Readiness At Dawn

Paul Farnes by David Pritchard

The following poem was written in the dispersal hut at Kenley in October 1940 by Wing Commander Paul Farnes, DFM, who was a sergeant pilot at the time with No. 501 Squadron during the Battle of Britain. 

Readiness At Dawn

 By Paul Farnes

Night has shed its heavy cloak

And the stars ‘ere put to flight.

The dawn is gently breaking

With a pale and misty light.

But we got up some time ago

To herald in the morn,

For our orders of the night before

Said ‘Readiness at Dawn’.

We go round to our aircraft

To see they’re in good state,

And then there’s nothing left to do

But settle down and wait.

When we’re sitting round dispersal

To do battle in the sky

I often stop to wonder

If today someone will die.

It may be Bob it may be Bill

It may be Morf or Mac

Because as like as not this day

Someone won’t come back.

Some types are reading letters

And some are playing crap

Some are sitting thinking

Some quietly take a nap.

Suddenly the ‘phone rings,

It’s the operations line

And every man is on his feet

And the same thought’s in each mind.

The order comes to ‘Scramble’

The engines start as one

We rush out to our aircraft

And the battle has begun.

The squadron soon is airborne

And straight away begins the climb,

For height’s the first and foremost thought

In every pilot’s mind.

Tail-end-Charlie starts his weaving

To guard our tails and watch the sun,

For she makes a natural cover

For every skulking Hun.

Ground station calls the Leader

And says “There’s ninety plus

And they’re heading straight for Dover,”

So they’re heading straight for us.

Someone switches on his set

And the thought’s in each chap’s mind

That a warnings going to follow

So each man looks behind.

It’s Harry who is calling

He’s having trouble with his hood,

He says “I’ll have to break away,

Is my message understood?”

 We’re now at thirty thousand

And it won’t be very long

Before we start the battle

In which Mac won his ‘gong’.

The R/T crackles once again

And there’s a shout of “Tally-Ho,

They’re on our left at ten o’clock,

Come on chaps, lets go!”

The C.O. starts a gentle turn

To bring us on their beam,

But we’ve got to dive through Messerschmitts

That give the bombers fighter screen.

We dive down through the cover

But there are more up higher still

Just waiting till we turn our tails

Before they try to kill.

But the Spitfires up above us

The Hun has yet to face,

And soon there’ll be a battle royal

In this great barren space.

The fight is soon at fever pitch,

It’s each man on his own

And deeds of courage are performed

Of which nothing will be known.

On the ground down far below us

Our Mothers’ younger sons

Are watching us with envy

As they listen to the guns.

But if our prayers be answered

And God grant that they will,

When they’ve only just reached manhood

They won’t have to learn to kill.

The fight is nearly over now

The Hun has turned away

And those of us who’re lucky,

Live to fight another day.

The ground crews on the tarmac

Watch our return with anxious heart

And find that three have not come back

Who went up at the start.

It’s Hughie, Bob and Johnny

Who’re missing from the show,

But they may have baled out somewhere

And be trying to let us know.

Bob rings up sometime later

To tell us he’s O.K.

He baled out over Tunbridge

But that is all he’ll say.

The news of Hugh and Johnny

Came through to us next day,

They’d crashed in flames near Dover;

There’s not much one can say.

But someone takes a long drawn breath

And with unsteady voice

Says “If they’d known they had to go

It would have been their choice.

To die fighting for their country

Against the bloody Hun

In order that some other folk

May wander in the sun.

And when we sit around again

To go up and fight once more

My thoughts oft times stray far away

To my home before the war.

And when I think of peace in England

And all it means to me

Moisture dims my weary eyes

And I find it hard to see.

Copyright Paul Farnes (Used here with his permission)

Pat Lardner-Burke

Man and Machine

Pat Lardner-Burke

On Tuesday 2 December 1941 the London Gazette announced that ‘The KING has been graciously pleased to approve the following awards in recognition of gallantry displayed in flying operations against the enemy...’ The sixth award mentioned was the Distinguished Flying Cross for a Pilot Officer by the name of Henry Patrick Lardner-Burke (87449), RAFVR, of No.126 Squadron. The citation reads as follows:

In November, 1941, this officer was the pilot of one of 4 aircraft which engaged a force of 18 hostile aircraft over Malta and destroyed 3 and seriously damaged 2 of the enemy's aircraft. During the combat Pilot Officer Lardner-Burke, who destroyed 1 of the enemy's aircraft, was wounded in the chest and his aircraft was badly damaged. Despite this, he skilfully evaded his opponents and made a safe landing on the aerodrome; he then collapsed. Throughout the engagement, this officer displayed leadership and courage of a high order. He has destroyed 5 enemy aircraft over Malta.

Pat Lardner-Burke was born on 27 June 1916 in Harrismith, Orange Free State, South Africa. He joined the Royal Air Force in spring 1940 and in June he began his training at No.4 Elementary Flying Training School, Brough. After progressing to No.57 Operational Training Unit at Hawarden, Lardner-Burke was posted to No.19 Squadron in early 1941 where he flew Spitfires. His time with the Squadron was to be brief when in May that same year he joined a Hurricane equipped squadron, No.46. In June the Squadron left the UK for Malta and at the beginning of the following month it formed the nucleus of No.126 Squadron. In the defence of Malta, Lardner-Burke would see considerable action with the Squadron in an effort to fend off the Italian Regia Aeronautica as it attempted to bomb the strategically important island into submission.

          During the morning of 19 August 1941, Pat Lardner-Burke was airborne as Yellow 1, flying with the Squadron near Cap Passero. At around 1110 hours enemy aircraft were sighted flying at 23,000 feet and the ‘Tally ho’ call was given. Lardner-Burke followed Red 1, who turned left towards Cap Passero and flew about 5 miles inland. The two Hurricane pilots caught sight of a formation of 6 Italian Macchi 200 fighters flying at the same altitude as they were. Lardner-Burke also noted 6 more Macchi 200 fighters flying about 2,000 feet above. Red 1 turned towards the lower formation which split up into two sections of 3 and Lardner-Burke went after a Macchi flying in the rear of the second formation. Lardner-Burke fired a short burst which appeared to hit the pilot. The Macchi turned over and spun towards the land. Lardner-Burke then climbed for height and turned his aircraft towards another Italian fighter, which he engaged from astern. The Macchi pilot pulled his aircraft’s nose up and Lardner-Burke opened fire. His ammunition appeared to enter the Italian’s cockpit before the enemy fighter spun downwards emitting white smoke.

          Six days later Pilot Officer Lardner-Burke would claim another Macchi 200 as destroyed when flying in combat with the Squadron near Sicily. On this occasion Lardner-Burke was flying as Black 2 in a weaving role below the Squadron. Suddenly he heard ‘Tally ho’ over the R/T and positioned himself to attack the enemy at around 1715 hours. Red 1 dived and Lardner-Burke followed. One of the Italian fighter’s broke off from the main formation so Lardner-Burke followed in pursuit. The Macchi turned away and Lardner-Burke let off a quick deflection shot which missed. Lardner-Burke climbed and then made another pass at the evading fighter. This time his effort caused the Italian’s port wheel to drop. The Macchi then went into a steep dive towards the coast of Sicily and Lardner-Burke followed it down at close range and concluded his attack with a long burst. The enemy aircraft’s tail plane broke up and it dived straight into the sea from 1,000 feet. In his combat report Lardner-Burke noted that the Macchi pilot appeared to be trying to abandon his aircraft before it went down. But the pilot did not escape the Hurricane attack.

          On the morning 4 September 1941 nine Hurricanes of No.126 Squadron met approximately 16 Macchi 200 fighters flying at 22,000 feet to the east of Malta.

          Again, Lardner-Burke was weaving as Black 2 with the Squadron until he broke off with Black 1 to engage the enemy. An extract from Lardner-Burke’s combat report describes his part of the action:

I went up [and] away from the formation. Black 1 was already attacking an E.A [Enemy Aircraft] with another on his tail. I engaged the latter and saw his wing disintegrate.

Lardner-Burke had most likely rescued Black 1 from being shot down. His burst was so effective because he was flying a Hurricane IIC equipped with cannons. As a result of Lardner-Burke’s attack the enemy aircraft turned over and its pilot was seen to bale out.

          Pilot Officer Pat Lardner-Burke became an ‘ace’ on 8 November, when the Squadron was involved in one of the biggest dogfights it had been in for some time. 18 Macchi 200s and the new Macchi 202s fighters were intercepted on an escort mission for bombers bound for Malta. Lardner-Burke was flying Hurricane BD789 when he engaged and shot down a Macchi 202 near Dingli, but he was in turn fired upon from behind and wounded when a 12.7 mm bullet from an Italian fighter penetrated his seat armour and passed through his chest. Somehow, with a punctured lung, Lardner-Burke managed to land his Hurricane on Malta. Flight Lieutenant Tom Neil of No.249 Squadron was off duty at the time, but he walked down to dispersal to watch a number of Hurricanes come in to land. Lardner-Burke’s approach in particular caught his attention:

“...I noticed the battle damage and began to run. The propeller was still turning as I pulled down the retractable step and climbed onto the wing-walk, the slipstream clutching at my face and hair. The pilot still had his face mask attached but I recognised him immediately as Pat Lardner-Burke. I heard myself shouting, ‘Are you all right?’ – then knew immediately that he wasn’t. Pat’s head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. He undid his mask, clumsily. ‘They’ve got me in the back.’ He was obviously in shock and pain. I sought to comfort him. ‘All right. Don’t worry. Just hang on and we’ll get you out.’ I shouted to those beneath. ‘Get the ambulance and a stretcher.’ After which I began to consider how best to extricate him... Aware of the need to act quickly, I tried climbing onto the rim of the cockpit myself but found nowhere to put my feet. Then I thought about sitting on top of the open hood but saw immediately that I would not be able to reach down sufficiently to heave him up bodily. A pox on the man who designed this aircraft, I thought wildly, we would have to get a crane and winch him out. But there was no crane, or none that wouldn’t take hours to find and fetch. I said urgently, ‘Pat, can you stand? Or climb out yourself? Otherwise we can’t get at you.’ He said wearily, ‘I’ll try,’ and painfully pulling himself to his feet whilst I grasped his shoulders, he croaked an entreaty which would remain with me always: ‘Don’t shake me, Ginger...’ Somehow we all reached the ground, to be faced with two airmen with a collapsible canvas stretcher.[1]”

Painfully Lardner-Burke was laid onto the stretcher and then lifted in to an ambulance which took him to hospital. As the ambulance drove off in the direction of Imtafa, Neil climbed back onto the Hurricane to inspect the damage. He found several bullets that had hit the side of the aircraft behind the cockpit. He was shocked to find that one had punched a hole in the armour-plate and penetrated the back of the seat, gone right through Lardner-Burke, and carried on right through the dashboard and through the armour-plate in front. Several other pilots joined him, shaken by the sight of such powerful ammunition.

          Later in the month, Lardner-Burke learned that he had been awarded the DFC for his leadership and courage in action. In January 1942, when he had sufficiently recovered from his injury, Lardner-Burke returned to England.

          In May, the South African ace joined the Gunnery Instruction Training Wing as an instructor, where he remained until being posted to No. 222 (Natal) Squadron as a flight commander in March 1943.

          On 19 August 1943a Spitfire IXB, that was built at Vickers in Castle Bromwich and tested by famous chief test pilot Alex Henshaw, was delivered to No.222 Squadron. This particular Spitfire, serial number MH434, sporting the code letters ‘ZD-B’, would become Flight Lieutenant Lardner-Burke’s regular mount in the approaching operations.

          On the evening of 27 August the Hornchurch Wing was responsible for providing high fighter escort cover to 60 USAAF B-17 Flying Fortress bombers that were ordered to attack a target 4 miles north of St. Omer Marshalling Yards. The Wing, led by Wing Commander William Crawford-Compton, DFC and Bar, was comprised of 13 Spitfires of No.222 Squadron and 13 Spitfires of No.129 Squadron. The Wing took off at 1833 hours, climbed from base and crossed over Dungeness at 16,000 feet. When the Wing reached Berck at 22,000 feet it rendezvoused with the leading box of bombers at 1904 hours and positioned itself to port of the Fortresses. The formation reached a point north-west of St. Pol, turned left and flew north to St. Omer and then on to Mardyck. Having escorted the first box of bombers some 15 miles out to sea, the Wing turned back for St. Omer to pick up the second box of B-17s. Once again the Hornchurch Wing guided the Fortresses as far as they should go and then returned to escort the third box of bombers. But somewhere between St. Omer and Mardyck at 1939 hours the Wing saw nine Focke-Wulf 190s dive at the third box of Fortresses in small and loose formations and then climb back up towards the bellies of the B-17s. No. 129’s Red Section and No. 222’s Yellow Section remained above as cover whilst Wing Commander Crawford-Compton led the rest of the Wing down to 15,000 feet to attack the German fighters.

          Flying as Red 3 in Spitfire MH434, Lardner-Burke witnessed a FW 190 attack Wing Commanders Crawford-Compton and Davidson. Lardner-Burke shook the 190 of their tails by getting behind the enemy fighter and firing a two second burst from 350-300 yards range. His bullets struck the starboard wing and tail of the 190 which then turned sharply to starboard and dived away. The attack was seen by both Wing Commanders and the 190 was claimed as damaged.

          Lardner-Burke then latched on to another FW 190, closed to within 300 yards range and thumbed the gun button for 4 seconds from dead astern. The enemy fighter dived and Spitfire MH434 followed it down. Another burst from , this time lasting 2 seconds from astern caused the 190 to dive vertically into the ground near Audrioq. This second action was witnessed by Red 4, Yellow 2 and Yellow 3and for this reason Lardner-Burke was credited with 1 enemy aircraft destroyed.

          Red 4 was Flying Officer Otto Smik, a Czech pilot who intercepted a FW 190 that had intended to attack Lardner-Burke out of the sun. Seemingly aware of Smik’s presence, the 190 pilot put his aircraft’s nose down and dived, but Smik followed it down and opened fire at 400 yards using his cannons. The burst hit the starboard side of the 190’s fuselage and white smoke poured out into the air. The 190 pulled out of the dive, rolled on its back and the pilot baled out of the stricken aircraft.

          Another No.222 Squadron victory was scored by a New Zealander, Flying Officer Raymond Hesselyn, DFM and Bar. As Blue 3, he attacked a 190 as it broke away after it had attacked the bombers. A 4 second burst from his guns caused the enemy fighter to dive. Hesselyn followed it down and fired another 4 second burst from 300 yards astern and observed cannon strikes and large red flashes on the 190’s fuselage. He continued to close in and ended the engagement with a lengthy 6 second burst which most likely killed the pilot for the enemy aircraft went into a gentle dive and  finally crashed 10-15 miles north-east of Guines. The engagement took place from 8,000 feet and down to 6,000 feet before the FW 190 was destroyed.

          The general report written by Hornchurch’s Sector Intelligence Officer on form “F” includes some additional information regarding this sortie:

W/C Compton and Blue 4, 222 Squadron also fired but make no claim.

Blue Section 129 Squadron chased a F.W.190 but were unable to get within range.

1 F.W.190 was seen going down vertically and smoking after being hit by the guns of a Fortress.

A Fortress was seen to crash in flames 10 miles N.E. of Fruges, but the crew is believed to be safe 8/9 parachutes were seen floating down.

After the engagement, our aircraft withdrew in small formations and one landed at Gravesend, the remainder landing at Base by 2017 hours.

Bombing was not observed but much smoke was seen coming from a wood north of St. Omer.

Considerable heavy flak between St. Omer and Mardyck accurate at bombers.

On the morning of 5 September 1943, Wing Commander Crawford-Compton led the Hornchurch Wing from its base to North Foreland, where the Spitfires detailed to act as high escort, rendezvoused with 72 B-26 Marauders that were instructed to attack the Marshalling Yards at Ghent/Meirelbeke.

          The Wing met up with the bombers at 0800 hours and climbed towards Knocke, flew along the coast and crossed in at Nieuwesluis at 21,000 feet. A warning reached the Wing of enemy aircraft approaching from the north-east of its position, so the Spitfires began to orbit over Sas van Ghent and later east of Ghent. When bombs were seen to burst on the Marshalling Yards at 0829 hours the Wing turned to starboard from the target area. Approximately 10 minutes later the Wing was bounced by about 20 Focke-Wulf 190s attacking out of the sun. Four sections of the Wing engaged the 190s and various dogfights followed.

          With Yellow Section, Lardner-Burke climbed to port to head off half of the 190 fighters, one of which turned in front of his Spitfire and the South African opened fire. With a 3 second burst from 400 yards astern, Lardner-Burke scored hits on the 190’s engine and cockpit. The rest of Yellow Section watched the 190 turn over pouring smoke and then go down in flames in an uncontrollable spin.

          Another 190 fell to the guns of Wing Commander Crawford-Compton’s aircraft when later over Dunkirk he sighted 3 190s and led his section down towards them at 7,000 feet. He opened fire at one of the fighters from dead astern and followed up with another burst as the enemy turned to port. The 190 spun and crashed into the sea east of Dunkirk.

          Wing Commander Crawford-Compton then warned his wingman, Flying Officer H.L. Stuart of an enemy fighter on his tail and instructed him to break. Stuart broke to starboard; the 190 followed but overshot his Spitfire and then turned to port. Stuart’s aircraft had already sustained damage to its port flap, his port cannon was shot away and there were strikes on both the Spitfire’s wings, the engine and propeller. Nevertheless Stuart managed to get astern of the 190 and fire a 1 second burst from 400 yards. He then followed it up with another quick burst from 300 yards range and finished with a 2 second burst at 200 yards. Stuart saw strikes on the 190’s fuselage and starboard wing before it went into an uncontrollable spin. The 190 was last seen by Stuart at 2,000 feet going down vertically. Both Stuart and Crawford-Compton were of the opinion that the 190 could not recover and the enemy aircraft was claimed as a probably destroyed.

          Stuart’s damaged Spitfire was streaming glycol but he managed to safely land it at Manston.

          During this engagement, Squadron Leader E. Cassidy, DFC, and Flying Officer Daniel Thiriez of Red Section were bounced by 4 FW 190s, but the enemy fighters overshot them. Two of the 190s turned to port and Cassidy and Thiriez went after them guns blazing. One of the 190’s was struck by their ammunition and it went down vertically streaming white smoke. Both Cassidy and Thiriez were convinced that the pilot had lost control of his aircraft or was killed. This FW 190 was claimed as a shared probably destroyed.

          The tense battles had proved favourable for the pilots of No. 222 Squadron, who landed back at base at 0935 hours. But Sergeant Carmichael of No.129 Squadron failed to return. He was last seen diving with a FW 190 on his tail.

          On 8 September 1943 Lardner-Burke was airborne yet again in Spitfire MH434. The Hornchurch Wing, comprising of 25 Spitfires were flying as high cover to a formation of bombers that were detailed to attack targets in the Boulogne area between 1740 and 1817 hours. On this occasion the Wing was led by Squadron Leader H. Gonay, Croix de Guerre (Belgian) of No. 129 Squadron because Wing Commander Crawford-Compton was unable to take off at the appointed time due to engine trouble. He did however take off in another aircraft and joined the Wing over the target area shortly after it arrived.

          The Wing crossed the French coast at 22,000 feet at 1740 hours and then three patrols were carried out between Hesdin and Audricq. No.222 Squadron patrolled at 24,000 feet and No.129 Squadron flying 1,000 feet above.

          At the end of the third patrol, 12 Messerschmitt 109Fs were sighted by No.222 Squadron, which were then at 25,000 feet. The 109s climbed except for two of the fighters which dived to port. The General Report written by Hornchurch’s Intelligence Officer describes Lardner-Burke’s involvement as such:

F/Lt. H.P. Lardner-Burke D.F.C, and F/O. O. Smik (Blue 1 and 2) dived down on the leading e/a [enemy aircraft] which was diving steeply to the S.E. while Blue 3 and 4 followed, covering their attack. F/Lt. Burke opened fire from about 10° closing to dead astern at 350/300 yards range. He fired two bursts of 3 seconds and one of 2 seconds. Black smoke was seen to pour from the e/a which appeared to be in difficulties. F/Lt. Burke broke to port to enable F/O Smik to fire a 14 seconds burst from 300 yards dead astern, closing to 250 yards. He expended all his ammunition and broke off the combat at 7,000 feet. The e/a continued to dive at about 500 m.p.h. (Both Blue 1 and 2 were diving at 470/480 m.p.h.). The starboard wing tip of the e/a fell off and it dived straight in the ground 10-15 miles S.S.E. of Boulogne. The crash was also witnessed by P/O Wyllie (Blue 3). This Me.109F is claimed as destroyed.  

No.129 Squadron did not see any of the enemy fighters. There was intense heavy flak over the target area and five large fires were observed as a result of the bombing.

          Escort missions continued for the Wing and on 27 September, whilst escorting 72 Marauders that were detailed to bomb Conches aerodrome, No.129 Squadron claimed 2 FW 190s destroyed, 1 FW 190 damaged and 2 Messerschmitt 109s damaged. A single claim was made by No.222 Squadron after Flying Officer Smik shot down a Messerschmitt 109F. As Red 1, Lardner-Burke confirmed Smik’s claim.

          While turning to port Smik saw the enemy fighter attacking a Spitfire from 200 yards line astern. Smik tightened his turn to help the Spitfire pilot, who having been warned of the fighter on his tail broke away leaving Smik behind the enemy aircraft. From 180 yards range Smik opened fire with a long burst from his cannons and machine guns which raked the 109’s engine and cockpit. The starboard underside of the cockpit exploded and the starboard undercarriage leg dropped. The 109’s engine then stopped and finally after a port spin, pouring black and white smoke, the enemy aircraft crashed 20 miles south of Rouen.

          After the melee most of the Spitfires re-formed above the bombers and came out at St. Valeru-en-Caux at 1750 hours. Slight heavy flak was encountered and one Marauder received a direct hit and went down in flames. None of the crew was seen to bale out.

          On 3 October, 72 Marauders took to the air to bomb Beauvais/Tille aerodrome. The Hornchurch Wing climbed from base and crossed east Hastings at 15,000 feet to rendezvous with the bombers about 30 miles north of Dieppe at 1703 hours. The Marauders carried out their objective as accurate bombing was observed to strike the dispersals and airfield at Beauvais. Four minutes after leaving the target area the Wing was bounced out of the sun by 40 109s and 190s that dived straight towards the Marauders. Wing Commander Crawford-Compton ordered No.129 Squadron to remain above as cover while No.222 Squadron went down after the enemy fighters.

          Flight Lieutenant Hesselyn was seen to attack the rearmost aircraft, a Messerschmitt 109, which after being set on fire crashed in a wood as Blue Section pulled out at 1,000 feet. The Spitfires then climbed rapidly but were bounced by 2 FW 190s at 15,000 feet. One of the enemy fighters was seen to fire a short burst at Hesselyn’s aircraft which soon caught fire and, after turning on its back, went down in flames and then poured black smoke into the air. Flight Lieutenant Lardner-Burke saw the action from his own cockpit and reported seeing a parachute below. He was convinced that Hesselyn had baled out when turning the Spitfire on its back... and he was right. Hesselyn was able to successfully abandon his aircraft suffering burns and wounds to both legs. He was soon captured and became a prisoner of war.

          At the end of the engagement the majority of the Wing re-formed and came out behind the last box of bombers before returning to base.

          During this same month Lardner-Burke received a posting to HQ, Fighter Command, at Stanmore, where he served with Group Captain Bobby Oxspring, DFC and two Bars.

          Oxspring wrote the following of his new appointment: 

“Before my leave expired, an order arrived cancelling my return to Sicily but instead to report to Fighter Command at Stanmore. A vacant slot needed filling in the Tactics and Training branch of the illustrious headquarters, and I joined a formidable squad of fellow tour-expired veterans whose cavalier approach to their work sent spasms of horror through the dedicated Staff College graduates.  The tactics and training publications directed at the day fighter squadrons were entrusted to three of us sharing an office.

          Jackie Urwin-Mann, a pre-war vintage Canadian who had sweated through the Battle of Britain and the Western Desert, occupied one chair. The third desk was the domain of Pat Lardner-Burke, a rugged South African who, with Hornchurch sweeps and Malta behind him, displayed a refreshingly irreverent attitude to all senior officers with whom he disagreed. Facetious comments filled the minute sheets of numerous files which we solemnly circulated between ourselves, and on rare occasions to other departments. Delaying as long as possible any publication from Fighter Command on our particular subjects, our natures rebelled at the preposterous notion of issuing a training directive to the likes of Johnnie Johnson, or a tactics manual to Sailor Malan.[2]”

In April 1944 Lardner-Burke took command of No.1 Squadron, which he successfully led until December.

          During this time Lardner-Burke and Oxspring would meet again when the latter was assigned as Wing Leader of the Detling Wing. The meeting was almost disastrous, when, one morning the Wing lined up on Manston’s large runway to take off for Detling, and something went wrong with Oxspring’s aircraft, as he recalled:

“I had almost gained flying speed when my engine cut dead. Holding rudder against the torque I couldn’t prevent a violent swing across the path of Pat Lardner-Burke formatting on my wing. Pat hauled back on his stick and his aircraft literally jumped over the top of me. I can still visualise every single rivet on his under fuselage as he careered over my canopy. Bouncing down off his kangaroo leap, he demanded: ‘What the hell goes on, Bobby?’ The Wing roared away as I trundled off the runway with a fuel starvation problem; I didn’t need to remove my helmet, my hair shot up so straight it just pushed it off. Pat’s lightening reactions avoided a messy pile up. Years afterwards we still chilled over the memory. Such dramas tend to play hell with the nervous system. As Pat remarked, ‘Man, we bloody near became a couple of chattering wrecks.[3]’

As time moved on Lardner-Burke was later promoted to Wing Commander Flying at Coltishall and during February 1945, he was awarded a Bar to the DFC. Lardner-Burke’s citation reads as follows:

This officer continues to display a high degree of courage and resolution in his attacks on the enemy. Recently, he has led the squadron on many missions in the Ruhr area and throughout has displayed great skill and tenacity. Squadron Leader Lardner-Burke has destroyed seven enemy aircraft in air fighting. He has also most effectively attacked enemy targets on the ground.

          By the end of the year Pat Lardner-Burke had attended a course at No. 1 OATS, Cranwell, and taken command of Horsham St Faith airfield. Then for three months Pat served as Wing Commander Flying at Church Fenton.

          After fulfilling a number of varying appointments in the service for a number of years, Lardner-Burke applied to remain in the RAF, but was not granted a Permanent Commission, so he left.

          The South African fighter ace eventually settled on the Isle of Man with his wife, Mylcraine, where for several years he ran a public house.

           After a period of ill-health, Wing Commander Pat Lardner-Burke, DFC and Bar died of renal failure on 4 February 1970.

          Today Spitfire MH434, which Lardner-Burke christened ‘Mylcraine’ in August 1943, can be found at the Imperial War Museum Duxford, in Cambridgeshire. MH434 is arguably the most famous and iconic airworthy Spitfire still flying today. The aircraft is painted in No.222 Squadron markings bearing the code letters ‘ZD-B’. The name ‘Mylcraine’ and Lardner-Burke’s personal ‘scoreboard’ have been painted on the port side of the cockpit to replicate the South African’s markings in 1943. 

In July 2011 I had the opportunity to sit in the cockpit of Spitfire MH434 at Duxford.

Spitfire MH434, Duxford 2011

Copyright Christopher Yeoman 2011

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[1] Neil, Tom, Onward To Malta, Airlife Publishing Ltd, 1992, page 162-163.

[2] Oxspring, Bobby, Spitfire Command, Grafton Books, 1987, page 178.

[3] Oxspring, Bobby, Spitfire Command, Grafton Books, 1987, page 197-198.

Benny, One of the Many

Laurence ‘Benny’ Goodman was born on 24 September 1920 in London. As a young man he was educated at boarding school which in those days had an Officers Training Corps. At the age of seven, Benny held a rifle for the first time which he remembers being extremely heavy for a young boy to wield. Nevertheless military service was in his blood.

           In the First World War Benny’s father had fought on the Eastern Front against the Bulgars and Turks – a most determined enemy that Benny recalls his father speaking of with utmost respect due to their fighting spirit.

          The Second World War broke out when Benny Goodman was eighteen years of age and he decided that he ought “to do something. It didn’t hit me until I was walking along the street one day and I saw army lorry loads of chaps in uniform being taken and I saw thought ‘yes, it’s about time I did something. Plus, a great friend of mine was in the Territorial Army and he got snapped up immediately and I thought ‘what am I doing here? I decided that I wanted to volunteer for aircrew.’”

          After passing an aircrew medical in Euston, Goodman now faced, with much trepidation, additional tests which quite frankly could either send him on his way towards RAF service or ruin his dreams of flying.

          On completion of one such test, Goodman remembers confidently walking up to a sergeant and saying ‘Oh Serg, that was good! When am I going to get in?’ To which the sergeant, slightly bemused, retorted ‘Are you talking to me lad?!’ A little surprised Goodman sheepishly replied that he was. ‘You’re an AC2 now. You will stand to attention when you talk to me and call me Sergeant.’ The sergeant then informed Goodman that he would go home and perhaps hear something within the next week or two. Six long weeks passed before Goodman was finally called up for basic training.

           Goodman’s life was soon engrossed with boot polishing, ‘square-bashing’, rifle drills and parades, until he was posted to RAF Abingdon.    Abingdon was an Operational Training Unit, equipped with Armstrong Whitworth Whitleys. It seemed an exciting place to be for Goodman until a few days later when he and his fellow pupils were told that the RAF had scrapped all ‘straight through courses’ and that they now had to wait for a posting to an Initial Training Wing before flying. Utterly hacked off by this revelation it seemed that things couldn’t get much worse for the young, green hopefuls, but it did. Goodman was soon told that during the interim period he was to serve as a Ground Gunner at Abingdon. The appointment would prove rather depressing, as Benny recalls:

“Ground Gunners lived in a Nissan hut and we had a Fairey Battle packing case as our sort of recreation and instruction room. We had no blankets, no sheets, no pillows and we dug our own latrines because we lived out on the airfield in a gun emplacement. We didn’t go in for meals we used hayboxes, which was ‘supposed’ to keep our meals warm.”

          As part of the airfield’s defence Goodman and his colleagues were instructed to march around the perimeter at night or at dawn to challenge anybody they came into contact with to make sure they were friend and not foe. A new password was issued each day at the airfield but when the Ground Gunners challenged most people for it they were given a four letter word followed by ‘off’ instead. Goodman remembers that in general they were challenging aircraft engineers and such like who were busy serving the Whitleys, but they had to do so because if they failed to challenge and an officer caught them then would be in serious trouble for not doing their duty.

        With many cold nights out on the airfield Goodman felt absolutely fed up by his plight and began to think that aircrew training was like looking for the Holy Grail. However after six months he was finally posted to ITW and “there they almost treated us like human beings. We spent six very good and informative weeks. We learned about navigation, meteorology, airmanship, and all the things we needed to know for a chance of survival.”

          The course ended with examinations which caused a great deal of anxiety for Goodman and the other chaps desperately trying to pass out for aircrew. Fortunately Goodman passed with flying colours and he was soon posted. “I was bursting, totally overjoyed and I was sent to No.7 Elementary Flying Training School at Peterborough and from there I was regrettably sent on an instructors cause. Now, in the air force during the war, if you were a flying instructor that had done no operations, people didn’t think very much of you. I wasn’t very happy on the course and I said so. I just didn’t feel part of it.”

          Despite feeling somewhat out of place as a flying instructor, Goodman was pleased about the new living conditions at Woodley, Reading. For a start there was better sleeping arrangements, better food and someone to clean his boots for a change! But this wasn’t enough to keep Goodman’s spirits up. After explaining his feelings once again he was posted to Clyffe, Pyparde which was a holding unit.

          After a brief spell at Clyffe, Goodman then found himself at Gourock docks near Glasgow where he boarded a Norwegian cattle boat bound for Canada.

“We slept anywhere we could. We got bread but when you opened it there were creepy crawlies everywhere. I’m sure the crew were not any happier than we were, because overcrowding wasn’t the word. It was really bad.”

          When the cattle boat finally made it across the ocean without being torpedoed Goodman thought they had had their luck for the year. Although aware of the likely dangers Goodman and many of his comrades didn’t really take it as seriously as one might suppose.

“We were too young to be really scared. The thought of death didn’t really enter our minds, if you can understand that now living in normal life.”

          After reaching Canada, Goodman then travelled to RAF Carberry, Manitoba, where he was able to begin training on Avro Ansons. Previously, Goodman had already been up in an Anson while he was stationed at Abingdon. Benny recalls the flight:

“This is how lax it was back in those days: I stood up between the two pilots! Nobody said you should be strapped in for takeoff and landing. There were seats at the back but I didn’t want to go and sit back there. Can you imagine these days with all the health and safety? So I stood up, we took off and landed, I loved it and couldn’t wait! So at Carberry, I thought because I had been in one once I could fly it, but I soon learnt better I assure you.”

          After completing the course at Carberry, Goodman was then posted to Kingston, Ontario, to instruct Acting Leading Naval Airmen. The appointment came as quite a surprise for Benny because naval tactics were totally different from those used by the RAF.

“I was showing and teaching the naval airmen things that I would be court-martialled for in the RAF! Jinking after takeoff, dive bombing and suchlike, but they enjoyed it and I did too. I learnt a lot about flying and instructing.”

          When Goodman’s time came to an end at Kingston, a good and trusted friend advised Benny of a leaving ritual, saying - ‘When you leave, everybody does it, we expect you after takeoff to beat the hell out of the control tower.’

“And like an idiot I believed him! I’d known him for six months or whatever it was when training on Ansons. He was a good mate of mine and I didn’t think he’d really drop me in it. So I believed every word and I said ‘Okay’. By that time I was pretty experienced in a Harvard and so I did beat the hell out of the tower. When I got back and landed the Wing Commander was out on the tarmac with two Pilot Officers and I thought ‘that’s funny’.”

         

          As Goodman climbed out of his aircraft he heard the Wing Commander shout ‘Goodman! You’re under close arrest.’

“I thought ‘What have I done?’ and he said ‘The air traffic controller said he could see the time by your watch’ I said ‘Well I don’t think that is quite true sir!’ ‘Anyhow’ he said, you’re under arrest and you’re going before the Station Commander.’ I thought ‘Oh, what a way to end life’.

Goodman was confined to his room where a friend of his was supposed to be on guard outside of his room. Benny continues the story:

“I asked if I could see the medical officer because I had very bad hay fever and it occurred to me, with very slender hope, that I might say that I had very bad hay fever after I took off and I was sneezing and sneezing and couldn’t control the aircraft. The senior medical officer, who happened to be a Canadian, said ‘Well, I’ll go this far Goodman, I will attest to the fact that you do get very bad hay fever and I treat you for it, but I certainly won’t attest to the fact that you lost complete control of the aircraft because of it’ The danger you risk is that you could be taken of flying permanently because of hay fever.”

          Seemingly stuck between a rock and a hard place, Goodman decided it was a risk he had to take. In the presence of the Station Commander and Wing Commander, the medical officer stuck to his word and said that Goodman’s hay fever could be controlled with medication, which he apparently had not taken at the right time before takeoff. The Station Commander dismissed the case as a medical issue and thanks to the medical officer; Goodman lived to fly another day.

          The return journey back to the UK from Canada did not go as smoothly as Goodman had hoped. For a start he was on a New Zealand passenger boat full of women and children, which seemed most strange given the circumstances in Britain.

          During the trip home an American destroyer which was sailing nearby was torpedoed by a German U-Boat. The attack also affected the New Zealander passenger boat and sunk part of it. Goodman’s trunk, which contained his flying logbook, was lost. Fortunately it was returned to him six months later with water damage, but Goodman was utterly relieved to get it back.

          Soon after, Goodman was posted to an Operational Training Unit at Silverstone. It was there that he began to fly Vickers Wellingtons. After this, Goodman went to a Heavy Conversion Bomber Unit at Swinderby, to fly Stirlings. Goodman was then posted to a Lancaster bomber conversion unit and once completed he found himself on the brink of operations. An interview followed which caused Goodman’s crew a great deal of curiosity as they all wondered what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into this time. But when Goodman returned from the interview he announced that they were being posted to No. 617 Squadron. A few laughs and comments of disbelief ensued until the crew realised that their captain was being deadly serious. It was a time of great excitement for Goodman and his crew, for No.617 Squadron was infamous for its exploits during the Second World War, the Dambusters raid being one of them.

          Goodman’s great friend Tony Iveson, who was a Battle of Britain pilot in 1940, was also awed with being a part of No.617 Squadron. Tony recalls:

“Being in 617 I did feel part of an elite force. There was that extraordinary reputation, and the fact that we had this big bomb, 12,000lbs, when the original specification for the Lancaster laid down a limit of 8,000lbs...We were the only squadron with the SABS bomb sight, and the only squadron doing these special ops on our own. We knew very well that much was expected of us, and we had to live up to the Squadron’s reputation.[1]”

          Goodman’s first operational flight with his crew did not go as planned. They had been detailed to go to Brest to bomb the shipping pens there but after takeoff Goodman was interrupted from carrying out his course due to an unforeseen occurrence. Benny explains:

“The aircraft caught fire! The whole cabin filled with smoke and I couldn’t see the instruments. The Wireless Operator said ‘Skip, my set’s on fire! I’ll try and get it out.’ The Navigator wasn’t best pleased but I couldn’t see anything, so I did my best to keep us on a reasonable course. He got it out fairly quickly, but that wasn’t a very good baptism of fire for us as a crew.”

           “My fourth trip, believe it or not, was to the Tirpitz!”

Just before 0200 hours on 29 October 1944, Flight Lieutenant Benny Goodman climbed into Lancaster NF992 (code lettered ‘KC-B’) with his crew. The Squadron had left RAF Woodhall Spa on the 28th and flew to Milltown in Scotland in preparation for an attack on the Tirpitz. Goodman’s faithful crew consisted of Flying Officers Watkinson and Hayward and Sergeants Burnett, Booth and Hulbert. It was a miserable night with low cloud base and heavy rain. While waiting on the perimeter track, Goodman set about to doing all of the necessary cockpit checks when suddenly his flight engineer nudged him in the ribs and said, ‘Look!’ Goodman looked up and saw a massive undercarriage going right over his cockpit. Goodman instinctively ducked as Tony Iveson’s Lancaster roared overhead into the night. It was a nervous moment, but Goodman soon settled down and got back to the task at hand. It was also a nervous moment for Tony Iveson who also had to calm his nerves as he climbed his aircraft into the dark sky, destined for his second attack on the Tirpitz.

The German battleship Tirpitz was a sister ship to the infamous Bismark. Tirpitz was launched in 1941 and with its heavy armament had thus far proven a great threat to Allied and British convoys. The battleship was armed to the teeth with eight fifteen-inch guns, twelve six-inch guns and approximately eighty flak guns. Many attempts had been made by the Allies to sink the Tirpitz but the battleship’s resilience had kept it afloat. Under the command of Wing Commander Willie Tait and in conjunction with No.9 Squadron, No.617 had previously attacked the battleship on 15 September 1944 with Tallboy bombs. The Lancasters operated from Yagodnik near Archangel in Russia but accurate bombing runs were foiled by a smoke screen which surrounded the ship. However, one of the thirteen Tallboy bombs dropped scored a hit and put the Tirpitz out of action. It was Willie Tait’s bomb-aimer, Danny Daniels, who had damaged the vessel. As a result the Tirpitz was towed to an anchorage near Tromso, where it was reasonably sheltered off the coast of Norway. For the Squadron’s second attack, which Goodman was involved in, each Lancaster carried a 12,000lb Tallboy bomb and extra fuel to carry out the 12 hours and 20 minute round trip. The Lancasters flew north to Tromso to arrive just after dawn, but the Tirpitz was blanketed by low cloud base. Goodman and his colleagues carried out their bombing runs and dropped the Tallboys despite the poor visibility. As a result of this operation some damage was sustained, but the

Tirpitz, known as the ‘Beast’, continued to live up to its reputation.

          On 12 November Nos. 9 and 617 squadrons, led by Squadron Leader A G Williams, DFC and Wing Commander James Tait, DSO, DFC, took off from Lossiemouth at about 0300 hours to attack the Tirpitz once again. This time visibility was good and in the space of four minutes, No.617’s Lancasters dropped their bombs from 15,000 feet. No. 9 Squadron also made its run but one of its aircraft was damaged by flak and forced to land in Sweden. The initial attacks saw near misses but the battleship soon received two direct hits and the infamous Tirpitz capsized and was finally beaten.

          Another memorable operation that Benny recalls with clarity took place on 12 January 1945.

          The Squadron along with No.9 Squadron were ordered to Bergen to drop 12,000lbTallboy bombs on the submarine pens there. Mustangs of No.315 (Polish) Squadron were instructed to protect the Lancasters as fighter escort in company with two Mosquitoes from 100 Group. In total 31 aircraft would be involved in the Bergen attack.

“Sometimes what made ops a little more stressful perhaps is when waiting by your aircraft for a red Very of green Very. Red meant ‘scrub’, green meant ‘go!’, so you were left to think for a bit, but I can truly say once I got into the aircraft any nerves I may have had were gone once I had something to do. I had the responsibility of flying the aircraft and doing it properly, so I got on with it.”

Once Goodman had taken off from base he flew on to Peterhead in Scotland with the Squadron to rendezvous with thirteen Mustangs that had been equipped with long-range fuel tanks in order to make the long trip to Bergen, which is half way up the Norwegian coast.

          Owing to a brake fault on his usual aircraft, Squadron Leader Tony Iveson had to take off in Lancaster NG181 after the rest of the Squadron had left for Scotland. Despite the frustrating delay Iveson and his crew eventually managed to catch up with the Squadron which he found flying in loose formation on route to the target.

          One of the first Lancasters over Bergen successfully dropped its Tallboy over the target area but the explosion threw up a large cloud of smoke and dust which remained over the target because there was no wind to clear it. An order was soon given for the remaining Lancasters to orbit the target area in the hope that the mucky cloud would disperse, but hanging around over enemy territory was the last thing a bomber crew wanted to do.

          The order would prove costly as Tony Iveson recalls:

“After a while my rear gunner, Ted Wass, said, ‘Okay, skipper, we’ve now got the fighters.’ He thought they were the Polish Mustangs, and so did I.

          They were not. We learned very quickly that we had attracted a collection of some 20 Focke-Wulf 190’s and Me109’s. The next thing we knew there was lots of noise... I remember there were sheets of white stuff going over the top of the canopy and the port inner engine suddenly burst into flames. At the same time, M-Mike (Iveson’s aircraft) tried to stand on its tail! A Focke-Wulf 190 had come in behind us and fired at us.[2]”

          The pilot of the Focke-Wulf 190 was Heinz Orlowski of 9 Staffel. As well as setting the Lancaster’s port inner engine ablaze, his attack had struck the aircraft’s port fin, rudder, the port elevator and tail-plane. The Luftwaffe fighter pilot was convinced that he had destroyed the bomber seeing as its engine was on fire, trailing smoke and he had seen three of its crew bale out. Under this impression, Orlowski broke off from the engagement and went after a Lancaster of No.9 Squadron.

          By the end of this operation three Lancasters had been lost. Contrary to Orlowski’s claim at the time, Iveson’s ‘M-Mike’ was not one of them.

          Amid the enemy fighters and heavy flak, Tony Iveson, in a marvellous feat which earned him the DFC, expertly flew his damaged aircraft back to Britain, with the help of his flight engineer, Taffy Phillips, his navigator Jack Harrison and his bomb-aimer, Frank Chance.

          On 16 March 1945 the London Gazette printed the following about this ordeal:

This officer has completed numerous sorties on his second tour of operational duty, including three attacks against the battleship Tirpitz. In January, 1945, he was detailed to attack the U-boat pens at Bergen. Whilst over the target his

aircraft was attacked by two fighters. The first burst of machine-gun fire from the enemy aircraft struck the tailplane, rudder and elevator. The port inner engine was set on fire and the rear turret was put out of action. After the fighters

broke off their attack Squadron Leader Iveson's aircraft came under heavy fire from the antiaircraft batteries. It was almost impossible to maintain level flight. Squadron Leader Iveson instructed another member of the crew to lash the

control column in such a way as to ease the strain. Under these most trying conditions, Squadron Leader Iveson flew clear of the fire zone and afterwards reached a home based airfield where he landed his seriously damaged aircraft safely. By his great skill, courage and determination, this officer was undoubtedly responsible for the safe return of the aircraft.

         

          Like Iveson, Goodman does not remember seeing any Mustangs over the target area during this hair-raising operation but unlike some he was able to get out of the hot zone fairly quickly and safely return home.

          There were of course other times that Goodman’s aircraft was struck by enemy fire as he recalls:

“On one night trip I really did smell the flak it was that close! My bomb-aimer was lying flat and a piece of flak came through the aircraft and lodged in his boot. The wireless op had an even luckier escape on one occasion when something came through just as he bent forward, just for a second, and it came through one side of the fuselage and went out the other. It was quite a large hole and we reckoned that it certainly would have gone through his head. We also had an engine shot up, but I suppose everybody did really. Once or twice we came back on three engines but it was a no brainer; there was nothing in it with three engines and no load, as we had dropped our bombs. I was fully confident in our Merlin engines. Oh, the noise those beautiful engines made when you throttled back, there is no other sound in the world like it.”

          On 19 March 1945, No.617 Squadron bombed the railway viaduct at Arnsberg using six Grand Slam bombs which blew a 40 foot gap in the target. Goodman was one of those that dropped one of the 22,000 lb Grand Slams.

Benny remembers:

“I never had any concern, carrying a Grand Slam bomb on take-off, that it wasn’t going to get off the ground. It was a little but sluggish, but anything they put on, a Lancaster was capable of handling. It was slow in climbing, but we got to bombing height and joined the others and got over the target. My recollection was that we didn’t have to say ‘bomb gone’ because the aircraft went up like a rocket. But my flight engineer Jock said, not only did the aeroplane climb quickly, but he heard a hell of a bang; it may have been the release mechanism. It never got to the point where the whole squadron had Grand Slams, we always had a mixture with Tallboys. There were no complaints about the flying characteristics, despite the huge load.[3]”

On 9 April 1945, Goodman flew one of the 17 Lancasters of No.617 Squadron that bombed the U-boat shelters in Hamburg. But unavoidably, Goodman’s bomb did not release immediately over the target and it fell into the workers houses around the port area instead. Goodman flew his aircraft out of the area and on the way back he had a very eerie encounter with an unexpected foe. Goodman’s flight engineer, Jock, nudged him to get his attention and cast his eyes to their right. Goodman continues:

“I looked out of the window and there was a Messerschmitt Me262 in close formation with us, which to say the least was a bit disconcerting!”

Time seemed to stand still for Goodman and his crew as the Luftwaffe jet stuck menacingly to the Lancaster’s starboard in the dark sky. Goodman entertained the idea of doing a corkscrew manoeuvre to evade the jet, but with other Lancasters in the vicinity it was just too risky. There was no mid-upper turret either, so in their current position there was absolutely nothing the Lancaster’s defences could to anyway. In any case Goodman decided that it was probably best not to do anything to provoke the Me262 anyway. Goodman thought that this was ‘it’ for him and quietly wondered if their attack on the workers houses had prompted this encounter. Then suddenly, to the relief of Goodman and his crew, the jet broke away into the dark sky.

“We decided he had probably run out of ammunition and couldn’t shoot us down, so he had decided to give us a bloody good fright, which he did! Jets in those days were in their infancy but to have one watching you like that wasn’t a terribly comfortable feeling. About two years ago, I was talking to John Langston, who was a navigator at the same time I was flying with No.617and he said ‘Oh Benny, yes that was the 262 that was shooting at us and didn’t hit us once, so he must have been a really new pilot, fortunately, and gone on after you.’”

It was a strange encounter which left a lasting impression on Benny.

          By the end of the war Benny Goodman had completed 30 operational sorties. The odds of survival whilst serving in Bomber Command were indisputably against him, so to make it through a tour of duty unscathed is something Benny attributes to pure luck. He remembers his last operational flight with the Squadron:

“The last trip I ever did was Berchtesgaden, the Eagle’s Nest and they certainly had flak there I can tell you, but it was right at the end and I think it was more of a token trip than anything else really, to show people that we could do it.”

          After the war Goodman still wanted to fly. He served in Transport Command for some time flying Stirlings and later flew Hastings with No.51 Squadron. He was eventually posted to No.604 Squadron, which was equipped with the legendary Supermarine Spitfire. It was a complete joy for Benny who said that ‘the Spitfire was the most beautiful, beautiful aeroplane to fly’.  Goodman left the RAF in 1964 as a squadron leader. In 2008 he was still flying his own Comanche 250 private aircraft. 

Benny's Log Book & Tirpitz Raid entry

Benny, centre & 617 Sqn Lancaster

Copyright Christopher Yeoman 2011

 

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[1] Iveson, Tony, Milton, Brian, Lancaster: The Biography, Andre Deutsch, 2009, page 193

[2] Iveson, Tony, Milton, Brian, Lancaster: The Biography, Andre Deutsch, 2009, page 19

[3] Iveson, Tony, Milton, Brian, Lancaster: The Biography, Andre Deutsch, 2009, page 184