FORGOTTEN HEROES -- A SOUTH AFRICAN IN ATHENS: SQUADRON LEADER PAT PATTLE DFC

Squadron Leader “Pat” Pattle DFC & Bar is most commonly remembered as the highest scoring “ace” of the RAF in WWII. Yet my reason for including him in this (totally subjective and highly personal) series of “Forgotten Heroes” is his service to my adopted country: Greece.

“Pat” Pattle was born 3 July 1914 in South Africa, the son of British South Africans, and named after his paternal grandfather Marmaduke Thomas. As a boy he went by “Tom.” His grandfather had been a captain in the Royal Horse Artillery before emigrating to South Africa in 1875. Pattle’s father also served in the Boar War, fought in the Natal Rebellion and again in the First World War. He served briefly in the police force before taking up farming in South West Africa. Here Tom grew up learning how to fend for himself in the desert and how to shoot very well.

Tom went to school in boarding school in Grahamstown and graduated in 1931. Although he already wanted to learn to fly, the South African Air Force turned him down because he did not already have flying experience (as other candidates did). He worked as a mechanic in a petrol station and he took a course at a commercial college that eventually led him to a clerical job and from there to a laboratory job with a gold mining company. He liked the latter work well enough to consider pursuing a degree in mining engineering, but an encounter with an aircraft — his first in the flesh — and a “flip” given by the pilot turned his head. He quit the mining company and joined the Special Service Battalion of the South African army in the hope of getting into the South African Air Force via the “back door.”

Instead, he saw an announcement in a newspaper that the RAF was offering short-service commissions to young men with a school-leaving certificate who otherwise met their criteria. Pattle immediately applied, passed the screening interview in South Africa and his uncle paid for his passage on a steamer to London to face the RAF Selection Board. Although at the time he hoped for a career in aviation, either through a permanent commission in the RAF or in civil aviation, Pattle could not know that he would never see his homeland or his family ever again.

Two weeks after his arrival, Pattle had been accepted for training and reported to the Civil Flying School at Prestwick at the end of June 1936. Here he introduced himself as “Pat” for the first time, and the name stuck with him throughout his RAF career.  He proved a natural pilot, who soloed early and easily, and hen he completed training in March 1937, his flying was rated “exceptional.” Furthermore, he was conscientious about studying, something that resulted in consistently  high scores on his written examinations. Meanwhile, his accurate shooting astonished his instructors.

At the end of training, he was post to No 80 (Gloucester Gladiator) Squadron and promoted to Pilot Officer on 27 July 1937. In October, he had already been appointed Squadron Adjutant, a tribute to his reputation as hard-working, serious and reliable. Less than a year later, No 80 Squadron was transferred to Egypt to defend the Suez Canal against growing Italian aggression. For Pat, this was a step closer to home, and he welcomed the move.

At the outbreak of the Second World, the squadron was moved to the Libyan border. In the lull before the real fighting began, Pat focused on improving his physical condition and trained himself to “see” better by systematically searching the sky. He also took a keen interest in the condition of his aircraft, spurring his ground crew to greater efforts, despite the very high standards already provided.  

On 4 August 1940 — while the Battle of Britain was still in the early phases — Pat experienced combat for the first time. Although the squadron was slowly being equipped with Hurricanes, Pat’s flight still flew the bi-plane Gladiators. In an encounter with Italian aircraft, Pat claimed his first victory, an Italian Breda bomber, but was himself shot down when after several dog-fights he was confronted by an entire squadron of Italian Fiat CR-42s. With his guns already out-of-action from the earlier dogfighting, Pat attempted evasion, but the Italians got the better of him, shooting up his rudder. Pat took the badly damaged aircraft up to 400 feet and there jumped out over the desert.  

At the time he bailed out, he was only a few miles behind enemy lines. Unfortunately, he became disoriented in the desert and walked in the wrong direction much of the night. It was noon of the following day before he crossed back into Egypt. Here he had the good fortune to be picked up by a passing column of the 11^th Hussars.

This experience left a psychological mark on Pat. He became determined never to be shot down again — at least not by Italians — and not to get lost again either. He purchased a compass to carry with him in the pocket of his tunic. The experience had not, however, daunted his aggressive spirit.

On 8 August 1940 the entire squadron took the war deep into Italian air space consciously seeking battle. Divided into four sections flying at different altitudes, they lured the Italians into a fight and then efficiently executed them. A total of 15 Italian fighters were claimed for the loss of two Gladiators, and only one pilot. Less than a month later, the Italian invasion of Egypt began, and on 28 October Italy invaded Greece as well.

While the Greek army rapidly proved capable of defending the mountain passes in the northwest of the country, the Greek Air Force consisted of just 200 aircraft, all of which were obsolete, while the Italians onslaught was supported by 2,000 modern aircraft. The Greek government appealed to Great Britain for aid, and the British government responded by sending two Blenheim and one Wellington squadrons. These succeeded in completely disrupting the Italian lines of supply and communication, while the Greek — poorly equipped as they were — went on a savage counter-offensive that threw the Italians out of Greece within a week.

The conflict still raged, however, and the RAF bombers had suffered significant losses. They needed fighter protection. So, No 80 Squadron was pulled out of the desert and sent to Athens arriving 16 November 1940. They were received by the Greeks with cheers, waving flags and free drinks in the tavernas of Athens. The next day they continued to Trikkala, where the three remaining Greek pilots at the field introduced them to their new environment by leading them toward the nearest Italian base. The Greeks did not have the fuel to engage, but 80 Squadron went on the offensive and downed nine Italians. It was an encouraging start, which made them even more popular with the locals. 

However, torrential rains and low cloud precluded flying in the succeeding days, and the squadron was not displeased to be transferred another airfield, this time in Yanina just 40 miles from the Albanian border. This was another grass airfield — kept short by grazing sheep — and it possessed neither hangers nor dispersal huts. The “mess” was in a hotel in the village. With frequent rain, the aerodrome was often more lake than field, while low cloud and high winds made flying difficult and dangerous.

Despite the conditions, Pat recognized that the RAF still enjoyed conditions far superior to that of most of the Greeks. It became his custom to visit the local hospital in the evening. His biographer E.C.R. Baker describes the situation as follows:

Their work finished for the day, the pilots went off to visit the many Greek wounded soldiers housed in shocking conditions in the local hospital. It was so overcrowded that there was hardly room to move between the closely-packed beds. … The pilots shared their cigarette rations with the unfortunate Greeks, and brought some cheer amidst the miserable surroundings. … The tears in the eyes of these cheerful, hardy people, and their sincere cries of ‘Good luck, Inglisi,’ …. gave the pilots that little extra incentive and dash which made all the difference in any unequal battle.” [Baker, Ace of Aces. Silvertail Books, 2020, 113-114]

Soon afterwards, the squadron was relocated to Larissa, which had a better airfield. Here they flew frequent escort flights for RAF bombers during which the Gladiators were subjected to heavy flak. Such heavy flak, in fact, that by 6 December the entire squadron had to be stood down while repairs were undertaken. Despite working around the clock in appallingly cold and wet conditions, it took the ground crews a week to render the aircraft serviceable again. Yet even as No 80 squadron took an enforced break from the action, the Greek army was advancing through Albania, remorselessly pushing back the Italians. This advance was described vividly by American journalists that witnessed it as follows:

 “…open carts, pulled by sturdy little mules, and driven by cheerful Greeks, protected from the driving rain and wind by a single piece of canvas, ploughing through the mire. Here and there a cart was held fast by the clinging mud, and the old men and women, and even small children, were scrambling around the hillsides searching for stones and branches to make the road passable again.” [Baker. 121-122]

On 21 December, Pat’s CO, Squadron Leader Hickey, was shot by the Italians after taking to his parachute. Members of his squadron saw him bail out, saw the Italians attack and the saw parachute catch fire. It was the second incident of this sort in just three days. Pat was de facto Acting Squadron Leader after Hickey’s death and improvised a Christmas celebration which included a Christmas tree decorated with candles — and trophies from shot-down Italian aircraft.

After ten days of leave, which he spent with friends in Cairo, Pat returned to Greece. By now the winter had really set in. When the squadron attempted to return to Yanina, the convoy with their ground crews ran into a blizzard.

“…a blinding snowstorm brought the lorries to an abrupt standstill. The airmen huddled together for warmth behind the thin canvas covering on the truck… [T]he officer in charge, Pilot Officer Patullo, immediately made arrangements to evacuate the airmen to the village of Malekas, a tiny hamlet eight miles away at the foot of the mountains. The local villagers, tough sturdy peasants, received the men with open arms, providing them with bowls of hot, steaming soup, thick black boiling coffee, and warm blankets in front of a blazing fire. Without this help, most willingly given by the cheerful, hardy people, some of the men would almost certainly have perished in the arctic conditions prevailing in the mountains.” [Baker, 142]

The squadron abandoned the attempt to relocate to the north and remained based in the Athens area. From here they continued to inflict damage on the enemy — to the extent they could in their aging Gladiators. On 8 February 1941, Pat received the DFC in recognition of his dogged determination and success in shooting down (by this point) more than 15 enemy aircraft. The official citation noted “he has been absolutely fearless and undeterred by superior numbers of enemy.” Although not noted by the official citation, Pat also showed exceptional dedication to the men serving under him, repeatedly personally carrying out searches for missing pilots, regardless of the weather.

Shortly afterwards, Pat was given the first six Hurricanes assigned to the squadron and sent to Paramythia to operate from here. On 28 February in a combined operation of 80 and 112 squadrons, 27 Italian aircraft were destroyed and eight damaged in a single engagement for the loss of a single Gladiator. Pat contributed to the total score by bringing down three Italian fighters.

On 12 March 1941, Pat was promoted to Squadron Leader and posted as CO of No 33 Squadron. Thirty-three squadron had been in the Middle East longer than 80 Squadron and was made up mostly of regular officers but from vastly different backgrounds, including a Rhodesian, Kenyan, Canadian and another South African already. They were individualists, proud of being disrespectful of authority, and Pattle told them they looked scruffy and lacked flying discipline. However, they had also all been flying Hurricanes for six months rather than only a few weeks. Pattle used this to his advantage by suggesting he needed some practice dogfighting. This gave his new command an opportunity to judge his flying abilities — and he gained their respect in a spectacular dogfight with the pilot from 33 Squadron the others had thought best capable of "defeating" him.

On 22 March, No 33 squadron went operational from the airfield in Larissa — a town no longer recognizable because it had been all but flattened by an earthquake and Italian bombing. The following day, 33 Squadron escorted Blenheims on a bombing raid. On 6 April, Germany invaded Yugoslavia and entered the conflict with Greece. The same day, on an offensive patrol over Bulgaria, Pattle encountered the Luftwaffe for the first time in his career when No 33 Squadron took on a squadron of Me 109s. The outcome: five Luftwaffe fighters shot down without losses to the RAF. In the days to follow, Pattle and his pilots continued to give far better than they took. In total, in the fourteen days following the German entry into the war, Pattle shot down between 25 and 35 enemy aircraft. (The official records have been lost precluding a definitive count.). On three separate days, he claimed five enemy aircraft shot-down, and on 19 April he claimed his largest number of victories in a single day: six.

But the situation on the ground looked completely different. Outflanked by the advancing Wehrmacht, the Allied ground forces were forced to pull back — initially to Thermopylae. All airfields north of this point, including Larissa, had to be abandoned. Only three airfields remained opened, one immediately south of Thermopylae and two in the vicinity of Athens. From these, the remaining RAF fighters tried to protect the retreating Allied troops, but their airfields came under increasingly frequent and devastating attacks from the Luftwaffe.

By 20 April 1940 the British and Allied forces were preparing a seaborne withdrawal from Greece. The Luftwaffe ordered concentrated attacks on the congested shipping in Piraeus Harbour — including dive bombing a hospital ship. To stop them, the RAF had only 15 serviceable Hurricanes left. Despite suffering from a high fever and chills, Pattle took off. He downed one Ju88 and two Me109s, but he paid with his own life. He was one of four RAF pilots killed in this engagement, known as the Battle of Piraeus. 

Pat Pattle had left South West Africa to learn to fly and ended up dying over Athens in a conflict that only tangentially impacted his country's fate. It would have been easy for him -- and his parents -- to feel misused and resentful. Yet his letters and his actions suggest rather that he identified strongly with the Greek people and  fought out of a sincere conviction that he and his men were engaged in a just struggle -- one worth the sacrifices made.

Winston Churchill famously said when speaking of the Greek defiance of fascist Italy and Nazi Germany: “Hence we will not say that Greeks fight like heroes, but heroes fight like Greeks.” Pat Pattle fought like a Greek. He deserves to be remembered. 

(Source: Baker, E.C. R.. Ace of Aces: The Incredible Story of Pat Pattle — the Greatest Fighter Pilot of WWII. Silvertail Books, 2020.)

My novels about the RAF in WWII are intended as tributes to the men in the air and on the ground that made a victory in Europe against fascism possible. 

Lack of Moral Fibre, A Stranger in the Mirror and A Rose in November can be purchased individually in ebook format, or in a collection under the title Grounded Eagles in ebook or paperback. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

Where Eagles Never Flew was the the winner of a Hemmingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction and a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

FORGOTTON HEROS - A KIWI IN THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN: WILFRID CLOUSTON

As I have argued elsewhere, after AVM Park the AOC of Eleven Group, the greatest burden in the Battle of Britain fell not on the individual, young pilots but on the squadron and flight commanders who led them. One of those was Wilfrid “Wilf” Clouston. He deserves to be remembered -- and not just for his role in the Battle of Britain.

(Shown below with his wife Anne Hyde.)

 

Clouston was born in Devonport, Auckland 15 January 1916. He was educated in Wellington, NZ, and started his working life as clerk at Woolworths. However, like many young men of his generation, he wanted to fly. Clouston concluded that the best route to a flying career was to join the RAF, which at the time (1936) was offering a limited number of short service commissions to young men from the Dominions. The competition for these few posts was fierce, and applicants were required to already have an “A” pilot’s license. Clouston, therefore, conscientiously obtained a license in New Zealand. Given the thousands of applications, however, it speaks for Clouston’s character and reputation that he was accepted — albeit provisionally. First, he had to prove he could fly to the satisfaction of the RAF by reporting to England to pass a civil flying test.

Clouston opted to work his way to England aboard a steamer bound for Southampton. Once in the UK, he passed the civil flying exam and then started to learn to fly the RAF way. In June 1937, he was promoted to (Acting) Pilot Officer and posted to No 19 Squadron at Duxford. This was the first RAF squadron to be equipped with Spitfires, which they received at the end of 1938. As a result, the pilots on No 19 Squadron were particularly familiar with and adept at handling the Spitfire — something that contributed to a higher survival rate among the core pilots.

Clouston was promoted to (acting) Flight Lieutenant before the shooting war started and fought throughout the Battle of Britain in this rank. He was awarded the DFC for his contribution to defending the skies over Dunkirk. The official citation read:

“During recent operations over France and Belgium, Flight Lieutenant Clouston shot down four enemy aircraft. He led his flight with determination and vigour and has shown great personal gallantry.” (Source: The Times announcement of the DFC)

In his letters home, Clouston allowed no trace of doubt about the outcome — or hint of the exhaustion and the stress under which RAF fighter pilots fought — to surface. He maintained a rigid façade of indomitable keenness. For example, in a letter to his parents in August 1940 he wrote:

Every time we run into them now, the odds are at least ten to one against us, but such is the spirit and the feeling over here that we don’t mind. … You can’t imagine the limits that this spirit rises to. I have had to order pilots on my flight to go on leave when they were due for it but refused, as they might lose an opportunity to have another crack at the ‘schweinehund.’” (Source: “Wilf: Wilfrid Grenville Clouston” by Richard Clouston).

In November, Clouston was promoted to Squadron Leader and posted to command 258 Squadron, which was composed predominantly of New Zealanders, or “Kiwis” as they called themselves. He had survived the Battle of Britain and was in an excellent position to pass on his knowledge to others. Up to this point, his career paralleled that of the majority of pre-war RAF fighter pilots, the men who formed the backbone of Fighter Command, enabling it to keep fighting — and drinking and laughing — despite the odds.

However, in the summer of 1941 Clouston’s career took a dramatic turn that ultimately led him to a different destiny — one that deserves far more recognition than is commonly awarded. On August 22, Clouston was appointed to command a newly formed New Zealand Air Force Squadron 488. Clouston had to forgo a promotion to Wing Commander to take this assignment, and he was also required to go to Singapore to join up with the squadron. He arrived in mid-September 1941, ahead of the squadron coming up from New Zealand. His flight commanders joined him at the end of September but it was October before the bulk of the squadron arrived from New Zealand. To Clouston’s dismay the squadron was outfitted not with Spitfires or even Hurricanes but with Brewster Buffalos.

In very little time, Clouston made an operational squadron out of the raw material sent him, but on 23 January 1942, he was posted to Operational Headquarters in Singapore. The exact sequence of what happened next is no longer clear, but Clouston appears to have been instrumental in ensuring that the ground crew and staff of 488 Squadron were aboard the MV Empire Star one of the last ships to depart Singapore before it fell to the Japanese. He, along with other RAF headquarter staff, destroyed any unserviceable aircraft still in Singapore. On 15 February 1942, the day Singapore surrendered to the Japanese, Clouston with a number of other senior RAF officers attempted to evade capture aboard an air-sea rescue launch. The following day, this launch was bombed and sunk by the Japanese. Clouston was among the survivors picked up by two small steamers. These, however, were in turn intercepted by the Japanese navy and told to sail to Sumatra. From here they were transferred to a Japanese POW camp at Palembang-Mulo.

In August 1942, Clouston refused to sign a “no-escape” clause and was therefore sent to a “higher security” (read: more inhumane) POW camp at Chueng Hwa. There he remained until he and other officers were transferred to Changi Jail in Singapore in January 1945. This transfer was presumably for ease of execution since the Japanese had standing orders dating from 1 August 1944 authorizing subordinate commanders to murder all officer prisoners, if the military situation warranted it. On August 16, a day after the unconditional surrender of Japan, the prisoners took over the running of Changi, but it was not until Allied troops (and supplies) could be parachuted to Singapore that conditions could significantly improve. It was officially 13 September 1945 before Clouston was freed and could start his journey “home” — in this case to his wife, and the son he had never met, in England. He arrived there 8 October 1945.

His wife Anne had been notified in April 1942 that her husband was “missing” but it was not until October of that year that she learned that he was alive but a POW. In three and a half years of imprisonment, Clouston was allowed to send only four postcards of 25 words each. He did not receive any mail until the first Red Cross package arrived in February 1944, two years after he was taken captive.

Between his capture and his release lay three and a half years of brutal treatment in inhumane conditions and near starvation. Clouston refused to live in the (marginally) better officer’s camp and insisted on working alongside the RAF personnel of “other ranks” imprisoned with him. Because the Japanese believed that their troops were too “honorable” to surrender, they held anyone who had allowed himself to be taken prisoner in contempt. Cultural attitudes and official policy combined to ensure that POWs were consciously and intentionally humiliated and degraded.

Rations were inadequate and declined progressively as the military situation for the Japanese deteriorated. Accommodations were overcrowded, unsanitary, and rat-infested. Medicine and medical equipment were effectively non-existent. The Japanese also refused to issue clothing, and neither bedding nor mosquito nets were provided. Yet prisoners were expected to carry out heavy labor such as building runways, loading and off-loading ships etc. for up to fourteen hours a day in the tropical heat. In consequence of all these factors POWs of the Japanese faced a casualty rate of 27%.

Needless to say, Clouston was not flying, not getting promoted, and not winning new “gongs” during those three and a half years. Yet that does not mean that he was not serving his country and not contributing to the defeat of a terrible tyranny. On the contrary, under the most adverse conditions imaginable, Clouston demonstrated courage, responsibility and compassion to an exceptional degree. His dedication to his men in adversity was impressive not only in military but in human terms. The Senior British Officer at Cheung Hwa Camp Wg/Cdr Willis-Sandford reported:

“S/L Clouston DFC, S/L Howell DFC, F/Lt J Goold, F/Lt TR Lamb, F/Lt RC Moore.

I wish to bring the names of the above mentioned officers to the notice of the appropriate authority. Their generous and untiring efforts on the behalf of the other ranks were most praiseworthy.”

It is unclear who the “appropriate authority” might have been and in any case the war was over. Clouston found himself still a Squadron Leader, a reservist whose Short Service Commission had expired in the middle of the Battle of Britain and competing for a permanent commission against men who had had the good fortune not to be taken prisoner of war. It is to his credit that he was given a permanent commission.

Over the next ten years, Clouston continued in active service with the RAF serving as Station Commander at RAF Turnhouse, RAF Tangmere, RAF Khormaksar, Aden, and RAF Northolt. He also served in the Air Ministry and at HQ Fighter Command, as well as attending the Joint Services Staff College. There is every indication that he could have reached senior rank, if his health had not intervened.

A brain tumor was diagnosed, but surgery failed and radiation treatment caused collateral damage. He was forced to retire from active service and returned to New Zealand with the expectation of living at most a year. He took up sheep farming and lived for twenty.

I wish to thank his son Richard Clouston for providing the materials for this short biography and reviewing it for accuracy.

My novels about the RAF in WWII are intended as tributes to the men in the air and on the ground that made a victory in Europe against fascism possible. 

Lack of Moral Fibre, A Stranger in the Mirror and A Rose in November can be purchased individually in ebook format, or in a collection under the title Grounded Eagles in ebook or paperback. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

Where Eagles Never Flew was the the winner of a Hemmingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction and a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 

Forgotton Heroes of the Air War in Europe (1940-1945): An American in Bomber Command

 It is widely known that seven Americans flew in the Battle of Britain with RAF Fighter Command and that later several “American Eagle” squadrons were formed in which all the pilots were Americans. These, however, were transferred to the USAAF when the United States entered the war and deployed units to Britain. Less famous are the Americans who flew with Bomber Command, where some individual American pilots successfully resisted the efforts of the USAAF to conscript them and remained in the RAF. I’d like to tell the story of one of them here: Hubert "Nick" Knilans.

I was unable to locate a photo of Hubert "Nick" Knilans. This picture of a Canadian Lancaster Skipper is used courtesy of the Bomber Command Museum of Canada.

Hubert Knilans was born in Delavan, Wisconsin on 27 December 1917, to an Irish-American farming family. As a Catholic, Knilans grew up knowing that in his home town the white supremacist organization Ku Klux Klan was primarily anti-Catholic, although antisemitism was also prevalent. In the aftermath of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Knilans hoped that war would unite Americans and put an end to racial and religious discrimination.

In April 1941, Knilans was conscripted into the U.S. army. Knilans already knew he wanted to fly, but in the USAAF he had no chance of being accepted into flight training because he did not have a college degree. Therefore, without a word to his parents, he headed for Detroit, where he arrived utterly broke. With his last dime (figuratively speaking), he bought a bus ticket to Windsor, Canada. His reception by Canadian immigration was telling. He later claimed that they greeted him with the words: “I suppose you’ve come to join the air force?” — and directed him to the RCAF recruiting office nearby. Technically a deserter or draft dodger, Knilans joined the RCAF. He later claimed that he thought he could help “restore happiness to the children of Europe” by destroying Hitler’s regime.

Two years later, after successfully completing initial and advanced flight training, Knilans (along with many colleagues) crossed to the UK by ship in order to start operational training on multi-engine aircraft. Knilans made his trans-Atlantic voyage on the Cunard ocean liner Queen Elizabeth. The former luxury liner was at this time serving as a troop transport, carrying roughly 8000 troops instead of the intended ca 2,300 passengers.

In June 1943, Knilans at last joined an operational squadron, No 619 Lancaster Squadron based at RAF Woodhall Spa in Lincolnshire. From this point forward, he was known in the RAF as "Nick" Knilans, rather than by his given name. His first operational flight as skipper was on the night of July 24/25, flying against Hamburg.

In October, Knilans received word that — despite deserting from the U.S. Army two and half years earlier — he was to be transferred to the USAAF. He refused. Technically, he reported for duty was inducted as a First Lieutenant, and then detached or seconded back to the RAF to complete his tour with 619 Squadron. This was certainly a good arrangement for Knilans as his USAAF First Lieutenant’s pay was roughly the same as the salary of an RAF Group Captain. (Group Captain is the equivalent rank to Colonel in the USAAF.)

In December 1943, Knilan’s Lancaster was attacked by a night fighter on the way to Kassel. His mid-upper and tail gunners were both severely wounded, the rear gunner fatally. In addition, one engine was knocked out and the wings and undercarriage damaged. Nevertheless, Knilans managed to shake off the fighter and continued to the target. For this operation, Knilans was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO). He was later to earn a British Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC), two American DFCs and five American Air Medals. He only wore the DSO on his battle dress, however, because as he explained it:

“I thought it would antagonize others on the same squadron, or confirm their prejudice about bragging Yanks. That was another reason that I did not want a scantily clad girl or a humorous name painted on the aircraft assigned to me. This flying into combat night after night, to me, was not very funny. It was a cold-blooded battle to kill or be killed.” (Source: RAF Museum Website, biography of Knilans.)

By now at the latest, Knilans no longer believed he was either making the children of Europe happy nor helping eliminate racism in America. His father wrote that the local country club remained closed to Jews, while he could see with his own eyes the racism and segregation practiced by the USAAF, even in the UK.

By January 1944, Knilans was also finding it increasingly difficult to engage in the kind of saturation bombing that had become Bomber Command policy. He therefore volunteered for transfer to 617 Squadron. Although 617 had the reputation of a “suicide squadron,” largely due to the exceptionally high casualty rates experienced on a number of its high profile missions, it was also a precision bombing unit. The commanding officers of 617, notably Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire, Wing Commander "Willie" Tait and Group Captain "Johnnie" Fauquier attempted to minimize collateral damage and casualties.

Knilans was not the first American to have flown with 617. At its inception, 617 had included another American flying with Bomber Command, namely Flight Lieutenant Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy had led the flight tasked with breaching the Sorpe Dam during the “Dams Raid” in May 1943. He earned the DSO for his actions on this raid.

In April 1944, Knilans had technically completed his first tour of operations (30 operational flights) but along with his entire crew he volunteered for a second tour with 617. He was one of several pilots tasked with testing the Tallboy bomb, the latest invention of the outstanding British engineer Barnes Wallis. The 12,000 lb Tallboy, when dropped from its optimal altitude of 18,000 feet reached a velocity of 1,100 ft/second on impact — or almost the speed of sound. It could penetrate 15 ft of concrete and triggered a local "earthquake" that made it effective even if the bomb failed to make a direct hit on the target.

On the night of June 5/6, Knilans and other 617 crews contributed to the successful landings in Normandy by dropping aluminum foil to deceive German radar into thinking ships and landing craft were approaching Calais. The aircraft had to fly back-and-forth on a precise course advancing at only eight kilometers per hour to simulate approaching ships.

Following D-Day, 617 Squadron and Knilans returned to operations against strategic targets such as the V-1 and later the V-2 launch pads, submarine and E-boat pens, rail bridges and tunnels used to transport troops and equipment to Wehrmacht units fighting on the Western Front. In one raid, for example, 130 E-boats, which would otherwise have hampered Allied reinforcements to the beachheads in Normandy, were put out of action.

By now, however, Knilans “had the twitch” (in RAF jargon). Increasingly, he had odd sensations in his hands and at times lost his orientation when flying. He described it as “losing his confidence progressively.” We would call it PTSD.

Knilans’ fiftieth — and last — operation was a strike against the German battleship Tirpitz in September 1944. The Tirpitz was faster than any British battleship and armed with 12 anti-aircraft guns, 16 inch-and-a-half, 12 six-inch and 8 fifteen-inch guns, all of which could be fully elevated to shoot at aircraft. The range of her fifteen-inch guns was seventeen miles. Thirty-three attempts had already been made to sink her, and she had survived attacks from torpedo bombers, midget submarines and conventional bombs — which simply bounced off her armor.

Thirty-six aircraft of Nos 617 and 9 squadron made the attempt to sink the Tirpitz in an operation that called for the aircraft to fly first to a Red Air Force base of Yegodnik near Archangel (a twelve-hour flight). From there, after rest and refueling, the aircraft were to attack the Tirpitz from landward. Navigational aids were minimal, and Knilans along with roughly half the other RAF bombers were unable to find Yegodnik before running out of fuel. Knilans managed to put his Lancaster down in a hay field. The next day, however, all four engines cut out shortly after take-off. He restarted the engines by diving but rammed a tall pine tree while recovering from the dive. The tree broke through the nose and shattered the cockpit Perspex. Knilans, nevertheless, safely landed the aircraft at Yegodnik on three engines. Three days later, the repaired aircraft with Knilans at the controls took part in the raid against the Tirpitz, contributing to the debilitating (but not sinking) the battleship. Knilans brought his Lancaster back to Woodhall Spa on September 17, two days after the raid on the Tirpitz. It was one of only 16 of the original 36 aircraft that returned, the rest having been lost in crashes and cannibalization for repair parts rather than enemy action.

Having completed 30 operations with 617 in addition to the 20 he had flown with 619, Knilans “retired” from the RAF. When he stopped flying for the RAF, however, his transfer to the USAAF went into full effect. He was repatriated to the U.S. and employed in the training establishment. He retired from the USAAF at the end of World War Two with the rank of Major.  

Knilans vowed that after the war he would do something “constructive,” and chose teaching as the venue for that ambition. He worked as a teacher for 25 years, including two years with the Peace Corps in Nigeria. He was particularly dedicated to helping underprivileged children, particularly Mexican Americans, and also served as a counsellor in California prisons. He retired in 1978 and died in 2012. He never married.

(Sources: RAF Museum Website, John Nichol, Return of the Dambusters: What 617 Squadron Did Next)

I am trying to pay tribute to the men of Bomber Command in my most recent publications. "Lack of Moral Fibre" explores the reason why a decorated flight engineer refuses to fly on a raid to Berlin in late November 1943. The sequel, "Moral Fibre: Story of a Lancaster Skipper," will be released later this year.  

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My novels about the RAF in WWII are intended as tributes to the men in the air and on the ground that made a victory in Europe against fascism possible. 

Lack of Moral Fibre, A Stranger in the Mirror and A Rose in November can be purchased individually in ebook format, or in a collection under the title Grounded Eagles in ebook or paperback. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

Where Eagles Never Flew was the the winner of a Hemmingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction and a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 

Why Write? The Theme or Message: Final Reflection of Ten on Creative Writing

  When asked "why" I write, I sometimes try to explain that I am "compelled" and "inspired" Or I might say that I cannot stop, or that I am only happy when I'm working on a book.  Sometimes I try to explain that I have stories inside me that need to be told. Yet such answers ultimately boil down to a single thing: I write because I have something I want to share with others. In other words, I think I have something to say, something that is of interest - if not importance - to others beyond myself and my immediate circle, namely the theme or message of my works.

 

 

If I did not feel the compulsion to share my insights and inspiration with others, there would be no need to write them down, much less publish them. Yet for me personally, such a compulsion goes beyond the desire "to entertain." Entertainment is wonderful. We all enjoy it. It distracts us from our problems, cheers us up when we are glum, and chases away boredom. It is or should be pleasurable -- and is also mostly forgettable. "Mere" entertainment that distracts and amuses us before being superseded by the business of life -- or the next distraction.

When I write, I strive for more than entertainment. My ambition -- justified or not -- is to write books that are not forgotten the moment the last page is turned. My goal is to write books that will stay with a reader for the rest of their lives either by teaching them something or altering their attitudes and perspectives in some way. My hope is that my books can provoke thought, doubt, questions, and provide insight, new perspectives and even inspiration. In short, I want to share the things that move, agitate, concern or motivate me with others. 

I have drawn my inspiration from other humans -- from human actions through the course of history. Humans are so diverse and so complex that I have never felt the need to invent fantastical beings to supplement much less replace them. Humans have the capacity to create great works of art and technology. They have the capacity to do both immense good and devastating evil. They provide infinite inspiration.

In my travels and studies, I occasionally encountered individuals of particular courage, creativity or compassion. Some of these inspired me to write about them. In doing so, I strove to include as much biographical and historical fact as possible, while exploring psychological and spiritual components outside the historical record. My goal has always been to depict the humanity my heroes, making them more accessible to ordinary people, while highlighting their exceptional qualities as an inspiration to us. Let me give just three examples. 

Leonidas of Sparta hardly needs an introduction. He made the decision to defend the Pass at Thermopylae with his body guard of 300 Spartiates and 700 volunteers from Thespeia in order to enable the bulk of the Greek forces to withdraw and live to fight another day. Because of his sacrifice, the Greek coalition was able to field an army the following spring that definitively defeated the Persian invasion.

Yet while everyone knows about Leonidas' death, few know anything about his life. Leonidas is the subject of a three part biography, which seeks to explore what kind of man he might have been and what events (based on the historical record) combined to make him willing and able to make that heroic sacrifice. The trilogy consists of: A Boy of the Agoge, A Peerless Peer, and A Heroic King.

Balian d'Ibelin is less familiar to most, yet he was an important historical figure. Having defended Jerusalem against a vastly superior army with a garrison so denuded that there were 50 women and children for each fighting man, Ibelin negotiated a surrender that enabled the inhabitants to escape with their lives and freedom, but Saladin terms required a "ransom" payment for each person who walked free. Knowing that many people in the city were refugees, who had already lost everything, Ibelin also negotiated a lump sum payment for an estimated 8,000 paupers. When the day of payment came, however, there were 15,000 more paupers than had been covered with the lump sum (paid, incidentally, by the Hospitallers). So Ibelin offered up his own person to Saladin, surrendering his freedom until enough money could be raised from God-knew-where to pay for the poor. Saladin turned him down, but that does not detract from the profound compassion Ibelin had demonstrated.

Balian is the subject of four books that seek to reconstruct his development from a landless knight to the man Arab chroniclers describe as "like a king." The series includes his role at the Battles of Montgisard and Hattin as well as his  defense of Jerusalem in 1187 and his role as Richard the Lionheart's envoy during the Third Crusade. The final volume speculates about his life after the Third Crusade. The novels devoted to Balian are: Balian d'Ibelin: Knight of Jerusalem, Defender of Jerusalem, Envoy of Jerusalem and The Last Crusader Kingdom.

In June 1940, the fate of Western civilization hung in the balance. Nazi Germany had defeated and overrun Poland, Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium and France. In the United States, Congress and public opinion vehemently opposed "European entanglements." Great Britain stood alone and many in the British government advocated a negotiated deal that would have left Hitler in control of the continent of Europe for decades to come. That it did not come to that is thanks to just a few hundred RAF fighter pilots -- supported magnificently by ground crews and led brilliantly by some of the least-appreciated strategists of WWII. Yet the average age of these men was 20. Most were not old enough to vote. Many did not have a drivers' license. In their youth and naivety lay an irrepressible enthusiasm for life and as yet untarnished idealism. They could at times be remarkably juvenile, immature and irresponsible, yet they demonstrated mind-boggling selflessness -- again and again. Such heroes deserve tribute.

Which explains why there are many books and films about the Battle of Britain already! However, it noticed that the vast majority of novels about the Battle of Britain focus on a single pilot and his girl — or at most a single squadron. That is rather like trying to see a panorama through a keyhole. I chose to write a novel that widens the perspective by consciously opting for a large cast of characters and interweaving a range of plot-lines into the book. Thus, Where Eagles Never Flew isn’t just about RAF pilots on the front line, but also ground crews, controllers, the training establishment, British civilians, and Germans. RAF Battle of Britain Ace Wing Commander Bob Doe called it "the best book" he had ever seen about the Battle, adding that the book got it "smack on the way it was for us fighter pilots." 

 

 

 

Description: Part IX of a Ten-Part Reflection on Creative Writing

 Description is as at least as important in historical fiction as in any other kind of fiction. For an author writing about an unfamiliar period or environment (13^th century Ethiopia, anyone?) descriptions are even more important because the reader cannot be expected to imagine things without more intensive assistance. In historical fiction, the author's words must often provide the images that are unnecessary in books set in our own time for which we carry around images already.

 

Admittedly, when talking about writing, the importance of good descriptive writing is often overlooked. I think this is because description is more a means to an end than an objective in itself. The key elements of a modern novel are plot, character and theme. We have novels that are compelling on the basis of plot alone (e.g. thrillers) and novels that are appeal solely on the strength of their characters (e.g. much literary fiction), but no novel can be convincing and successful simply because it has strong descriptions of a dull plot or uninteresting characters.

Yet good description can contribute materially to the success of a novel. Good descriptions enhance the other elements. Good descriptions also serve as a kind of mortar, binding plot, character and theme together. Good descriptions enable us to see and understand characters better, and to envisage the places/instruments/tools and events that constitute the plot.

Descriptive passages are those in which an author’s voice is most direct. Dialogue should give the characters their own voices, and plot elements are usually strongest when they are least embellished.

Last but not least, dialogue and critical plot developments are usually fast-paced. Description, on the other hand, is a means of slowing down a novel. Descriptive passages and paragraphs allow the reader to catch their breath and reflect on what is happening.

Broadly speaking, description falls into five categories:

1. Description of the setting/environment. Something that usually takes place at the beginning of a scene or change of setting/venue.

2. Descriptions of characters. Again, usually undertaken when a character is first introduced.

3. Descriptions of things. This can be clothes, buildings, means of transport, tools and technology. These kinds of descriptions tend to be particularly important in science fiction — and historical fiction, in as much as the author feels the reader is unfamiliar with, say, what a galley looked like or how people dressed in 16th Century Iceland.

4. Descriptions of action. This can either be narrative transitions from a previous scene, or intensive depictions of developments. (Plot)

5. Descriptions of mood. These are the most important descriptions in my opinion — once the baseline physical descriptions of people and places have been established.

Let me give an example of each of these from my most recent releases, Where Eagles Never Flew and Grounded Eagles.

Setting:

This is from the opening chapter of “Lack of Moral Fibre” one of the three tales included in Grounded Eagles. It describes the setting of the entire book, the RAF DYDN Centre at Torquay, where the flight engineer Christopher “Kit” Moran has been sent after refusing to fly on a raid against Berlin in late November 1943. He is facing disciplinary action for “Lack of Moral Fibre” — that is cowardice.

It was disorienting to be in what had evidently been a hotel. Although now outfitted with standard-issue RAF furnishings, remnants of its former grandeur lingered in the ceiling mouldings and gracious, bay windows. If it hadn’t been sleeting, there might even have been a view to Torbay. Instead, visibility was so bad that everything beyond the windows was just a blurry white and grey. That backdrop highlighted the gloomy interior. The lobby furnishings were run-down, and four years of war had marked the inhabitants, too. Unremittingly dressed in Air Force blue, their averted faces were strained and prematurely lined.

Kit took the key, shouldered his kitbag, and found his way up two flights of stairs to room 24. While the lobby had been overheated, the hall was bitterly cold. He unlocked the door and found himself in a modest room with two twin beds. He was taken aback to find one of the beds already occupied by a man wrapped in blankets.

“Sorry! I must have the wrong room!” Kit started to back out.

“No,” a voice rose from the bed. “They double us up like this.”

“Oh, of course,” Kit nodded to himself. Why hadn’t he expected that? He’d expected far worse. He entered and closed the door behind him before introducing himself, “I’m Christopher Moran, but I go by Kit.”

“Oliver Huckle, and if you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk.” His roommate rolled over, offering his back.

“Fine by me,” Kit muttered. He didn’t particularly want to talk himself. He tossed his kitbag on the vacant bed and started unpacking his things. He’d done this countless times on countless RAF stations for almost four years now. This was just another move, one more posting. Except it wasn’t.

Kit went to the window. Sleet pelted the glass, making a high ticking sound before melting and slithering down the slick surface. His breath rapidly steamed up the inside. Kit raised an index finger to write in the condensation: LMF — for Lack of Moral Fibre.

Character:

This description introduces the main protagonist of “A Rose in November,” the second novella in the Grounded Eagles trilogy. Rhys, the son of a Welsh miner, is now a senior NCO in the RAF and a widower with two teenage children — and he’s about to get sucked into an unexpected love affair with an upper class woman.

As Rhys stared into the mirror he couldn’t grasp that he wasn’t still that overly-thin young man with black hair and eyes, but rather a man whose face had become square with flesh and whose hair was silver-grey. He’d always been short (came from generations of crouching underground, his Mum said), but back then, he’d been as frail as a jockey as well. Now he’d grown stocky. Not fat, he told himself, sucking in his stomach and squaring his shoulders for the mirror. But he’d have to watch it, he reflected as he turned sideways and considered his figure more objectively. At least his hair was still thick, he thought resignedly, as he scraped away at the crop of stubble on his cheek, careful to leave his thick, drooping moustache untouched.

Things:

The aircraft that won the Battle of Britain, the Hurricane and the Spitfire, both feature prominently in my Battle of Britain novel, Where Eagles Never Flew, but most of the characters in the novel are already pilots familiar with the aircraft and to describe it at length when in their POV would feel like the author butting in. The visit of the lead protagonist’s girlfriend to a training station, on the other hand, was a perfect opportunity to describe the Spitfire in greater detail:

Emily felt her heart in her throat for a moment as her bottom sank onto the worn seat, and she was enclosed by the smell of metal and oil and aviation fuel. Directly in front of her was the confusing instrument panel and, beyond, the snout of the mechanical beast loomed up, cutting off her view. Before she knew what she was doing, her feet settled on the pedals, and with an audible clack the rudder shifted. She jumped slightly and yanked her feet back guiltily.

“Not to worry,” Robin assured her from where he stood on the wing root. He pointed out the various instruments and the ‘joy stick.’ Emily’s thumb slid over the trigger. How easy it must be to push, she thought. The thought frightened her. She pushed herself back up and gave her hand to Robin. “Take me up in the other plane, please.”

Action:

This example of describing action is from “Lack of Moral Fibre.” It describes Lancaster engaged in the RAF night bombing offensive against the German capital and is based on primary sources, although the characters are fictional. Note: RAF bombers did not fly in formation as the USAAF, but rather flew independently to the target, navigating their own way there and back but according to a tight schedule that put them all over the target within a short timeframe of 20 to 30 minutes.

As they turned south for Berlin, however, the fierce winds were on their tail, pushing them southwards. Sailor warned that they would be over the target as much as 30 minutes early. Hamed pointed out that if that were true, the Pathfinders wouldn’t have laid down the target indicators yet. So, Selkirk throttled back and started flying long, slow zigzags across the sky to the north of Berlin to slow their southward progress. This had the advantage of giving the gunners a better view below and behind them. Yet the sky remained eerily empty until Ramsey reported: “Flares! Mid-Upper gunner to pilot: Flares to starboard.”

Selkirk banked the heavy bomber toward the flares. “Pilot to navigator: How many minutes to the target.”

“Eight to ten if we go straight in.”

“Please give me a time hack.”

“22:15.”

“Wireless operator to pilots: Bomber Command has moved Zero Hour forward by five minutes.”

They heard Selkirk sigh over the intercom as he swung out in another lazy sweep away from the target.

“Berlin looks — Sorry — Rear gunner to pilot: Berlin looks like its on fire already.”

They turned back toward the city which was, they noticed, partially covered by cloud. This layer of rumpled fluff was rapidly turning red and yellow as if there was an inferno burning underneath. Had the other bombers gone in early? Had the raid been moved forward not five but fifteen minutes?

Without comment, Selkirk turned back toward Berlin and opened the throttles. Suddenly, another Lancaster cut across their bows no more than 100 feet away. They missed the tail fins by what felt like inches. It happened so fast that no one aboard Y-York had a chance to say anything.

After Moran’s pulse had returned to almost normal, a cold fear settled on the back of his neck. The winds had disrupted everyone’s navigation to the point that 800-something bombers were scattered all over the sky and flying every which way to get back to the target for Zero Hour. He supposed that made the risk of collision about 800 times higher than during a normal operation.

The closer they came to Berlin, the more confused the picture became. Rather than clear target indicators, there appeared to be two different flare paths, leading in divergent directions.

Hamed was the one to figure out what was going on. “Skipper! Ignore the flares at 2 o’clock! Them’s a German diversion! Can you see? Them’s some Jerry bomber laying ‘em out.”

“Well done, Teddy,” Selkirk praised.

They followed the Pathfinder flares. Strangely, the searchlights, which usually didn’t bother on a cloudy night, were probing the under-bellies of the cloud. Here and there they broke through gaps in the clouds to light up a cone of the night sky, but it was impossible for them to coordinate and triangulate on a bomber. Which seemed like a good thing until Teddy called up from his bubble. “Bomber aimer to the rest of ye: the light below the cloud is like background lighting to a puppet show! I can see dozens of Lancs out there — perfect silhouettes against the light — and so can the wild boars. We might as well be naked on a big stage!”

“There they are! Seven o’clock,” Rhodes called from the tail followed by the chattering of his guns.

The fighter were, in fact, all over the place, and soon the sky was illuminated by the flames of burning aviation fuel as one after another RAF bomber ignited.

Y-York lined up on the bomb run. Hamad was calling out: “Left. Left. Steady. Right. Steady.”

Just then a wild board homed in on a Halifax flying to port. First one and then a second engine burst into flame. The Halifax veered sharply toward Y-York, and Selkirk just managed to avoid a collision by yanking the Lancaster upward and banking away.

“You call that straight and level, Skipper?” Hamad shouted furiously. “This is supposed to be—”

The rest of his words were lost in the explosion that erupted with such violence that the Lancaster’s tail was flung upwards. They started to dive. Before Selkirk recovered control, they were engulfed by waves of molten smoke washing over the Lancaster from behind. Bits and pieces of debris rained down on their fuselage. They all heard Sam Rhodes yelp.

Mood:

For me, the most important function of description is to evoke mood. The same scene or place can be depicted in a variety of ways to pull the reader into the character’s skin and see it through his/her eyes coloured by his/her mood and feelings. This example is from “A Stranger in the Mirror,” the third book in the Ground Eagles collection. The protagonist David “Banks” Goldman is a former fighter pilot who was severely burned when his Hurricane was shot down. After extensive plastic surgery to restore his face, he has been sent on leave to regain some strength before undergoing more surgery.

After Mr Bowles left, Banks cleaned up and then went for a walk. He followed a narrow footpath that led down the slope on the far side of the barn behind the cottage — and got lost in the English countryside.

At first, it was only figurative. Banks stopped thinking consciously and just let the sights, sounds and smells lead him. As he wandered, the war was forgotten, replaced with fragments of poems and melodies and pleasant memories. When he discovered a creek gurgling contentedly as it carried off last autumn’s rotting leaves, he sat down on a rock and let the sun soak his face. He wondered if the different strips of skin would absorb the sunlight at different rates, exaggerating the effect of the patchwork or if a tan would help smooth over the differences. He dozed off for a bit.

Banks was awoken by a breeze that stirred up the debris of autumn and swirled it around him. Clouds were rolling in from the West and the temperature had dropped. He got up, stiff from the damp and the hard rock. He started walking back the way he’d come but soon came to a hedgerow he didn’t remember and couldn’t cross. He turned around and tried a different path. This brought him to a stone wall he had not seen before. He had utterly lost his way.

By then, the sky was almost completely overcast, and a cold, brisk wind was blowing. Banks decided to follow the wall, thinking it might lead to a house. It didn’t. In the distance, he spotted a road, and he crossed a muddy, ploughed field to reach it. By the time he stepped out onto the dirt road, his feet were soaked, his trousers muddy, and fog had settled over the entire landscape.

Banks was hungry and frustrated. All the pleasure he had experienced earlier while discovering the beauty of Ginger’s countryside had evaporated.

The Grounded Eagles Trilogy is available in paperback or ebook format. 

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The three components of the trilogy can be purchases independently in ebook format:

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