Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 26, 2019 22:36:12 GMT 12
Ancient Mariners Dwarfed
CAPTAINS OF THE SKIES
STORIES OF THE R.N.Z.A.F.
As day nears its close and the age-old cycle of one story starting another is set in train, the lounge of the officers' mess on an R.N.Z.A..F. operational station, when there is no early morning flying next day, echoes to reminiscences which are 1944 adventure counterparts of "Thousand and One Nights."
This is the story of one station only, but it is probably applicable to most. Most of the pilots, navigators, observers and gunners had served overseas; some were back in squadrons being regrouped for further service in the Pacific, says "The Dominion:" -
Between them, and with absolute annihilation of the time factor, they have dimmed the deeds of the ancient mariners and their wanderings on the seven seas. There were men who had flown the Gold Coast, America, the Atlantic, the great desert stretches of the Middle East (and encountered dust storms as far up as 18,000 feet), the Tasman, the Mediterranean, the Pacific, and other air oceans, great and small. Certainly collectively and with some, individually, they have encompassed the world.
"Gongs" there were in abundance. This is the service expression for a medal or decoration. Maybe it derives its meaning from the fact that anything of metal, base or fine, can at least be lightly struck like a gong.
One D.F.C. and Bar was ferrying supplies into Malta when the going was tough, flying unarmed Liberators crammed full of life-sustaining supplies through a German air screen trying to keep everything out. Once he was "jumped" by seven Focke Wulf 190's and still got through. Take another Christchurch lad, just out of his 'teens now. He knows what it is to fly in unarmed Mosquitoes, literally "stripped to the waist" to make all possible speed, on photographic reconnaissance patrols over German cities after the R. A. F. has given them the usual blasting. He has a "gong."
The wing commander in charge of the transport service of the R.N.Z.A.F., who is on this station, has the D.F.C, and A.F.C. He has flown on R.A.F. operations in Europe, with the R.A.F. Transport Command, on the Atlantic ferry service (flying Liberators from Montreal to Newfoundland and then to Britain, the latter hop nearly 2000 miles over the ocean), the United States-Africa ferry, the United States-Australia ferry, Australia to New Zealand and some test flying in America thrown in. He is what they call a short-snorter, for which the qualification is 1000 miles over an ocean by day. On qualification you start with a currency note of the country you are in and have this autographed by three other "members." To the first is added the bank notes of other countries you visit after qualifying and more autographs of certified "short snorters." This wing commander, who was a Canterbury Aero Club pilot before 1935, when he joined the R.A.F., has a short-snorter "ticket" 14 feet long. He does not carry it all with him; it would be too much like trailing a banner. But a member must carry part of it and produce it within two minutes on demand by another member. The penalty for failure is a dollar or its equivalent, payable on the spot to all "short-snorters" present.
There are also "long-snorters"— this wing commander is probably one many times over—for which the qualification is a 1000 miles flight over an ocean by day and a similar one by night. Mr Winston Churchill is one of the most distinguished "long-snorters."
Pacific Highlight
A bomber pilot from the Pacific told what he considered the most spectacular war scene he had witnessed. On a pitch black tropical night a Japanese bomber above the sea just off their island base was caught in a ring of six searchlights. It held the sky stage like a theatre star spotlighted in a darkened theatre, while from the land below the spectators at this deadly theatrical watched in a pitch of excitement not equalled in the playhouses. Then a fighter ripped in with tracer bullets, splashing flashes of colour into the bomber held in the white arc of the searchlights. In went the fighter, under the belly and back again from the other side, so lightning-quick that the brilliant tracers seemed to be fired from planes on opposite sides of attack. The bomber burst into flames, but the highlight was yet to come. Halfway down in its crazy descent there was an internal explosion and the bomber burst into two separate great balls of fire, lighting up the sky below the searchlights and throwing reflections on the still waters.
Sometimes the Pacific men talk about the Japs. They don't underrate them as air fighters. On and off duty they press it home to those who have still to feel the first great uncertainty of battle in the air that the Jap is a determined airman and only a better-trained and more resolute opponent will down him.
They don't tell stories like the airman son of Mussolini who spoke of the beauty he saw in Ethiopian horsemen being blown into the air, like men on flying carpets, during the Fascist rape on Abyssinia. But there was one story in which the spectacular damage was not solely military. A fighter pilot, one of an escort with American-manned Liberators in an attack on a Japanese-held island post, told it. The Liberators were carrying a special, heavy type of bomb. Over the target these were released to plough deep in, and when they exploded, whole trees were blown into the air as though plucked out and flung aside by giant hands.
These are only a few of the stories which are told as the evenings wax mellow and a fund of reminiscence is unfolded which some future writer may co-relate into a descriptive documentary effort which will hold spellbound the readers of the war-free world these airmen fight for.
ELLESMERE GUARDIAN, 11 FEBRUARY 1944
CAPTAINS OF THE SKIES
STORIES OF THE R.N.Z.A.F.
As day nears its close and the age-old cycle of one story starting another is set in train, the lounge of the officers' mess on an R.N.Z.A..F. operational station, when there is no early morning flying next day, echoes to reminiscences which are 1944 adventure counterparts of "Thousand and One Nights."
This is the story of one station only, but it is probably applicable to most. Most of the pilots, navigators, observers and gunners had served overseas; some were back in squadrons being regrouped for further service in the Pacific, says "The Dominion:" -
Between them, and with absolute annihilation of the time factor, they have dimmed the deeds of the ancient mariners and their wanderings on the seven seas. There were men who had flown the Gold Coast, America, the Atlantic, the great desert stretches of the Middle East (and encountered dust storms as far up as 18,000 feet), the Tasman, the Mediterranean, the Pacific, and other air oceans, great and small. Certainly collectively and with some, individually, they have encompassed the world.
"Gongs" there were in abundance. This is the service expression for a medal or decoration. Maybe it derives its meaning from the fact that anything of metal, base or fine, can at least be lightly struck like a gong.
One D.F.C. and Bar was ferrying supplies into Malta when the going was tough, flying unarmed Liberators crammed full of life-sustaining supplies through a German air screen trying to keep everything out. Once he was "jumped" by seven Focke Wulf 190's and still got through. Take another Christchurch lad, just out of his 'teens now. He knows what it is to fly in unarmed Mosquitoes, literally "stripped to the waist" to make all possible speed, on photographic reconnaissance patrols over German cities after the R. A. F. has given them the usual blasting. He has a "gong."
The wing commander in charge of the transport service of the R.N.Z.A.F., who is on this station, has the D.F.C, and A.F.C. He has flown on R.A.F. operations in Europe, with the R.A.F. Transport Command, on the Atlantic ferry service (flying Liberators from Montreal to Newfoundland and then to Britain, the latter hop nearly 2000 miles over the ocean), the United States-Africa ferry, the United States-Australia ferry, Australia to New Zealand and some test flying in America thrown in. He is what they call a short-snorter, for which the qualification is 1000 miles over an ocean by day. On qualification you start with a currency note of the country you are in and have this autographed by three other "members." To the first is added the bank notes of other countries you visit after qualifying and more autographs of certified "short snorters." This wing commander, who was a Canterbury Aero Club pilot before 1935, when he joined the R.A.F., has a short-snorter "ticket" 14 feet long. He does not carry it all with him; it would be too much like trailing a banner. But a member must carry part of it and produce it within two minutes on demand by another member. The penalty for failure is a dollar or its equivalent, payable on the spot to all "short-snorters" present.
There are also "long-snorters"— this wing commander is probably one many times over—for which the qualification is a 1000 miles flight over an ocean by day and a similar one by night. Mr Winston Churchill is one of the most distinguished "long-snorters."
Pacific Highlight
A bomber pilot from the Pacific told what he considered the most spectacular war scene he had witnessed. On a pitch black tropical night a Japanese bomber above the sea just off their island base was caught in a ring of six searchlights. It held the sky stage like a theatre star spotlighted in a darkened theatre, while from the land below the spectators at this deadly theatrical watched in a pitch of excitement not equalled in the playhouses. Then a fighter ripped in with tracer bullets, splashing flashes of colour into the bomber held in the white arc of the searchlights. In went the fighter, under the belly and back again from the other side, so lightning-quick that the brilliant tracers seemed to be fired from planes on opposite sides of attack. The bomber burst into flames, but the highlight was yet to come. Halfway down in its crazy descent there was an internal explosion and the bomber burst into two separate great balls of fire, lighting up the sky below the searchlights and throwing reflections on the still waters.
Sometimes the Pacific men talk about the Japs. They don't underrate them as air fighters. On and off duty they press it home to those who have still to feel the first great uncertainty of battle in the air that the Jap is a determined airman and only a better-trained and more resolute opponent will down him.
They don't tell stories like the airman son of Mussolini who spoke of the beauty he saw in Ethiopian horsemen being blown into the air, like men on flying carpets, during the Fascist rape on Abyssinia. But there was one story in which the spectacular damage was not solely military. A fighter pilot, one of an escort with American-manned Liberators in an attack on a Japanese-held island post, told it. The Liberators were carrying a special, heavy type of bomb. Over the target these were released to plough deep in, and when they exploded, whole trees were blown into the air as though plucked out and flung aside by giant hands.
These are only a few of the stories which are told as the evenings wax mellow and a fund of reminiscence is unfolded which some future writer may co-relate into a descriptive documentary effort which will hold spellbound the readers of the war-free world these airmen fight for.
ELLESMERE GUARDIAN, 11 FEBRUARY 1944
