Too Young To Die - Bryan Cox

On 1 July 2018, well-known New Zealand pilot Bryan Cox made headlines when he flew a Tiger Moths he had flown in wartime training. He had only just returned to active flying several months earlier, having relinquished his licence some years before with more than 20,000 hours to his credit. For a veteran to be reunited with a former mount, and still be able to fly it legally, is particularly rare. To some extent, Mr. Cox has youth on his side. That’s a funny thing to say for a 93-year old, but he was eighteen when he learned to fly and not even 21 when he saw the war’s end. What makes him ‘well-known’, however, beyond being a living link to our past, is the books he has written. His air force memoir, Too Young To Die, remains one of the very few accounts of RNZAF Corsairs, or any Kiwi fighters for that matter, in action in the South Pacific. It also makes the author’s choice of post-war career abundantly clear.

Bryan Cox grew up on farming properties and was still at school when war broke out. When he signed up for the air force, having emulated Tiger Moth flying in a Model A Ford with the top down and pining over diving Kittyhawks, three of his cousins had already been lost (and he would lose his brother in early 1944). Young Cox soloed in November 1943 and was posted to 4 OTU at Ohakea to fly Kittyhawks in August 1944. His talent in the air is evident, but what is really interesting is the scientific approach to the training. His time on Kittyhawks, in particular, was one of experimentation, analysis and the testing of theories developed on the ground. Some of the experimentation was a result of seeing his colleagues come to grief, fatally on occasion, and wanting to understand what got them into that situation and, most importantly, how to get out of it. While he escaped major incidents, the author had his fair share of close shaves and learned from them.

A mere month after converting to Kittyhawks, Bryan converted to Corsairs. While a heavy, powerful fighter like the Curtiss machine, the Corsair was a completely new challenge. Likening the climb to the cockpit as something only surpassed by Sir Edmund Hillary some years later (one of many amusing quips throughout the book), the ever studious Cox quickly got to grips with one of the most potent fighter aircraft of the period. Again, the exuberance of young men flying the leading technology of the day got the better of some of his colleagues, but the majority of them made it through. As part of 16 Squadron RNZAF, Bryan arrived at Henderson Field, Guadalcanal, in November 1944.

The New Zealanders were well established at Henderson, but the relatively Spartan island life, despite the advantages of operating alongside the always well-supplied Americans, took some getting used to. They were soon off to Green Island, however. The author injured his knee with a machete, and was unable to walk for ten days, so his first flight from Green Island did not occur until 5 January 1945. It was the beginning of a very busy year.

Operations from Green Island consisted of many patrols over the Rabaul area to harrass the Japanese there. Aircraft were inevitably lost over the heavily defended harbour and it was on return from a failed rescue mission for one of these pilots that Bryan had what was easily his closest shave with death. The weather closed in on the returning Corsairs and the author, in trying to see his instruments in the gloom, managed to switch off his battery and, therefore, his lights and radio. Somehow avoiding other aircraft in the formation, and the sea, Bryan, noting his dwindling fuel, was contemplating his impending death when a fortuitous lightning flash revealed the distinctive coastline of Green Island. A ropey landing saw him home, but eight of his compatriots were lost. It was Cox’s twentieth birthday.

His first tour over, Bryan returned to New Zealand in mid-February, but the squadron was on its way to Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides (now Vanuatu) on 1 April. They were there for less than a month before heading to Bougainville. The island was still partly occupied by the Japanese who were fending off a large Australian Army contingent. The squadron soon established a routine of close support sorties to assist the advancing Australians. Targets were rarely obvious so intelligence often came from coastwatchers, locals or RAAF Boomerangs. These aircraft often marked the targets for the Kiwi Corsairs as well. Bryan’s tour ended in late June after 34 operational sorties over Bougainville.

After leave, reforming and working up, the squadron arrived at Jacquinot Bay, New Britain, on 14 August. This new base was the replacement for Green Island. With the surrender of the Japanese, there was little to do, but the Corsairs kept flying with patrols, ferry flights and escorts of Japanese aircraft. Entertainment was sparse, so it was with some relief that Bryan headed for home in late October. He’s application to join the Occupation Squadron in Japan had not been successful so he said farewell to the faithful Corsair to await his discharge.

This was not forthcoming, however, as he joined 14 Squadron which was to be the headquarters unit for the occupying Commonwealth air strength. Besides learning new combat tactics, such as rocket attacks, the squadron also had to be proficient at ceremonial drill. Japan was to be an eye-opener for the young man, only just promoted to warrant officer, and a lot different from the airstrips hacked out of jungle and coral.

Everything the soon to be self-sustaining squadron needed was loaded onto the aircraft carrier HMS Glory in early March 1946. Bryan did not fly in Japan until late May, but the real adventure was on the ground. Relations with the locals, many of whom worked for the occupying units, are fascinating to discover after so many years of war. The occupying forces, too, while largely respectful of their hosts and dedicated to the work at hand, certainly enjoyed themselves. It’s an interesting dynamic as these men volunteered to serve a long way from home in peacetime when there must have been a strong urge to just stop. As a (still) very young man, it is clear Bryan felt he just wasn’t ready to quit. Returning to New Zealand in April 1947, Bryan struggled to settle down, but eventually started flying again in 1956, worked in air traffic control and set up his own flying school.

There’s perhaps three major points that stand out in Too Young To Die. Firstly, as mentioned above, it is an uncommon memoir of flying for the RNZAF in the South Pacific. Secondly, the considerable detail of life in Japan, essentially a well put together series of extended anecdotes, is rarer still. Happily, it takes up about a third of the book and should be regarded as one of the most important accounts from that interesting, slightly bizarre, period. It is the perfect foil for the wartime operational life the author lived. The description of Japanese culture, stripped of so much, yet holding tight to tradition (perhaps the best way to start afresh), and their almost non-plussed acceptance of the occupying forces, at least as largely recounted here, is the unsung hero of this book. Yes, get excited about the operational Corsair flying over the Pacific islands, but revel in the almost unique account of life in post-war Japan. Finally, the author’s natural aptitude as a teacher, and his career as a flying instructor, permeates almost every page. Be it a Tiger Moth, Kittyhawk or Corsair, if Bryan is learning something new as part of a course, testing a theory that is very much not part of a course, or simply explaining a routine flight, operational or otherwise, his years of instructing take over. Not a word is wasted. At one stage in my notes I’ve written “Okay, Bryan, what are you going to teach me now?” and that’s exactly what it’s like. The man is a natural storyteller which, I reckon, combined with his flying abilities and innate understanding of aeronautics, gleaned from theory and much experimentation, makes him a superb writer and effective teacher. Too Young To Die is not unique in this aspect, but, again, it is uncommon.

He knows what the reader wants too. His childhood is kept very brief with enough there to pique an interest, but avoiding the extended ‘family tree’ that can often bog down an otherwise excellent book early on. These sections are valuable to know where a man has come from, and they can make for fascinating reading, but are often more suited to the appendices. Speaking of which, there are four here of the biographical and airframe fate type. The one negative is that there is no index. Even a simple personnel index would have been of considerable value here, but the biographical appendix allays this deficiency somewhat. This, however, is a minor blip for a book that is now over thirty years old. The narrative is repetitive here and there with little factoids about ops and other details popping up again, but with so many sorties blending into each other, it’s necessary to reiterate aspects of the ones that stand out.

Bryan Cox is a treasure and I hope he is regarded as such beyond the aviation community in New Zealand. His gift to many has been the effective, almost unassuming, transfer of his knowledge of what it takes to be an aviator. Not just a pilot, an aviator. His audience is not limited to those sitting next to him in the cockpit. With Too Young To Die, and his other books, he has passed this wisdom, to a lesser extent, but no less clear, on to thousands of readers. No doubt some of those readers will have never controlled an aircraft themselves. With luck, Bryan’s writing has stirred something in a few of them and they’ve caught the bug, be it the bug for aviation history, the bug for flying, or both. That is what we, as aircrew book enthusiasts, all hope these books can do. Those of us with groaning bookshelves and long-suffering, but understanding partners, are already converted. We will love and respect these books, and the men within, almost unconditionally. It is the casual reader, the occasional reader, the aviation novice, that we always dream these books will capture. He may not have set out to entrance the non-enthusiast, but Bryan’s natural talent certainly makes it possible. While not a fighter ace, he survived and then took the time to record how he did. His legacy, and his legend, continues to make headlines. What a man. What a book.

ISBN 0-8138-0205-9

Carrier Pilot - Norman Hanson

There comes a time when a book hits you fair between the eyes. Every book I read for ABR is a privilege, but some, obviously, do stand out among the others. I’m not talking about that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you know you’re onto something good. I’m talking about the giddiness, the euphoria, when you discover something extraordinary. As long-time ABR readers will know, this first happened with Norman Hanson’s Carrier Pilot when I got my hands on the 1979 first edition several years ago. At the time, it was the only edition available and it was really hard to understand why it had not been reprinted. What is remarkable is that there is now a new paperback edition (2016) that has been published by an independent publisher, Silvertail Books. I don’t know the specifics of the genesis of this new edition, but it is quite possible that Hanson’s family wanted to see it brought back to life. While not as pretty as the original edition, this new printing does the job and is no different to its predecessor. It is an incredible read.

Hanson was 26 years of age in 1940 and married! He joined up hoping to be a pilot or observer, much to his wife’s amusement, and was eventually selected for pilot training in Pensacola, Florida. Realising the great opportunity before him, he took to his training with gusto and, with his mates, thoroughly enjoyed a very different world. His time at Pensacola was coming to an end when the Americans entered the war and the observations of the wave of ‘war hysteria’ that swept the country are as amusing as they are patriotic, such was the change of gears to apparently get everyone pulling in the same direction.

Having flown American types (N3N, SNJ, Buffalo), and different ones to the norm as well, Hanson’s return to the UK required a readjustment to British aircraft and, namely, the Fairey Fulmar. Carrier qualified and raring to go, he was sent to Egypt and a communications unit where he flew mail runs and the like into the Middle East. After a year of that, he returns to the UK and is appointed senior pilot of 1833 Squadron. This new squadron was about to begin working up on Corsairs, one of the first two FAA units to do so, so it was back to the US.

It is quite likely Hanson’s account of getting to grips with the big new American navy fighter was the first written by a member of the Fleet Air Arm to appear in widespread publication. It was certainly not easy as the Corsair was a challenging aircraft to fly and, unlike Hanson, many of the pilots were considerably younger and far less experienced. When they arrived back in the UK in October 1943, they had still not operated from a carrier. The new Corsairs were shipped over on board an escort carrier.

The squadron joins HMS Illustrious after completing their period of dummy deck landings. The ship and the air wing work up for a coming deployment that soon finds them in Trincomalee, Ceylon, in the Indian Ocean. It is here the squadron really begins to gel as a fighting unit. This is made so much easier by excellent leadership, Hanson included, particularly from the very senior commanders, many of whom had been in action from the start of the war. ‘Dickie’ Cork features heavily during this period and his involvement, so crucial to any of the FAA fighter units passing through Ceylon, is phenomenally beneficial. He is just one of a myriad of remarkable characters Hanson encounters in his travels and all are passionately described.

Having flown several strikes in company with USS Saratoga, and ranging as far east as the north-west coast of Australia and up to Sumatra, Illustrious requires extensive repairs in South Africa so Hanson and his mates end up with a sojourn there.

They return to Ceylon and then begin the first operations of the British Pacific Fleet with the raids on the Palembang oil complexes. Moving into the Pacific proper, the FAA hits the Sakishima islands over and over again to prevent their use as Kamikaze staging bases. Life becomes a routine of airfield strikes, withdrawing to the fleet train to replenish, and Kamikaze attacks. It is during this time that Illustrious is hit by shells from an escorting cruiser and it is the account of this event that opens the book in a style that is powerful, moving, amusing and heart-breaking all at once, and truly sets a tone that is maintained throughout.

Before he realises it, Hanson and his squadron, and Illustrious, have done their bit in the Pacific and head for Australia in April 1945. The Canadians and the New Zealanders were sent home while those left sailed for the UK aboard their proud ship.

Carrier Pilot can only be mentioned in the same breath as First Light, the eternal The Last Enemy, A Thousand Shall Fall and No Moon Tonight. It is a classic of the genre, yet it has not had its time in the sun. Naturally there would have been some fanfare upon its release, but it then seemed to slip beneath the waves. Of course, it was first published in 1979 so it had a few things going against it. At the time, the war was relatively fresh in the memories of millions, the people who fought it were still very active in the workforce and, frankly, the general public abhorrence for war had never been higher. The following year, too, 1980, was the fortieth anniversary of that most popular of wartime aviation achievements, the Battle of Britain. What chance did a memoir about a group of naval aviators who fought on the other side of the world have against ‘The Few’? It seems the further east, from the UK, British forces fought during the war, the more they were forgotten. Burma, of course, is the ‘forgotten war’ and the British Pacific Fleet is still regarded as the ‘forgotten fleet’ despite the efforts of the likes of John Winton and, more recently, David Hobbs and Will Iredale.

Hanson certainly left nothing wanting in the manuscript, but he passed away not long after publication. Carrier Pilot remains his literary legacy and, quite simply, he went out on top. The reader is able to inhabit his mind for he wears his heart on his sleeve and the dialogue, ignoring the passing of almost forty years, is vibrant, amusing and on point. To that extent, he employs dialogue sparingly, perhaps realising he wouldn’t be recounting it verbatim, and really only uses it to illustrate a character, or convey the weight, or comedy, of a particular moment. At times, despite being a prominent part of the scene, he is able to step back to observe and comment on the absurdity and devastation around him. Absurdity and devastation, sadly, regularly go hand in hand.

Part of this has to do with his age. By the time he was steaming about in the eastern Indian Ocean, and then in the Pacific, he is already into his thirties. Compared to his charges, he is quite literally an old soul. His age makes him a bit more empathetic and able to understand another’s position. He perhaps borders on being sympathetic as he feels the gut-wrenching loss of friends and colleagues deeply. He never seems to develop any armour to deal with the pall of ever-present death and loss. Perhaps that is the forty years of life and reflection coming in to play.

The time in Egypt building up flying hours in Fulmars, and navigating vast expanses of hostile terrain in sometimes trying conditions, built the foundation that the rest of his war would rely upon. Had he been sent to an active carrier unit, there was every chance he would have been thrown into the deep end from the start, be it in the Med or escorting convoys in the Arctic, and his chances of survival would have been far less. It doesn’t seem fair, but it was the luck of the draw and the FAA gained a fine leader because of it.

From a technical point of view, there is not much conveyed, but in no way does this take away from the book. If anything, its relative absence enhances the read. A novice reader will not notice it and an experienced one won’t be left wanting. There is, however, a superb few pages about learning to fly the Corsair and mastering its various foibles. Hanson adroitly conveys the trepidation of learning to fly a tricky aircraft. His turn of phrase is typically clever and entertaining for this genre and little snippets of brilliance in describing something, often with just a few words, regularly generate a knowing grin or a chuckle. Referring to the weather at sea as something a householder would think twice about putting the cat out in is the perfect example. The reader immediately understands and is entertained at the same time and, if you are familiar with the FAA or wartime flying in general, you will find several more layers to absorb. It really is a masterpiece.

Drop everything you are doing and read this book. This new edition is not perfect. Some of the page layout is odd and the maps and diagrams seem to throw things out a bit and are not as finely printed as they were in the first edition. However, it is a good quality paperback that does its job in presenting everything Hanson wrote to a new audience. That's the most important bit. Carrier Pilot is the finest Fleet Air Arm memoir ever written. It is the forgotten book about the forgotten fleet and the forgotten men, many just names on memorials if they’re lucky, who gave their all. I want to read it again and I think I just might.

ISBN 978-1-909269-59-0