Blood, Sweat and Esprit de Corps - Steve Brew

 

Epic. Grandiose. Peerless. Exhaustive. Brick. Mention a Steve Brew No. 41 Squadron history and these are just some of the words a reader may offer to describe the depth of work this author is known for. With the effort to produce Blood, Sweat and Valour (2012) and Blood, Sweat and Courage (2014), you’d think that’d be enough, particularly as the periods covered by those two books are arguably the most intensive period of extended operations the unit will ever see (let’s hope it remains that way). However, even I’ll admit not everything is about the Second World War and its aircrew. For at least the past decade, besides the release of A Ruddy Awful Waste in 2016, and no doubt long before, Steve Brew has been turning over every rock to produce the ‘prequel’ to the two wartime volumes. It’s equally as impressive. Reinforce your shelves.

Having spent the final two years of the First World War in France, the squadron, along with many others, fell to the rapid demobilisation of the armed forces and disbanded at the end of 1919. Where Blood, Sweat and Esprit de Corps picks up the story is in 1923, when the unit reforms at RAF Northolt with, mainly, Sopwith Snipes. The Royal Air Force is five years old and despite beginning what would be almost two decades of continuous peacetime growth, it continued to fight off the older Services that saw the ‘the third brother’ as a drain on resources they could otherwise employ.

Much like post-Second World War aviation, in which aircraft seemed to come and go in military service at the drop of a hat, such were the advances in technology at the time, so to was the inter-war period, although 41 Squadron’s Snipes quickly gave way to Armstrong Whitworth Siskins which hung around until 1931. Although other types were briefly tested, the Siskins stayed on and it was perhaps the familiarity with the type that saw the unit excel at the various competitions, pageants and air displays that consumed the limited flying hours available outside of the requisite exercises, etc. Aviation was very much the cutting edge of technology at the time and everyone, from the man on the street to royalty, wanted to experience it.

The ‘novelty’ of aviation, even within the Services, is further highlighted by the author in a most interesting way. Such is the breadth of the research that statistics like injuries and deaths caused by aircraft on the ground are collated and presented as graphs and tables. It is enlightening to see that, as awareness of the dangers, and perhaps a developed culture of ‘airmindedness’, becomes widespread within the air force, casualties reduce (relatively speaking). The death toll of personnel across the board is, at times, shocking and certainly something that would not be accepted today. While this type of reporting looks at the RAF as a whole, it serves to place 41 Squadron in context, rather than focus on the unit in isolation. Indeed, under the microscope, the growing pains of the RAF are reflected in the examination of this one unit.

The 1920s and early 1930s were still influenced by the First World War. The experienced men, particularly early on, had seen combat service, and the aircraft remained open-cockpit biplanes. It was not until the arrival of the Spitfire in late 1938, as Britain continued its mad scramble to rearm, that 41 Squadron operated a monoplane. At times the flying, particularly in the late ’20s and early ’30s as the purse strings loosened, takes on the feel of a flying club with individual pilots representing the squadron in civil competitions, some even returning the following year to defend their title. The underlying theme, however, is the pursuit of excellence, partly why these competitions were attended in the first place. Despite the obsolete aircraft and, for a period, the pervading drive for austerity, 41 Squadron stretches itself, be it as part of tactically hamstrung exercises or as a reliable component of the latest air-defence reorganisation. Regular reunions of current and former squadron members also serve to build a legacy, a foundation. Indeed, the period covered by Blood, Sweat and Esprit de Corps produced more than twenty 41 Squadron alumni whose careers took them to air commodore or beyond.

The knowledge of where personnel went after their time with 41 Squadron is one of the great aspects of this book. It is, in fact, my favourite. As the author works through the various chunks of time he’s broken the inter-war period into, personnel arrivals and departures obviously play a major part. The experiences of those departing range from leaving the RAF altogether to spending the rest of their working lives in the Service, and everything in between. For some, their legacy is tangible as, upon their departure, they presented the squadron with an engraved gift, most likely of silverplate. Many of these remain in the unit’s care.

It is this commitment to the personnel of the squadron, even after they leave, that takes this unit history beyond ‘high-level’ works that pass as the norm for this type of book. If the reader wants to learn about a specific person who served during the period covered in Blood, Sweat and Esprit de Corps, not only will they find a potted history of their service career, they will also be able to understand what was happening at the time, i.e., where the RAF was at in its evolution, 41 Squadron’s part of it and the day-to-day challenges of squadron life.

As a further example of going where no one else has gone before with unit histories, there is a table recording tests performed by the RAF medical lab in Aden, when the squadron was overseas for its one and only peacetime deployment. Something like this helps the understanding of what serving in Aden (1935–36 during the Abyssinian Crisis) was like at the time, adding flesh to the airframe and flying bones underpinning the usual squadron history.

There are gems of detail at the turn of every page, not least in the copious amount of images. It would be hard to believe there are any relevant images that have not been included in the book, such is their number. Hats off to the publisher for their inclusion; photos, after, all, take up space and therefore cost money. However, the publisher is also responsible for the only failing of this seminal work of research endeavour. Every single image has been ‘washed’ through editing software, with control given over to artificial intelligence. This has benefited some images but, sadly, has added incorrect, misleading and, in some cases, abhorrent details to many. The publisher should hang their head in shame. It is the poorest result of period image manipulation I have seen; whoever was involved has no idea of anything regarding the RAF. My heart aches for the author who, so clearly focused on getting the words right when reviewing proofs, expected the publisher to handle the images, all of which were provided in good faith.

Such is the strength of the writing, however, that I chose to ignore the images where possible, casting a sideways glance at times to see if they were ‘safe’. More than 400 pages of historical narrative are supported by ten appendices (mostly expected stats like aircraft, roll of honour, etc.), taking the page count to just short of 700. A favourite is the final appendix of ‘Statistical Data’, detailing where pilots came from, their causes of death, officer–non-commissioned officer ratio, mode of entry into the service, Service education, medal recipients, ranks achieved, duration of aircraft in service across the entire RAF, etc., etc., etc. Throw in the usual endpapers – notes, references, glossary, and the like – and you’re left with a book of over 770 pages. Yes, it’s big, but it never reads ‘heavy’.

The use of technology, problematic elsewhere, does, however, enhance the adventure of reading Blood, Sweat and Esprit de Corps. The author goes to great pains to refer the reader to Pathé film reels, many of which were hard to source as accessible (and active) links. Being able to watch the squadron in action, in the context of what’s just been read, adds a value not experienced before. It is particularly eye-opening to see aircraft of the period being flown at their limit, something certainly not seen today.

This is not your ordinary squadron history, but it is typical Steve Brew. The reader is not left wondering about some aspect of the unit’s history during the period covered as it is dealt with, be it at a personnel, squadron, Service or national level. You know where 41 Squadron sits in the big picture, you understand its occasional tenuous survival in the face of fiscal strain, but also its vital part in the foundation of the RAF’s developing air-power strategies and eventual rearmament. More importantly, the people who pass through are not just names, ranks and numbers. They are the squadron; their struggles and triumphs on the crest of the wave, at the tip of the spear, as eyewitnesses to the evolution of military aviation in Britain, are the beating heart of this book.

Reinforce your shelves.

ISBN 978-1-80420-062-9

On Silver Wings - James B Wright

 

In the past week, I’ve provided advice on the use of artificial-intelligence imagery in aviation publishing, followed by comments on the content of a promotional blurb, and the artwork in a children’s book. The latter was set in the First World War; my expertise in that area matches the target age group! This is not the first time I’ve done this sort of work, but there’s always some trepidation it will be seen as criticism, despite my stated goal of wanting to see the relevant book do as well as possible (which is always the case). There is some responsibility owed by the publisher or author to getting this sort of thing right, but, really, it’s often a case of you don’t know what you don’t know. Of course, this extends to the content where even the most tenacious of researchers can come unstuck, leading the reader to perhaps question some of the other narrative presented as fact. This is occasionally the case with On Silver Wings, although the depth of research and decades-long ‘dog with a bone’ attitude of the author makes this tale of a lost Spitfire ace a valuable addition to any library.

Desmond Ibbotson turned 18 in 1939, having grown up in Yorkshire and, briefly and interestingly, in New Zealand. He worked his way through training to join No. 53 Operational Training Unit in June 1941. Here he had his first encounter with Billy Drake and the first of several Spitfire prangs. After a month-long stint with No. 129 Squadron, he arrived at No. 54 Squadron in August. This was our hero’s introduction to combat proper, the squadron part of the RAF’s efforts to take the offensive to occupied Europe. Some frenetic Spitfire V flying made up the rest of Desmond’s first tour before the squadron was posted to Scotland.

Besides some time ferrying aircraft around the UK, Desmond ostensibly remained with 54 Squadron until he was posted to North Africa, leaving just before the unit was sent to Australia. Now he was flying Kittyhawks, joining No. 112 Squadron in mid-June 1942. Having cut his teeth over Europe, the ‘matured’ pilot hit his straps in the desert flying with the greatest Kittyhawk units of the war as part of No. 239 Wing (112, and Nos 250, 3 (RAAF) and 450 (RAAF)). They were busy, often flying two sorties a day, balancing escort duties with the Kittyhawk’s new-found capability as a superb fighter-bomber. Desmond manages to claim confirmed victories with 112 Squadron despite being shot up himself. Billy Drake pops up again as one of many notable figures in Desmond’s travels.

Both sides worked themselves to a standstill, Rommel’s surge breaking at Gazala in August in what was his last real chance to break through to the Suez Canal. In October, Desmond is posted to No. 601 Squadron and returns to Spitfires. He continues to make claims but is shot down in November, which results in a remarkable capture, escape and evasion. He was back flying in short order and, chasing the Germans west, saw out the rest of his tour with the fall of Tunis and the completion of 215 operational sorties.

Central Gunnery School in Egypt follows, the ideal place for an experienced and successful fighter pilot to pass on his knowledge. Desmond remains in Egypt until November 1943 when he returns to 601 Squadron, now at Foggia, Italy. He continues his adventures with some success, and the occasional misadventure, but the important development of this period is his burgeoning relationship with a WAAF, Patsy. Nothing is ever clear as to the status of the relationship with this clever and ebullient lady but, as Desmond finishes yet another tour (with a bar to his DFC) and heads to instructing at a refresher unit, Patsy is a constant in his life. It was with No. 5 Refresher Unit, however, that he was killed on 19 November 1944.

Having survived a number of crashes in Spitfires, let alone being shot down in one, mystery remains as to the cause of the crash and Desmond’s death. Did he stay with the aircraft too long trying to fly his way out of the problem like he had before? Was he incapacitated? The final third of the book is dedicated to an examination of the facts, including eyewitness accounts, and what was learned from the subsequent excavation of the wreckage in 2005. This led to further interest in Desmond, his life and loss, and the author expertly weaves these discoveries with the family’s reactions, both at the time of death and as they learn of the ongoing commemorative efforts. Indeed, throughout On Silver Wings, even though Desmond never returned to the UK after he left for North Africa, the connection he maintained with his family is highlighted through letters and his relatives’ regular discovery of his smiling face in the press.

It is a remarkable story that opens with the mystery of the crash, the discovery of an eyewitness and the author’s part in making the connections that helped provide some closure for the family. I say ‘some closure’ as we all like to think, and write, that the discovery of a wreck and/or remains brings closure for loved ones (is there ever really any?). The author’s deepening relationship with the family certainly helps their understanding evolve and, ultimately, is directly responsible for their realisation of what happened. His good, long description of the research journey – from ‘easy’ archives to travel to connecting with the excavation team – clearly explains the wins and frustrations, the known unknowns and, ultimately, brings another flyer back to life.

Refreshingly, there is no padding. Where there’s nothing to add, like Demond’s journey to North Africa, the author doesn’t insert ‘noise’. This is a good skill to have; retaining the focus on Desmond is far more important than another treatise on the ‘Desert Fox’ or waxing lyrical about the Spitfire, for example. What’s mentioned is of value, adding to the narrative. There are exceptions, of course, and these fall in the technical column. The Tiger Moth is described as having a wooden airframe (wings, yes, fuselage, no) and General Gott was shot down in a Bombay (not a Whitley). When Desmond joins 112 Squadron, he is flying Kittyhawks with Merlins. Nothing wrong with that. The reason for this, inexplicably, is presented as the Kittyhawks being re-engined (from Pratt & Whitneys, not Allisons!) with Merlins to standardise with other RAF aircraft. Yep, my mouth was hanging open as well (and then the expletives came). I can only think this is a bit of (well, a lot of) a disconnect in the development of the P-40 series as the P-36/Mohawk was powered by a Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp. That, however, ignores the RAF quite happily operating Tomahawks and Kittyhawks with Allisons before and after they, equally happily, flew the Merlin-powered ones. It is one of the most bizarre passages I have ever come across.

Further technical confusion comes with the Merlin 66 (the low-altitude version of the more widely used 63) being superb at height due to its two-stage supercharger kicking in, and the genuinely amusing anecdote of Desmond and Patsy flying an Auster together, but switching places by climbing over each other as the controls were up front and the passenger seat ‘slightly behind’. The Auster Mk. I is not roomy, and can carry a passenger behind the pilot, but the two seats up front, side by side and with two sets of controls, makes me wonder if one did indeed feature in these adventures. Perhaps it was something like an L-4 Grasshopper instead or a seat was removed? These anecdotes, notably, come from Patsy’s memoirs, which otherwise add substantial colour and detail to Desmond’s time away from the airfield. Correlation with his logbook would be interesting, and revealing, here.

Perplexing passages/statements aside (despite casting some doubt on the path taken to some conclusions reached elsewhere), they are fortunately in the minority, so this is still a story to savour. The author goes to great lengths to show Desmond’s place in things; he was one of many and, while the focus rarely pulls away from him, others are brought in to add colour, a differing view or, indeed, the detail Desmond’s records couldn’t supply. This is all under the umbrella of a ‘gentle’ contextual background, particularly in North Africa where a landing ground could be evacuated one day and reoccupied the next. The reader knows what’s going on, and how the flyers are contributing to the bigger picture, yet it remains Desmond’s story. There are no tangents or distractions which, these days, is not as common as you might think with such a biography.

Perhaps the most important thing this book does is bring Desmond’s story to a close, with the recovery of the rest of the Spitfire’s wreckage and his memorialisation, all expertly detailed by the author in the form of a mini-memoir of his experiences and involvement (there’s even a colour-picture section accompanying two monochrome sections, albeit all printed on the same paper stock as the narrative). More than eighty years on, although it was a tick over sixty at the time of the modern events in Italy, the flyers of the Second World War are still teaching us, still surprising us and still reminding us what had to be done because rotten people felt the best way forward was to oppress their fellow man. One of these days, we will learn to solve our differences without violence. In the meantime, books like this serve to remind us of the cost of not doing otherwise. On Silver Wings has brought another airman’s life back into the spotlight and there it will remain, but only if we ensure it does. We owe Desmond Ibbotson that.

ISBN 978-1-80399-920-3