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Post by Deleted on Nov 6, 2018 18:52:50 GMT 12
Emirau 1944/45, PBJ possibly from VMB-433 holding short for a RNZAF corsair turn onto final. PBJ and RNZAF Corsair by Phil Harding, on Flickr <style></style><style></style>
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Post by saratoga on Nov 6, 2018 19:06:16 GMT 12
Nice pic, i see the PBJ has the lightened rear gun position(open to the elements) though doesn't appear to be fitted with .50cal MGs.
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Post by johnnyfalcon on Nov 6, 2018 21:29:00 GMT 12
Wow! What an exceptional shot - is it a composite?
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Post by Mustang51 on Nov 7, 2018 6:53:06 GMT 12
That's a very early PBJ
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Post by davidd on Nov 7, 2018 9:58:44 GMT 12
Perhaps the PBJ is an early model converted for use as a squadron "hack"? And I agree, that is an unusual photo, cannot remember ever seeing a good photo of NZ5433 before.
Those are mighty impressive trees to the rear too - have never been able to find out the types of trees which make up the very thick forests which practically cover most of Emirau (now known as Emira); however there were (are?) also some plantations around coastline, but God knows how much of the original forest is left today.
David D
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Post by Dave Homewood on Nov 7, 2018 10:04:10 GMT 12
Google Maps Satellite view suggests most of the island is still forested, and the airfield still looks pretty intact too. See here:
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Post by Deleted on Nov 7, 2018 11:09:55 GMT 12
This image gives a view of the vegetation covering Emirau in 1944/45 seen as the VMB PBJ climbs out toward Hamburger Bay 10 <style></style><style></style>
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Post by Deleted on Nov 8, 2018 20:33:20 GMT 12
My apologies, on reviewing my files the first photograph is from Bougainville about 1943/44 not Emirau. This fits with data suggesting that NZ5233 crashed landed on Bougainville on 15 June 44.
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Post by davidd on Nov 9, 2018 7:07:13 GMT 12
Medicus, I think it much more likely that your first photo does indeed show Emirau rather than Bougainville. The style of marking on the F4U was that used by 5 SU at Emirau, and although I cannot say that this totally excludes Bougainville as the location in photo (as somebody COULD have painted these markings on there prior to the aircraft being ferried to Emirau), I still think this unlikely. Also were USMC PBJs ever based at the Piva strips? David D
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Post by tbf25o4 on Nov 9, 2018 8:53:36 GMT 12
A quick bit of research shows the USMC PBJ squadrons deployed at Emirau were VMB413 from october 1944, VMB423 from June 1945, VMB443 from December 1944. There were no records of USMC PBJs operating from Bougainville airfields, but I guess they transitted through there from time to time
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Post by Deleted on Nov 10, 2018 15:25:00 GMT 12
Very informative replies, thank you both. Scutts [1] documents that VBM-413 and 423 were both stationed on Stirling Island (for several months) in early/mid 44. PBJ raids on Rabaul were staged via Green Island. I guess it is possible PBJ's from these squadrons transited through Piva or davidd are the markings of the F4U the compelling evidence that image is from Emirau?
1-Jerry Scutts. Marine Mitchells in World War Two. Phalanx <style></style>
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Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 3, 2018 18:12:14 GMT 12
have never been able to find out the types of trees which make up the very thick forests which practically cover most of Emirau David D This is a longshot and is probably wrong but I wonder if they were/are Niaouli trees. I just came across a wartime article about Kiwis in New Caledonia and spotted the sentence "Some of the niaouli (gum tree) surrounded rivers". It looks like Niaouli grow very tall too. The ones in these and other photos do not quite look like gum trees though so I am probably wrong.
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Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 14, 2018 21:43:33 GMT 12
Here is a superb first hand account of operating from Emirau in a PV-1 Ventura. It was published in the EVENING POST, on the 5th of November 1945.
EMIRAU PATROL
A DAY'S WORK
KEEPING "THE NIPS" QUIET
(By J. T. Wilson.)
The heat is hellish, and inside the cockpit of the Ventura the instruments are painful to touch. Emirau sun had cooked the coral to a bitter whiteness and shimmer and glare hurt the eyes. A stuttering roar as first one motor bursts into life and then the other. A quick run up, and, satisfied with the even beat and the instrument panel story, we wave away the wing-tip men and with motors throttled back we start to roll.
Even with both cockpit windows open and the propeller blast ruffling our hair, it is still hot. One feels like a dish rag incompletely wrung out —just as moist and a little hotter.
Hello! Brakes hard on as past our nose rolls a PBj with gesticulating pilot. And now we have to wait as plane after plane of a famous Marine squadron with right of way rolls towards the end of the strip. Strip jeeps with flags flying and "follow me" in large letters on the rear jockey the planes into parking positions and coral dust is whirled into the air as idling motors are opened to prevent oiling of the cylinders and opened wide as last tests are carried out.
Over the ear 'phones we hear the tower giving permission for the Marine squadron to roll, and with outside motor roaring plane after plane turns down the strip and, with propellers biting hard, recedes into the distance and soars into the air.
"24 Baker 306 to the Tower! Am I free to roll?"
"Tower to 24 Baker 306. You're free to roll!"
The next few moments are busy ones, and it is invariably with a feeling of relief that one feels the ground drop away from beneath — relief that both motors are pulling powerfully and the dangers of a strip take-off are past once more and the whole sky is yours to climb into — anyway it may as well be yours, as there is plenty of room up there. Gradually drawing away from the turbulent ground air and pushing aside the incidental small clouds, you break into a limitless horizon of blue sea, white clouds, and streaming sun.
You sense, rather than see, the navigator bending over his charts, the wireless operator tapping away at his key, and the top turret gunner settling more comfortably in his seat; a good crew, this of mine. The navigator reaches forward with the first course to steer, and we settle down at 10,000 feet on our way to New Ireland and Lamussong Plantation — our target. The Japs had built some rather substantial huts there, and we were rather curious to find out the where and whyfore. Nestled in the bomb-bay underneath we had six 500-pounders that we intended to discourage further building activities with, and, with an even break, destroy what they had already done.
WRECKS EVERYWHERE. The northern tip of New Ireland is only 35 minutes' flying time from Emirau, and it seems a matter of seconds only before white-circled coral islands appear under our nose. Then New Hanover appears to starboard, with its gigantic rubber and coconut plantations, its ugly swamps and mountainous central ridge. And, still high and dry on a coral reef, a Jap cargo boat, big even at this height, defying the ravages of sea and time. It does not seem to have changed in appearance or altered position since that flaming night 12 months ago when the Marine Air Wing caught a Jap convoy steaming out of Kavieng.
It is the same in Kavieng Harbour itself — wrecks everywhere — ships that were to carry Jap troops through Pacific conquest. The navigator leaves his charts and sits up beside me now as we have been here so often that we feel that we know our way blindfolded. Out on our port wing the Marine PBJ's are making their run over Kavieng and we can see their target, the air strip shining in the sun. Smoke and dust billow up as the bombs strike home. The Nips show their dislike of such cursory treatment by throwing everything they have up at once, and heavy black puffs of bursting shells are 1000 feet above the planes. Rotten shots, the Nips — sometimes.
We swing well to port to keep out of the way of the Yanks and parallel the eastern coast about five miles out to sea — far enough out to be out of reach of light ack-ack and high enough to make it difficult for the heavies. Kavieng is past, then Laun Bay, Katindan, Kimundan, and as Pinikindu Point slides closer I throttle back and shove the nose down to lose height. At 150 feet and at 220kts. we scream over the coastline, and head for the saddle in the central ridge. The navigator from the target map, gesticulates at points of interest as we pass and we are ready for a straight run in over the target. Great fun this low level stuff, not much risk and plenty of thrills — anyway gives the gunners plenty of practice. As I open the bomb bays, I press the bomb-release selector switches down — six of them as we are feeling generous today.
THE GUNNERS CUT LOOSE. And there before us is the beginning of the plantation with its thousands of trees in orderly rows, the white coral road cutting a clean swathe through the centre. I kick hard oh the rudder and we sweep down this road and the gunners start to cut loose, filling the plane with acrid smoke. The first hut rushes at the nose of the plane and in one, two, three seconds bombs away. The plane still shudders to the recoil of the .50's as gunners lace everything that moves — more often than not, just everything.
We keep going hard, straight ahead, then out of the target area turn out to sea and grab for ceiling. I hear the top gunner shouting over the intercom, something about being right on the nose with our bombs. Well, we better have a look as gunners are apt to get a bit excited anyway, and make a few wild statements. I pull her up slightly on one wing and sure enough, there is enough smoke and dust, although now beginning to settle somewhat, and have a closer look.
I ask the navigator for a course to steer home, and once more the plane settles down to a smooth routine. The sun is setting and the dark green sides of the mountain ridges are turning a rich purple maroon and the smoke from native cooking fires spindles from the jungle into the air. New Hanover passes underneath and 30 minutes will see us circling Emirau, and as dusk falls a weary crew will stiffly climb out into a jeep and home to a shower and New Zealand lamb and mint sauce. But of course that is silly as you know as well as I that it will be spam. Well...
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Post by errolmartyn on Dec 14, 2018 22:29:59 GMT 12
Here is a superb first hand account of operating from Emirau in a PV-1 Ventura. It was published in the EVENING POST, on the 5th of November 1945. EMIRAU PATROLA DAY'S WORKKEEPING "THE NIPS" QUIET (By J. T. Wilson.) The heat is hellish, and inside the cockpit of the Ventura the instruments are painful to touch. Emirau sun had cooked the coral to a bitter whiteness and shimmer and glare hurt the eyes. A stuttering roar as first one motor bursts into life and then the other. A quick run up, and, satisfied with the even beat and the instrument panel story, we wave away the wing-tip men and with motors throttled back we start to roll. Even with both cockpit windows open and the propeller blast ruffling our hair, it is still hot. One feels like a dish rag incompletely wrung out —just as moist and a little hotter. Hello! Brakes hard on as past our nose rolls a PBj with gesticulating pilot. And now we have to wait as plane after plane of a famous Marine squadron with right of way rolls towards the end of the strip. Strip jeeps with flags flying and "follow me" in large letters on the rear jockey the planes into parking positions and coral dust is whirled into the air as idling motors are opened to prevent oiling of the cylinders and opened wide as last tests are carried out. Over the ear 'phones we hear the tower giving permission for the Marine squadron to roll, and with outside motor roaring plane after plane turns down the strip and, with propellers biting hard, recedes into the distance and soars into the air. "24 Baker 306 to the Tower! Am I free to roll?" "Tower to 24 Baker 306. You're free to roll!" The next few moments are busy ones, and it is invariably with a feeling of relief that one feels the ground drop away from beneath — relief that both motors are pulling powerfully and the dangers of a strip take-off are past once more and the whole sky is yours to climb into — anyway it may as well be yours, as there is plenty of room up there. Gradually drawing away from the turbulent ground air and pushing aside the incidental small clouds, you break into a limitless horizon of blue sea, white clouds, and streaming sun. You sense, rather than see, the navigator bending over his charts, the wireless operator tapping away at his key, and the top turret gunner settling more comfortably in his seat; a good crew, this of mine. The navigator reaches forward with the first course to steer, and we settle down at 10,000 feet on our way to New Ireland and Lamussong Plantation — our target. The Japs had built some rather substantial huts there, and we were rather curious to find out the where and whyfore. Nestled in the bomb-bay underneath we had six 500-pounders that we intended to discourage further building activities with, and, with an even break, destroy what they had already done. WRECKS EVERYWHERE. The northern tip of New Ireland is only 35 minutes' flying time from Emirau, and it seems a matter of seconds only before white-circled coral islands appear under our nose. Then New Hanover appears to starboard, with its gigantic rubber and coconut plantations, its ugly swamps and mountainous central ridge. And, still high and dry on a coral reef, a Jap cargo boat, big even at this height, defying the ravages of sea and time. It does not seem to have changed in appearance or altered position since that flaming night 12 months ago when the Marine Air Wing caught a Jap convoy steaming out of Kavieng. It is the same in Kavieng Harbour itself — wrecks everywhere — ships that were to carry Jap troops through Pacific conquest. The navigator leaves his charts and sits up beside me now as we have been here so often that we feel that we know our way blindfolded. Out on our port wing the Marine PBJ's are making their run over Kavieng and we can see their target, the air strip shining in the sun. Smoke and dust billow up as the bombs strike home. The Nips show their dislike of such cursory treatment by throwing everything they have up at once, and heavy black puffs of bursting shells are 1000 feet above the planes. Rotten shots, the Nips — sometimes. We swing well to port to keep out of the way of the Yanks and parallel the eastern coast about five miles out to sea — far enough out to be out of reach of light ack-ack and high enough to make it difficult for the heavies. Kavieng is past, then Laun Bay, Katindan, Kimundan, and as Pinikindu Point slides closer I throttle back and shove the nose down to lose height. At 150 feet and at 220kts. we scream over the coastline, and head for the saddle in the central ridge. The navigator from the target map, gesticulates at points of interest as we pass and we are ready for a straight run in over the target. Great fun this low level stuff, not much risk and plenty of thrills — anyway gives the gunners plenty of practice. As I open the bomb bays, I press the bomb-release selector switches down — six of them as we are feeling generous today. THE GUNNERS CUT LOOSE. And there before us is the beginning of the plantation with its thousands of trees in orderly rows, the white coral road cutting a clean swathe through the centre. I kick hard oh the rudder and we sweep down this road and the gunners start to cut loose, filling the plane with acrid smoke. The first hut rushes at the nose of the plane and in one, two, three seconds bombs away. The plane still shudders to the recoil of the .50's as gunners lace everything that moves — more often than not, just everything. We keep going hard, straight ahead, then out of the target area turn out to sea and grab for ceiling. I hear the top gunner shouting over the intercom, something about being right on the nose with our bombs. Well, we better have a look as gunners are apt to get a bit excited anyway, and make a few wild statements. I pull her up slightly on one wing and sure enough, there is enough smoke and dust, although now beginning to settle somewhat, and have a closer look. I ask the navigator for a course to steer home, and once more the plane settles down to a smooth routine. The sun is setting and the dark green sides of the mountain ridges are turning a rich purple maroon and the smoke from native cooking fires spindles from the jungle into the air. New Hanover passes underneath and 30 minutes will see us circling Emirau, and as dusk falls a weary crew will stiffly climb out into a jeep and home to a shower and New Zealand lamb and mint sauce. But of course that is silly as you know as well as I that it will be spam. Well... J T Wilson may have been NZ2278 James Tweddie Wilson. David Duxbury will probably know if so. Errol
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Post by davidd on Dec 15, 2018 9:55:12 GMT 12
James Tweedie Wilson (note spelling of middle name), although trained as a multi-engine pilot at Wigram in 1944 (Course 49A, graduated early July) seems NOT to have been the pilot in question (he ended up on ship plotting duties in an Operations Room), and I suspect that the character referred to in the well-written account of Emirau operations was actually another Wilson, and the initials are possibly in error. A careful check of all Emirau-based squadrons reveals just two suspects, but am not entirely satisfied that I have the correct man. In turn, we have a F/O James Glenny Wilson of 3 Sqdn (at Emirau late Oct/late Nov 44 only), so rather unlikely; or 4 Sqdn (late Nov 44 to early Feb 45, but includes no captain by name of Wilson), or 8 Sqdn 9/2 - 27/3/45 (one captain was W/O Harold Henry Wilson, but initials seem to rule him out), or 9 Sqdn 24/3 - 26/5/45 (no captain named Wilson), or 1 Sqdn 26/5 - 25/6/45 (no captain named Wilson), or 4 Sqn 25/6 - 9/8/45 (no captain named Wilson). Unless I have somehow missed a captain (and the article strongly suggests the writer is a captain), then I am stumped. As no other crew members are named, we have very little to go on, and why did they decide to publish this account almost 3 months after the end of the war? No. 8 Sqdn never seems to have bombed Lamussong Plantation, and bombed Kavieng once only, although H H Wilson not on this strike. However on further checking of 3 Sqdn records, think I have pinned down our man. F/O J G Wilson must be the one, as 3 Sqdn was engaged on two strikes against Lamussong Plantation in early November 1944, on the 3rd and 7th, both by three PV-1s, although unfortunately I do not have the individual aircraft/crews, apart from the leaders. In each case, 4 x 500 lb GPs, and two 100 lb incendiaries were dropped, which is at some variance with the article. If one of these is indeed the strike in question, is the year date of the newspaper article correct, and not 1944? David D
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Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 15, 2018 10:32:53 GMT 12
That is Flying Officer James Glenny Wilson NZ421129.
The strike on Lamussong Plantation on the 3rd of November 1944 was carried out by three Venturas; NZ4610 - Captained by Flight Lieutenant Fred Thomas NZ4555 - Captained by Flight Lieutenant Ian Russell NZ4568 - Captained by Warrant Officer George Sherwin F/O Wilson was not involved and did not fly operationally on the 3rd of November 1944.
The strikes on Lamussong Plantation on the 7th of November 1944 was carried out by three Venturas; NZ4555 - Captained by Flight Lieutenant Fred Thomas (Dawn Patrol, dropped 3 x 500lb General Purpose bombs and 1 x 100 incendiary from 200 ft, result unobserved but column of smoke came up.)
Mid-Morning Strike Each aircraft carried 4 x 500lb GP bombs, 4.5 delay, and 2 x 100 incendiary on racks 3 and 6. They bombed in formation, all bombs fell in target area, and target was thoroughly strafed using 6500 rounds NZ4609 - Captained by Flying Officer Keith Wilby NZ4610 - Captained by Pilot Officer Pat Mullooly NZ4568 - Captained by Warrant Officer Hamish Hogg
Afternoon Strike NZ4555 - Captained by Warrant Officer George Sherwin (Dropped 5 x 250 lb GP bombs with 4.5 delay from 200 ft, strafed using 800 rounds, took 33 photos, aircraft was holed in nose, fuselage and tail unit
So no Captain named Wilson in either days of No. 3 (BR) striking the plantation, and as the PV-1's only had one pilot onboard usually, Wilson was unlikely a second pilot, especially as he did the bomb run.
Perhaps J.T. Wilson was a pseudonym, or perhaps the whole thing is made up?
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Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 15, 2018 10:35:06 GMT 12
There was a Navigator named Philip John Wilson on both No's 3 and 8 Squadron Venturas who went on to write a very good book about Ventura operations called Kiwi Strike after the war.
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Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 15, 2018 11:07:44 GMT 12
I just checked to see if the article went into other newspapers and if the Evening Post had the initials wrong but it seems to have only been in the Post.
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Post by davidd on Dec 15, 2018 13:52:31 GMT 12
Dave, Just to throw another name out there, there was also a pilot named John Phillip Wilson (NZ416570) who served in 3 Sqdn (Hudsons) in 1943 at Guadalacanal, then again after completing a course at the School of GR, another tour with 3 Sqdn (Venturas) during 1944, at Bougainville. I always believed this was the "Phillip Wilson" who wrote the book (published 1976), marketed in NZ as "Kiwi Strike", also published in UK under the title "Pacific Star", but now realize that it was in fact "the navigator" (P J Wilson) who was the author, and may still be alive. And would you believe it, both men were born in the same year (1922), only 6 months apart! However J P Wilson (pilot) never flew from Emirau (unless it was in a C-47).
Thanks for checking up on the ORB of 3 Sqdn - as mentioned I do not have copies of these, just my own notes, which are not quite as comprehensive as the originals.
David D
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Post by Deleted on Dec 15, 2018 14:04:01 GMT 12
Great article Dave
From 8 SQN Ops record (copywrite National Archives of NZ ref AIR 146) 28/2/45 "Recco (Horton) - (F/S Doug Horton) 3 x 500 GP 8/11 sec delay dropped on garden area LAMUSSONG Plantation. Results obscured by jungle. Strafed from KATANU Plantation to PANARUS." <style></style>
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