Happy Easter. Bill Millington Easter 1937

As a young man, Bill Millington channelled his energies into scouting. He had joined the movement at a young age, graduating from cub to scout and then rover, and had won many achievement badges. He was connected with both the Forestville and Torrensville rover crews and joined the Boy Scouts Association’s soccer league. His best friends were his fellow scouts and rovers. Together, they enjoyed camping, bushwalking and rabbit shooting in the Adelaide Hills and messing about on boats. Bill’s devotion to scouting went deeper than just friendship and excursions. His personal creed was based on the strong moral principles enshrined in scout law and he strove to be trustworthy; loyal to King, Empire and Country; helpful, friendly, cheerful, considerate, thrifty, courageous; and respectful.

 

 

 

Here is a photo of one of his rover jaunts, a hike and camping weekend at Kuitpo, South Australia, Easter, 1937. Bill is second from the left, arms folded.

 

Desmond Fopp

 

The other day I was very privileged to be presented a copy of a wonderful Anthony C Harold print of his beautiful oil painting of Australian Battle of Britain pilot Desmond Fopp: ‘1056 hrs – September 3rd 1940 Hurricane M.K 1 – 17 Squadron. Mine is 621 of 1000 and is signed by Squadron Leader Desmond Fopp as well as Harold. On the reverse of the framed print is the ‘Certificate of Authenticity’ signed by Harold and dated ‘15 August 80’. The certificate also gives an account of the events that took place on 3 September 1940. Before I get to that, I will tell you a bit about the early days of the man known as Des to the majority and Dizzy or Dizzy Desmond to his mother, Dorothy, as he always had his head in the clouds.

 

 

Dizzy was born on 13 March 1920 at Cuddlee Creek in South Australia’s Adelaide Hills. His Australian birth was almost by the skin of his teeth, as his father, Dick, and his pregnant English-born bride had only embarked on the Orsova on 22 November 1919, on one of the last ships to bring returning troops and their new wives home.

Dizzy had an idyllic childhood on his father’s prosperous fruit farm in the Adelaide Hills. Dick Fopp grew apples and pears on a large, sloping block but not all of its acreage was given over to fruit trees. There were some steep sections which were ideal for a boy with freedom and imagination to hide and hunt, rove and play. He had a shock of wavy, blonde hair, originally snowy white but which had darkened into a honey blonde that curled up from his forehead. Fair skinned and haired, prone to freckles and sunburn under South Australia’s blazing summer suns, he was an only child who enjoyed his own company, or that of his dog, Smokey. Even so, he was close friends with his cousin Bob who lived nearby and the two would range around on their bikes on the weekend and in school holidays, with Smokey at their wheels. Dizzy was a good swimmer, loved horse riding, played tennis—there was a tennis court near the house—and in his final year at St Peter’s College, Adelaide claimed a gymnasium prize in the end of year prize giving. Although his name did not appear in any of the other school prize lists he was a whiz with maths and rapid mental calculations.

The Depression seemed to have bypassed many of the Adelaide Hill families—those on properties were relatively self sufficient—but even so, Dizzy, like many of the other boys in the area, supplemented his pocket money by shooting the rabbits that abounded in plaque proportions on and near the farm. He had a keen eye and was a good shot, and he always had a supply of pelts when he went into town to collect the bounty. But Dizzy’s eye was not always glued to his gun site. From an early age, he turned it skywards and Amy Johnson and Jean Batten, along with Bert Hinkler and Charles Kingsford Smith, became his role models and heroes. As Dizzy imagined himself climbing into a cockpit just like his aviation heroes, his head really was in the clouds and by the time he sailed to England with his mother after his father’s death in October 1934, he had developed a burning ambition to fly. He fulfilled that ambition in November 1938 when he joined the RAFVR and was called up at the outbreak of war. After training he was posted to 17 Squadron on 24 May 1940. After ops in the dying days of the Battle of France, he participated in the Battle of Britain until his bale out of 3 September.

 

 

(This photo was taken after he returned from France) 

That was the day that he damaged a Do 17 and was then shot down in flames by a Messerschmitt 110. He baled out at 17,000 feet, with burns, and landed at Pressey’s Farm, Hutton. Hurricane P3673 crashed and burned out near Handley’s Dairy Farm, Ingrave, Essex. He noted in his log book: ‘Opps. Intercepted 60 EA. 1 Do 17 probable. Shot down in flames by three Me 110s. Baled out 17,000 feet. In hospital 2 months.’(50 mins for op ‘+ 15 mins by parachute’). I found Dizzy’s description of the day’s events in Franks, The Battle of Britain, Bison Books, London, 1989, p. 38

We were scrambled late and did not get to sufficient altitude to achieve a favourable attacking position from above, with the result that we had to attack head-on at about 20000 feet, and hope to break up the large formation of Do 17s, with guns blazing which did separate them considerably. I had just put a Dornier’s engine out and he was smoking badly when I saw three Me 110s coming in behind me in line astern. By this time I had run out of ammunition but decided that as I could not match them for speed I would turn into them and simulate an attack. This I did and to my astonishment and joy they broke all around me so I immediately half rolled and dived for the deck. Unfortunately for me one of them was also below and behind out of sight and managed to put a cannon shell into my radiator, with the result that all I heard was a thump and the next second I was sitting in a ball of fire.

Then, according to Dizzy in a letter on his RAF Museum file:

I therefore left fairly hurriedly by parachute and arrived at Brentwood still smouldering. In fact the harness of my parachute was still burning on arrival. I was immediately set upon by the local farmer and had a bit of a job convincing him that I was British due to my burnt closes—however a few choice bits of language convinced him!

He was unrecognisable because of his burns: the whole of his back, legs and face around the eyes had been seriously burned; he was blind for a month. He was taken to Brentwood District Hospital. His eye bandages on his eyes had to be changed daily. There were days when he was in great pain and told his nurse he wanted to die. When his mother, who lived in Bristol, came to visit, she was told how desperately ill her son was and asked her not to show her emotions. She apparently just went in to him and said ‘Now what have you been up to Dizzy?’ She never let him know how ill he was. Despite the pain and discomfort, he was a good patient and the nurses were fond of him. He was their own ‘Battle of Britain Boy’ and they were determined to make him better. A nurse remembers the day he winked at her when she removed the dressings.

Desmond Fopp eventually returned to flying duties and enjoyed a good RAF career including the award of the AFC in September 1944 for getting an aircraft down safely after a mid air collision. A sergeant pilot, he was commission on 3 November 1941. He retired as a Squadron Leader on 13 March 1975. He died on 8 August 2005 at the age of 85. He was the last surviving Australian fighter pilot of the Battle of Britain. I think my print, so kindly given to me by Desmond Fopp’s cousin, is a fine way to remember one of our Second World War greats.

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Dick Glyde was kicked out of the RAAF.

In March 1934, Dick Glyde was kicked out of air force training. It was a devastating blow but Dick was determined to fly.

 

 

Dick had joined RAAF Point Cook’s 15th course in January 1934, shortly before his twentieth birthday. It wasn’t long before he was in the air. He proved the fastest on his course, going solo after five hours of dual instruction

But Dick, who hailed from Perth, Western Australia, had little time to experience the joy of solo flight as he was discharged medically unfit for further service on 5 March 1934. His conduct and character up to that time had been ‘very good’ but a medical examination had detected a slightly crooked spine. When he was accepted at Point Cook, there had been subtle hint that completion of a cadetship was not guaranteed when he was advised that on arrival he would be a member of the Officers’ mess and required to give a £5 deposit to cover any debts in the event of leaving early. No one, however, really believed that they would be turfed out of training. But Dick had, and over something of which he had no knowledge; the defect had never been obvious and he had suffered no ill effects in a full sporting.

Dick was disappointed at being discharged from the RAAF but he did not simply accept the apparent inevitability of never flying again. He consulted a physician, carried out an exercise program recommended to rectify the slight curvature of his spine and within four months, the defect had been ‘completely remedied’. He got a job, saved for his passage to England was granted a short service commission in the Royal Air Force effective from 24 May 1937.

What's the connection between John Crossman and McNamara VC?

On 20 March 1917, Frank Hubert McNamara carried out a daring rescue under enemy fire that resulted in award of the Victoria Cross. Twelve months later, John Dallas Crossman was born. What do these men have in common? Read on.

 

 

John Dallas Crossman

John Dallas Crossman was born in North Queensland, Australia exactly 95 years ago on 20 March 1918. His father Ted, who hailed from Taunton in Somerset, England, had come to Australia in 1912.

John was a great swimmer, enjoyed music, collected stamps and was a voracious reader but his greatest enthusiasm was for flying. He was mad about aeroplanes from the time he could walk and whenever he could, he headed out to the local aerodrome & loved making plane models. Soon, he would turn to the real thing

Handsome young John was firmly set upon a career in the air force. After a grand farewell from his family, friends and fiancée Patricia Foley he set sail for England. While at sea, war was declared and while some cheered at the news but John’s reaction was subdued and resigned: ‘Should this last any time it seems unlikely that I’ll ever see home again. Still I expect it can’t be helped. A fellow has to realise that.’ And as for the decision to go to war, ‘it is a pretty filthy business altogether but really the only thing that England could do’.

Having arrived in England John joined the RAF on 12 August 1939. His proudest moment was the day he received his wings believing that in flying for Britain he would be fulfilling his destiny.

John’s first action was on the September 14th. He admitted to being scared sick and panicky when the squadron attacked a formation of about 60 Messerschmitt 109s at 20,000 feet. The fear was worse just before he fired, but he pushed it aside and ‘got one decent burst into a 109 but was unable to see if I got him as [I] had to get out of the way of a few more’.

John was in the air again on the 15th, the day ever since commemorated as Battle of Britain Day. He ‘ran into hundreds of Jerry kites at about 19,000 feet. Three of us were going round to do head-on attacks on some Dorniers. I lost speed, spun down 6000 feet, came out near 20 more escorted by about 60 Messerschmitt 109s. Three of the 109s came after me. I evaded then came round [and] did a stern attack on the Dorniers. Put all my shots into one of them, set his port engine on fire and saw him go down’

John’s nerves quickly passed. As September advanced he was in the air two or even three times a day. With a zest for life and a bright sense of humour, he made friends easily. When he could grasp a few hours respite he spent time with them in an effort to forget the serious business of fighting. His family and fiancée were also clearly in his constant thoughts as John’s cabin walls were plastered with their photos. A large portrait of Patricia took pride of place in his display.

By the time John took to the air in the afternoon of 30 September 1940, he had flown 18 sorties. At about 1.30 p.m., 46 Squadron encountered a gaggle of Messerschmitt 109s and his Hurricane was hit. John Dallas Crossman was only 22 years old when he died in the Battle of Britain.

 

 

Frank Hubert McNamara

The only Australian Great War airman to receive the Victorian Cross was Frank Hubert McNamara and, interestingly, he has a connection to John Crossman. On 20 March 1917, exactly one year before John’s birth, McNamara and Alfred Ellis, flying single-seated Martinsydes, escorted by Peter Drummond and new pilot Doug Rutherford in BE2cs, were tasked with bombing a section of Turkish railway near Wadi el Hesi. McNamara dropped his bombs over a train but the last exploded as it left the racks. His Martinsyde was caught in the blast and metal fragments cut through the seat into his buttocks. He was dazed, bleeding and in pain so decided to return to base but he saw that Rutherford had force-landed and the Turkish cavalry were fast approaching. McNamara dived through enemy ground fire to land about 200 yards from Rutherford who was attempting to destroy his BE2c. Rutherford stopped when he saw McNamara, dashed to the Martinsyde and climbed onto its wing.

 

McNamara tried to take off but the aircraft could not take Rutherford’s weight and veered to the left. McNamara’s right leg was next to useless and did not have enough strength to operate the rudder to align the Martinsyde and it lurched into a gully. McNamara and Rutherford pulled themselves from the wreck just before the petrol tank exploded. The Turks were almost upon them and firing as Rutherford helped the wounded McNamara to the BE2c which, although damaged during its forced-landing, looked as if it could fly. Ellis and Drummond arrived and tried to distract the advancing Turks with machine-gun fire while Rutherford helped the still bleeding McNamara into the pilot’s seat. While McNamara fired at the fast approaching Turks, Rutherford swung the propeller. The engine started and he climbed in. Ninety minutes later, they were back at base.

McNamara’s actions exemplified self-sacrifice, bravery and devotion to duty and he was lauded as a hero when he returned to Australia. His rescue of Rutherford was not branded as chivalrous at the time—although he was publicised as a gallant hero—but it was belatedly recognised as a chivalrous act when Septimus Power’s 1924 painting ‘How the Victoria Cross was won in Palestine’ was included in the 1933 publication Australian Chivalry.

McNamara joined the RAAF on its formation in 1921 and served until 1946 when he retired with honorary rank of Air Vice-Marshal. The whole of his service during the Second World War was spent outside Australia, initially as as representative for the RAAF in London until 1942, then on loan to the RAF while commanding British forces in Aden until 1945.

So, what is the connection between John Crossman and Frank McNamara? Well, when Edward Wimperis, who painted John’s crash site on the day he died in battle, tried to track down the Crossman family so he could give them the paintings, he contacted McNamara at Australia House who agreed to forward the paintings to Australia. He told Wimperis on 29 October 1940 that ‘your kind and spontaneous action on the occasion of the death of this gallant young officer is something that moves me with admiration. I know too that the Air Ministry appreciates what you have done. Above all, I am sure that the relatives of the late officer will be grateful’. They were. And are.

 

 

'The Journey's End. 30th September 1940' by Edmund Wimperis, 1940.

All he Wanted to do was Fly. John Dallas Crossman

Good news:

 I have heard from the editor of Wings, the Journal of the RAAF Association and he will be publishing All he Wanted to do was Fly. John Dallas Crossman: Australian Battle of Britain Pilot. Part Two in the June edition.

 

Here is a wonderful photo of a model of Hurricane V6748 which John was flying on his 19th - and last - operational sortie. It was made by John's great nephew.

 

 

Pat Hughes - with a little help from my friends

I love researching our Second World War aviation history but sometimes I come up against a barrier. I am so grateful to friends, old and new, who help me peek behind the barrier or knock it down completely. For instance, for some time I have been trying to contact the family of Kathleen (Kay) Brodrick, Pat Hughes's wife. Every avenue came up a dead end. And then, thanks to Andy Saunders and his friend Paul McMillan I was given a lead and I have now made contact.

Here is my favourite photo of Pat, taken in June 1940. Kay is holding the camera.

 

 

Biographical writing

My first two books—Clive Caldwell Air Ace and Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader—were biography, Australian Eagles is a collection of biographical essays and my current work in progress, fondly known as The Opus (with a working title of Australia’s Few. An Intimate History of the Battle of Britain) has a strong biographical focus.

A few years ago, Allen & Unwin asked me to muse on my experiences of biography for their Writing Centre and I thought you might be interested in my thoughts...

Writing biography is a challenge. The intimacy is engrossing and the responsibility to accurately record a person’s life within the historical context is overwhelming. But it is so fulfilling. I have no background in historical writing and I fell into biography by accident but I learned much which might make biographical writing easier for other novices.

I recently read of an author who, before putting keystroke to sceen, was advised to read other biographies to see what worked and what didn’t. The author ignored that advice and it is obvious. My first suggestion, then, is read constantly: biography, memoir, history and literary fiction. Absorb and analyse. Deconstruct, criticise and appreciate. Develop an appreciation of structure and ‘flow’. Target your reading to the ‘life and times’ of your subject to gain a sense of the environment in which he or she lived as well as the social influences on his or her actions.

Personal primary source material—interviews, letters, diaries—will always be at the heart of a biography, as will the recollections and writings of contemporaries. When I first started work on Clive Caldwell Air Ace I took my primary sources at face value but before I made too many blunders I read something which has continued to influence my research.

Tom Harrisson was one of the co-founders of Mass-Observation which collected first-hand accounts of how Britons reacted to the Second World War. Thirty years after the Mass-Observation accounts were written Harrisson decided to compare the 1970’s recollection of life in the Blitz with the 1940’s first-hand account. In all cases, including one of his own treasured recollections, there were considerable differences. For the first time, I realised that memory was fallible so decided to treat it as a starting point, rather than an established fact.

This stood me in good stead as both Caldwell and Davenport, without any intention to deceive, had made memory slips and their accounts often did not stand up to the official record. Wherever possible, I checked each recollection against official and other recorded accounts. Occasionally, I could not sort out a discrepancy, so I just acknowledged it. That is what end notes are for! And this leads me another important point: biography is history and future readers will want to know your sources. So include end notes and a detailed bibliography.

My final suggestions relate to ‘readability’. I was always conscious that the technical aspects of military aviation should be accessible to the ‘ordinary’ reader so non-aviation friends read through my manuscripts and highlighted areas which went over their heads. An aviation expert also read them to correct my technical errors. For the Davenport manuscript I engaged a professional editor to work with me before I submitted it to Allen & Unwin: friends are usually too kind to point out literary and structural flaws. I cannot recommend these strategies enough because, believe me, if you have no background in your subject’s area of expertise, you will make mistakes and, we might as well admit it, we never see flaws in our own work!

 

http://www.allenandunwin.com/default.aspx?page=662

Australia's Few. An Intimate History of the Battle of Britain.

 

 

I  am very much looking forward to the publication of Australian Eagles in July.

 

Coincidenally, it will be my third book published in the middle of Australia's winter!

 

I have not put my pen down (so to speak as I use a keyboard) and continue to research and write. I am now well into a more detailed work on eight Australians in the Battle of Britain, working title Australia's Few. An Intimate History of the Battle of Britain aka The Opus.

 

In the last month of my particular Battle of Britain chronology, Stuart Walch and Dick Glyde became the first Australians to score in the Battle of Britain, Jack Kennedy has died, John Crossman and Ken Holland have gone to OTUs, Des Sheen has arrived back in England after taking the long way home from France, Bill Millington has discovered there is nothing chivalrous about air fighting and Pat Hughes has got married.

 

Today I turn to Stuart Walch as he builds on his initial success over the Channel. 

 

 

Stuart Walch, 1940. Doesn't he look like Ronald Coleman?  

Owen Zupp and Australian Eagles

Aviation fans will be well familiar with Owen Zupp, an experienced commercial airline pilot and author of ‘Down to Earth’ about Battle of Britain pilot Kenneth McGlashen. His writings have featured in magazines around the world and he is a dedicated bloggist. http://www.owenzupp.com/_blog/Owen_Zupp

A former paramedic, Owen offers a unique insight into his writings and presentations with a distinctly human element. His personal stories are something special and he has recently collected them in an ebook ‘Tales of Flight: From Biplanes to Boeings’.

http://www.amazon.com/50-Tales-Flight-Biplanes-ebook/dp/B00BKEDNMC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1361696861&sr=1-1&keywords=50+tales+of+flight

Demonstrating that writing is in his blood (as well as avgas) Owen is currently penning the experiences of his father a WWII commando and pilot in the Korean War. (You will meet him in ‘50 Tales’ .)

Owen has taken a break from his hectic publicity schedule for ‘50 Tales’ and writing regime to write a review for ‘Australian Eagles’. It will appear in due course but here is an extract.


...in seeking out the personalities behind the service numbers, Kristen has also thoroughly researched the operational truths. From personnel files to squadron records and log books, the timeline of the battle is clearly established. This book is thoroughly researched on a number of levels and the role of each young man’s daily life is described to a backdrop of combat operations. There are dogfights and close calls, but there is also time for humour and reflection. These are young men caught in between their vitality and mortality. ‘Australian Eagles’ offers a wonderful blend of history and humanity.

Coming from someone with such a feel for the human element in writing, these words mean a lot to me. Thank you Owen.