
With blessed relief I was then posted to No. 22 Elementary Flying Training School at Cambridge as a Flying Instructor. Apart from the actual job, which was a really hard grind, flying for five hours a day in aircraft with open cockpits in all weathers, day and night, I quite enjoyed myself and met many friends – one of whom I married!
I tried to do my best for my pupils, although I was still very mutinous about not being on operational work and tried my hardest to get a posting. The travelling examiner from Central Flying School gave me an “above average” rating as an instructor, so I must have learnt something at Hamble. I am convinced that this period of my career, frustrating though it was, contributed in a major way to my survival in the later stages of the war. Such concentrated and precise flying had made the handling of an aircraft almost second nature and I had no trouble in dealing with the various aircraft I later flew – under any circumstances – and there were indeed some very odd ones!
At last in December 1941, some 1687 flying hours later, I was released for operational flying. I did a short course on converting to twin-engine aircraft. I was then selected for training for night -fighters and went to No. 54 Operational Training Unit, where we flew Blenheims and Beaufighters and I crewed up with an observer, Pilot Officer (Pluto) Carcasson. He had decided that I might be safe to fly with and with him acting as Observer/ Radar Operator we completed our period of training on operational aircraft and under operational conditions.
I must have pleased somebody because at the end of the course, I was lucky enough to be posted to No. 157 Night Fighter Squadron operating from Castle Camps airfield near Cambridge. This was the first squadron to be equipped with the new Mosquito aircraft and everyone was green with envy. I fell in love with the Mosquito immediately and felt very much at home with it. Strangely enough, I did not fly any other type of aircraft operationally throughout the war. The role of the squadron was to intercept enemy bombers at night, using a rather elementary airborne radar system. We were in theory, guided towards our targets by a ground radar station operating from Trimingham on the Norfolk coast. They also were learning to operate new equipment and the results, at times, were quite farcical. We made a point of going over to see the controllers in off-duty moments to buy them a beer and apologies for the rather bad language over the R/T which mutual errors had brought forth.
We stooged around the night skies getting occasional blips on our radar, but signally failing to make satisfactory contacts leading to an attack. I found it all rather frustrating.
In September I heard on the grape vine that a new intruder Squadron was forming and that volunteers were being called for. From defence to attack was right up my street. I flew over to see the C.O. and got the job of Flight Commander of “B” Flight, No. 23 Squadron, with the rank of Squadron Leader. We were based at Bradwell Bay in Essex and were equipped with the Mosquito Mark VI aircraft.
Incidentally, on checking the Commanding Officer’s assessment in my log book on leaving 157 Squadron I was most delighted to read “as a night- fighter pilot – exceptional”. A very rare assessment and particularly gratifying to me since it came from Group Captain Gordon Slade, himself an extremely capable regular R. A. F. pilot, who later became a very famous test pilot.
This is where my war really started. I crewed up with Bill Gregory as my navigator (we did not carry radar). Greg was still with me four years later and seventy-two operational sorties later. We were, in fact, the only crew who survived from when the Squadron was formed.
Our job was to attack enemy airfields in France and Belgium and to create as much chaos and confusion as possible. Each crew was allocated an airfield known by Intelligence to be active and to cover it for a defined period. Knowledge of an intruder in the circuit quite definitely caused chaos of varying proportions. Runway lights were turned on and off, aircraft flew around with or without lights and the airfield ack/ack guns fired at everyone indiscriminately. After the war, examination of German records confirmed the damage done.
There was another ambition achieved. When I was instructing at Cambridge in 1941, we were carrying out night landings and take-offs at a satellite airfield nearby. There were five or six of us going around the circuit in our little unarmed Tiger Moths when a German aircraft appeared in the circuit, and started to take pot shots at our aircraft, all going gaily round with their navigation lights on. We had no radio in those days and not everyone reacted very quickly. I told my pupil to switch off our lights (the switches were in his cockpit) and he unfortunately pressed the wrong switch which ignited a magnesium flare, carried under the wing for use in case of an emergency landing away from the airfield. There was no means of dowsing it. The sight of this enormous light meandering around the sky probably frightened the German pilot as much as ourselves because, after dropping a stick of bombs along the runway he took off for home. We were, in any case, flying so slowly that he stood little chance of hitting anyone. I was very frightened and very cross and I remember saying to myself “Right, you…One day I will get my own back”. And here I was doing just that.
[One of the other stories Dad told me about his experiences at Cambridge was that around the time of the Battle of Britain there was a distinct possibility the German army might invade Britain. In preparation for such an invasion, the Training Squadron was being schooled to fly low over the beaches and drop hand held bombs from the rear cockpit! Low flying an unarmed bi-plane over invasion beaches at around 100 MPH did not inspire much confidence and it gives some idea of the dire state of the nation’s defences at that time. A well placed revolver shot could have bought them down! The only pleasure the pilots gained was that they were allowed to practice low flying and enjoyed ‘beating up’ the countryside and appearing over hedges, houses and haystacks at very low altitude frightening the poor locals below. Fortunately, as we now know the invasion was never to eventuate, but no doubt there were some seriously concerned young pilots not relishing a return to early WWI bombing practices over the trenches – much to the great relief of all.]
After the stint in covering an airfield, we were allowed to attack any target on the way home. Basically, if it moves, shoot it. Steam trains were the most spectacular targets. Our four cannons and four machine guns could perforate the boiler and produce a really good display. During the moon period’s motor transport also provided splendid targets. We were allowed to plan our own routes in and out and it was most satisfying. Just as we were really settling down to business, the ‘powers-that-be’ decided that a squadron of the new Mosquito aircraft would be a good thing in the Middle East. So, in a chaotic four-week period we were issued with twenty-four new aircraft, all of which had to be equipped for Middle East operations, tested for fuel consumption, firing tests etc. We flew down to Portreath just before Christmas 1942. Bad weather held us up for two days and then we took off in darkness for the 1300 mile sea crossing to Gibraltar, keeping well out from the Brest Peninsular on account that the Germans had knocked down three American planes the previous day and we were not in a fighting mode. The distance was near our maximum range and some concern was felt (especially among the aircrews). Eventually everyone arrived, two aircraft having to cut the corner over forbidden Spain and Portugal to conserve the last of their petrol. One aircraft crashed on the very small runway at Gibraltar.
Christmas was spent mostly happily in hospitable Gibraltar. On 28 December we flew on to Algiers where we had the unusual task of re-fuelling our aircraft from jerry cans of petrol. Very exhausting. We took off again in darkness, crossing the enemy-held coast South of Tunis and spent some time searching for Malta which seemed to be a very small island in a very large dark sea. Our ground crews and other non-flying personnel had travelled out on an aircraft carrier. Stories of the happenings on their journey became less and less plausible and more and more hilarious with repeated tellings. Anyway, we soon settled down and I was billeted with the other officers in a commandeered hotel on the sea front at Sliema.
I flew my first sortie from Luqa airfield on 30 December. This was over Sicily and I was immediately impressed by the difficulties of covering airfields and attacking transport in such mountainous country. My fears were later justified by the heavy losses which the Squadron suffered, the largest cause being flying into hills or trying to follow a train into a tunnel. Life on Malta was Fairly Spartan. Although the siege was virtually broken by the time we arrived, food and petrol were very scarce. To save petrol we were towed to the end of the runway by tractor. Unfortunately, also, the Air Sea Rescue launch was restricted to a radius of forty miles from the island. If one ditched forty-five miles out it was a long swim home.
Operationally one could have wished for no finer situation. We were within range of Sicily, Italy as far North as Naples and the North African coast from Misurata to Tunis. The main targets were road and rail traffic, shipping, and the air traffic between Sicily and Tunis. The tempo was brisk and the number of sorties flown by the Squadron during this period was higher than at any other time of the war. When Rommel’s troops were retreating along the desert coast my log book records several occasions during the moon periods when I flew two sorties each night with a pause for re-fuelling, re-arming and a cup of tea. The sea crossing was exactly two-hundred miles each way. The targets were quite irresistible – long convoys of soft-bellied transports silhouetted on the black tarmac road against the white sand with the desert moon making it almost as bright as day. My most satisfactory bonfire was from two enormous petrol tankers. My claim was confirmed by two other crews who had seen the flames from forty miles away and had come to investigate. As the German troops became more concentrated towards Tripoli the flak got very intense and our losses were heavy.Tripoli fell on 24 January. Group Captain Riley, who was Senior Air Staff Officer on Malta wanted to have a look so I took him along as a passenger. We landed with some trepidation and I hoped he knew what he was doing. He did and all was well. We drove into the town in a borrowed jeep. It all looked rather a mess.In February I happened to be in Headquarters when the Captain of a merchantman which had just docked rang up to invite a few officers to dinner. Since it was nearly my birthday I grabbed the chance. On board the S.S. Phemius in Grand Harbour we had white bread, sugar, butter and beef, all unknown luxuries since we had landed. The skipper was most impressed by the amount we consumed. In March I was commandeered by the “boss-man” Air Vice Marshall Sir Keith Park, then A.O.C. Malta, who wished to attend some high level conferences (he also wanted to show off one of his Mosquitoes). I flew him to Constantine and since I was acting unofficial A.D.C., I had an interesting dinner with General Spaatz and General Norstad. Next day I flew the A.V.M. to Algiers and had another interesting meal with Air Marshall Tedder and Air Vice Marshall Wigglesworth. I was in good odour because I got him there in impossible weather, whereas another aircraft flew into the Atlas Mountains and killed a lot of top brass.
In April I was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) and on the 24th I completed my extended tour of fifty operational intruder sorties and was grounded.
The citation for the DFC (which I did not want to include in this narrative, but was pressured by my wife) appeared in the “The Times of Malta” on 10 April as follows:
Squadron Leader Russell is the Flight Commander of a Mosquito Squadron. He has completed 195 hours of operational flying, 120 of them from Malta. He has made more than 40 intruder sorties. When based in England, S/Ldr. Russell intruded over France and Belgium and attacked and destroyed seven trains. Since his arrival in Malta he has intruded over Africa, Sicily and Italy. In attacks against trains and ships he has shown an unrelenting offensive spirit and destroyed much road transport, often in the face of intense anti-aircraft fire. In January he destroyed a Junkers 88 in a night combat. One night in March he set fire to a supply ship with cannon fire and then destroyed an ‘E’ boat. Two days later he attacked a destroyer, causing an explosion. Squadron Leader Russell has proved to be an exceptional Flight Commander and has set the highest standard of keenness and eagerness for action. His personal example in outstanding enthusiasm has materially contributed to the fine record of his Flight.”
I had a pleasant note from Air Vice Marshall Sir Keith Park, whom I had chauffeured to North Africa saying “Heartiest congratulations on your award of the Distinguished Flying Cross. Grand work. Keep it up”.
There had been some interesting moments. After we had shot down the JU 88 (he still had his lights on after taking off from Tunis airfield!) we lost an engine. It was a very hot night and we were flying in shorts. Whilst a Mosquito will fly happily on one engine, extra power is called for on the good engine and it runs hotter than normal. If the coolant boils the engine ceases to function. We flew the two-hundred miles back to Malta with our eyes glued to the temperature gauge willing it to stay below boiling. It did – just. We also lost an engine after rather stupidly having a go at a destroyer off the coast of Sicily. I told Greg to feather the engine but, in all the excitement, he pressed the wrong button and feather the good engine. There was a sudden dramatic silence with the sea rapidly approaching. Remedial action was taken a bit smartly and we landed happily on our good engine.
[ I remember Dad retelling this story. He said that he had got a bit carried away taking on a heavily armed destroyer who was very cross at being shot at. In a strafing run over the ship with all the German anti-aircraft guns trying to knock him out of the sky his 20 mm cannon shells must have hit a depth charge or a ready ammunition locker. He said there was a terrific explosion and all the guns on the aft of the ship ceased firing. However the Mosquito was hit and lost an engine and so they had another two-hundred mile flight home nervously watching the temperature gauge-again!
[Before we leave the Malta episode there are a couple of other stories I recall. The Allies had captured a huge amount of Italian armaments, including rifles and ammunition, some of which made its way to Malta. On some nights when they were not flying, some of the pilots would grab a rifle and some bullets and sit on the edge of the cliff tops. Seagulls would zoom up these cliffs on the updrafts and would present like clay pigeons. The pilots would spend hours potting away at these fast moving targets but I don’t ever recall hearing of any casualties on either side.
One of the pilots had somehow got hold of an Alsatian dog and he and Dad were out walking one day with the dog when it returned with something large in its mouth. It turned out to be part of a person’s arm complete with clothing, which was rather a gristly find. There was so much bomb damage that not everything was buried neatly. Funny what you remember.]
[In July 2012 my wife and I visited Malta. Sons like to see where their fathers fought and I was no exception. We landed at Luqa, which is the main airport for the island and also visited a satellite airfield nearby. Most of this second airfield has now been converted to a football stadium, but there were still a number of Nissan huts and signs of RAF buildings in the area. There was also a museum in the vicinity, with many interesting items including a model of a Mosquito and a complete 20mm cannon of the type installed in the aircraft. The staff on duty in the museum were most interested that my Father had been a pilot here in WWII and showed us badges and Crests of all the various squadrons that had been based here during the war. Malta has so much history and we would love to visit again and can thoroughly recommend it as a destination. Sliema, where the wartime pilots were billeted, is now a very modern, highly commercialised and crowded holiday spot, but we particularly enjoyed the old town of Valletta and the magnificent harbour.]
RAF 23 Squadron 