One Life Left - Hugh Garlick DFC

Nimrods, Swordfish and Beaufighters. Sold? Thought so. However, what is a little odd is that this delightful book is available via Lulu so is, effectively self-published. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that as it is a beautiful piece of work that would put many publishers to shame. It is comparable to Owen Zupp’s Without Precedent which is currently my benchmark when it comes to self-published titles. I do despair, however, as sometimes books such as this don’t receive the exposure they deserve. That can be said for a lot of things, hence the cult followings various forms of entertainment receive, but the breadth of appeal within the pages of One Life Left suggests it could be sold to almost any aviation enthusiast. I am not aware of its sale figures, and it is available in quality digital formats too, but I have certainly not seen it at every turn as I do with some titles. Fleet Air Arm, Gibraltar, Scotland, Malta: the ingredients for what should be a best seller that will have you fascinated and rolling in the aisles.

Hugh Garlick joined the RAF in 1935 and completed his flying training with a rating of ‘Exceptional’. This garnered him a coveted position with No. 56 Squadron, then flying Gloster Gauntlets. A minor error in judgment, unfortunately performed at the 1936 Hendon Air Display, led to him being posted to the Fleet Air Arm. At the time, with the Royal Navy still heavily populated with Admirals and other old salts who clung to the notion of the battleship and regarded naval aviation as mere support for the big guns, and an RAF insisting that it was the sole provider of military aviation strength, there were many RAF aircrew flying from the decks of carriers. Ground crew were RAF and non-pilot aircrew such as observers were invariably naval types. This confusion of responsibilities and experience, coupled with some very entrenched and backward views from higher up, did little to prepare the Fleet Air Arm for what was coming.

The author soon finds himself on board HMS Glorious and heading to the Mediterranean and, specifically, Malta. The cruises appear quite idyllic with much drinking and merriment during port visits and a bit of flying here and there. That latter point is important as the lack of flying hours allocated to the Hawker Nimrods and Ospreys of Garlick’s squadron indicates the navy’s opinion of an embarked fighter force at the time. In the eighteen months spent in the Med, the fighters were used for defensive purposes during only a handful of combined fleet ops. The captain of the Glorious at the time was a strong supporter of naval aviation and the ship, as per Graham Drucker’s Wings over the Waves, was a happy ship although, admittedly, Drucker was writing from the point of view of his uncle, Swordfish legend Roy Baker-Falkner, who flew an aircraft that was always gainfully employed when embarked.

With war approaching, there is much dashing about, urgent recalls and, after a series of 31 loops without losing height, a bout of appendicitis that, due to complications, saw Garlick languish in hospital for what was a frustrating end to his time with the Fleet Air Arm.

What followed, however, was the result of having to be sent somewhere, anywhere. With hundreds of hours on single seat fighters, one would assume Garlick would be an ideal fit for Fighter Command. Not so as he was posted to Gibraltar, arriving shortly after the war began, to command a flight of three target drogue towing Swordfish floatplanes on anti-submarine duty.

If anything, this period only serves to make this book even more fascinating. This is quite likely the only personal account of flying Swordfish from The Rock and it is as entertaining as it is insightful. While the ‘Stringbag’ excelled at almost everything thrown at it, it did so without dash and excitement. A fine aeroplane, it was quite literally a plodder. Still, it was the start of the war and whatever was on hand had to fill the breech until they could be replaced. Garlick took to his command with determination tinged slightly by incredulity. The Swordfish had their towing winches removed, racks hung under the wings for 250lb bombs, winch operators trained as WOp/AGs and the forward firing Vickers gun harmonised. They saw no action against submarines, but the author felt they at least contributed to protecting the ships passing through the Straits. While this part of the book is a good look at day-to-day life on Gib, it is also a wonderful illustration of the make-do/can-do attitude and there are some superb passages of the challenges of operating floatplanes for extended periods of time. It was certainly no picnic.

Such was the leadership and initiative shown by Garlick that he was awarded the DFC although it completely mystified him as to how he had earned it. It was still 1940 and he was volunteering for all manner of jobs in an attempt to get into the war proper. In the end, he was due for a rest and after a stint in ops rooms, returned to the UK, converted to Beaufighters and took command of No. 235 Squadron in late 1941. Based in Scotland, the squadron converted to Beaufighters from the end of the year and began operations over the North Sea to Norway and the fjords. It was a hard existence as the sandy airfield was not conducive to high performance aero engines and when it snowed, it really snowed. Still, as ever, Garlick simply got on with the job with what he had and even, so the story goes, oversaw the fitting of Lewis guns in the observer’s cupola for rear defence.

In the middle of 1942, the squadron was sent to Malta to provide fighter cover for two convoys attempting to resupply the besieged island. Returning to his old stomping grounds, the author expected a short stay but, as with any aircraft and crew arriving on the island, AVM Hugh Lloyd got his hooks into the Beaufighters and Garlick’s stay extended to six weeks of escort work for convoys and Beauforts alike. When he returned to the UK, he finally went through modern single engine fighter training and became a chief instructor at an OTU. He ended the war as the Fleet Aviation Officer on HMS Rodney out of Scapa Flow.

If you like adventure, a delightful take on the work hard/play harder mentality and just good, entertaining writing, then this is the book for you. While Garlick flew a lot of ops and was a supremely skilled pilot, there’s not much detail on them. If anything, especially the time on Beaus, they’re mentioned in passing, as anecdotes, as he paints a broader picture of being in command of a squadron and the challenges that entails. The narrative puts the reader at ease with its eloquence, humour, honesty and self-deprecation. It is classic RAF. That’s probably the best way to put it.

There is a very good photo section containing more than fifty images from throughout the timeline covered by the book. They are printed on the same paperstock as the text so the reproduction is not right up there, but it is sufficient and there are some superb photos specific to Garlick’s career so have in all likelihood not been seen before. The reproduction is probably a product of publishing through Lulu, but, that said, the entire package is impressive. I bought the hardback and it a lovely looking book. All of the design work, including the superbly laid out electronic editions, was done by the author’s nephew, John Hooton, who is the driving force behind this book. While the manuscript existed and the photos remained with the family, it was John who pulled it all together to produce one of the best reading experiences I have had since starting ABR.

As this is a print on demand title, it has the benefit of never being out of print. It certainly doesn’t deserve to be, such is its quality, uniqueness and pure entertainment value. Garlick’s turn of phrase will often crack a smile, if not an audible response and there were several occasions, particularly during Christmas 1938, that I was in stitches. Before writing this review, and after referring to my notes, I went back to Christmas 1938 and was similarly entertained. The sequence of parties, quasi-recoveries, and more parties is something almost unique to aircrew types, particularly the ability to recount the misadventures in such a way that you didn’t have to be there to get it. It is typical aircrew hi-jinks, to use an oft-repeated term, that is always told best by those who were a part of it.

An endless stream of superlatives could be rattled off to try to describe the wonderful reading experience this book provides. Not much else can be said other than this is a book not to be missed.

ISBN 978-1-4466-2884-3

Pathfinder Cranswick - Michael Cumming

I came to the story of Alec Cranswick quite by accident.  As I’ve mentioned before on ABR, I was reading Chris Ward’s 6 Group Bomber Command and came upon reference to Cranswick, the number of ops he’d flown and his dog, Kluva.  At the time I was heavily involved in an excellent, but now defunct, Commonwealth forces-focussed internet forum so I asked the question there.  Numerous responses ensued, it became apparent a book had been written in the ‘60s and, although he didn’t make his identity immediately known, author Michael Cumming posted about the ongoing history of the book.  In short, it had been reprinted twice, become a well-regarded classic, updated with new information and was about to be released as an e-book.

I could not justify the exorbitant prices being asked for the first edition nor could I, try as I might, get hold of the more affordable self-published 2005 (??) edition.  In the meantime I had been chatting with the author and became fascinated with, and a keen supporter of, his mission to keep the Cranswick story alive for future generations.  The e-book was his latest effort and was certainly a cheaper way of producing a new book.  Resigned to having to read an electronic copy, I bought and downloaded the e-book to the iPad and got stuck in.  This is where the journey really began as I was drawn into a remarkable world of dedication and phenomenal determination.

Coming out the other end, my head swam with the sheer feat of flying 107 bombing operations.  I found I recalled small details easily because the writing was honest and straight-forward yet managed to breathe life into things from deep within Cranswick’s soul.  However, the e-book was too clinical a medium.  There was passion and warmth here that needed to be in print in the most beautiful format there is – the hardback.  The end result is the 50^th anniversary edition – released in May 2012.  There are few aircrew-related hardbacks that surpass this beautifully-produced book.

Alec Cranswick was born in 1919 in Oxford but this is not when we first meet him.  Instead the reader’s introduction to this gentle but determined man is at the controls of a Lancaster as he waits, somewhat impatiently, for the green Very light that will send him and his crew on their way for the night’s op – this time to the Villeneuve-St.-Georges marshalling yards near Paris.  He is on his second tour with No. 35 Squadron of the Path Finder Force.  This opening chapter is the perfect study of an experienced Pathfinder crew and paints a picture of professionalism, efficiency and effectiveness.  For all that, though, for all the experience, for all the punctuality almost to the second over the target, this was to be their last operation as a crew and, for six of them, their last night alive.  They were a remarkable crew but, really, their loss was anything but.  Like so many before them, and so many after, they fell victim to a night fighter.  Experience could only count for so much.  Luck always played a large part.  This crew had the experience covered – both gunners had flown more than 30 ops, the bomb aimer had earned the DFC and Cranswick, DSO DFC, the quiet journeyman who just wanted to get on with the job, was flying his 107^th operation.  His luck, for so long a companion in the cockpit, abandoned him that night.

Cranswick grew up a happy child with a surprising grasp of the world around him from early on.  The inclusion of a poem, written at the age of six, is proof of this and is of a quality you will never find here (!).  Aviation was prevalent as Alec’s father, a WW1 veteran, realised his dream in the early 1920s and joined the RAF.  This, sadly, did not end happily as he was killed in a mid-air collision in 1928.  It was, of course, a turning point for the young Cranswick.  He was now the man of the house but he also knuckled down at school to ensure he and his mother and sister had a future.  This, combined with the equally determined saving of his mother, allowed him to eventually attend St. Edward’s in Oxford.  The school has a close association with the RAF and, when Alec graduated to become an Old Boy, he joined a group that included Douglas Bader, Guy Gibson, Adrian Warburton and other remarkable men.

Cranswick, somewhat enamoured by the Mounties of Canada, joined the Metropolitan Police in 1937 but found the work depressing.  It was clear war was coming and he saw this an opportunity to finally realise his dream of flying for a living.  When war finally came, and Bomber Command was making its first leaflet raids and attacks on strictly military installations, Cranswick was building hours on the Tiger Moth as a newly-minted RAF recruit.  With barely 50 hours in his logbook he opted for multi-engine training as he saw the bomber as the most effective way to take the fight to the enemy.

Wellingtons were the ‘big’ bomber of the RAF at the time and Cranswick was fortunate, after training on them, to be posted to No. 214 Squadron in Suffolk as a second pilot.  This was mid-1940 and before the four-engined heavies flown by one pilot with assistance from a flight engineer.  Our man was expected to fly operations with a more experienced pilot until deemed fit to lead a crew, and a new second pilot, himself.  At the age of 20, after just eight ops, Cranswick was given this opportunity after proving himself a competent pilot and, most importantly, incredibly reliable and cool under pressure.  Twenty years old, 300 hours in his logbook and flying over Occupied Europe in the dark.

His tour with 214 was by no means an easy one.  Cranswick’s determination to find and hit the target was often tempered by hitting an alternate but more than once he pressed on and on to get the job done.  It was his duty.  He was certain that what he did would help shorten the war even in the dark days of late 1940.  RAF Bomber Command was by no means the ruthlessly efficient machine it was to become in the near future.  Small forces of bombers were sent out and, affected by the defences, performance, weather and experience, many crews often found themselves bombing alone over what they thought to be the target.  Everything was, for want of a better word, rudimentary.  Everything, that is, except for the men in the bombers.  They pressed on and crews like Cranswick’s survived flak damage, forced-landings on decoy airfields, icing and even accidentally switching on the landing lights while over the target!

Cranswick dreaded the thought of being taken off ops at the end of his tour and, as an indication of his leadership, his crew did not want to be broken up.  Volunteering for a posting to the Mediterranean seemed the thing to do.  After some false starts, and a long flight to Malta, the crew joined No. 148 Squadron and flew on ops attacking mainly enemy airfields and shipping with particular success against Italian warships.  Cranswick found Malta’s history fascinating and immersed himself in the culture and was inspired to write a poetic tribute to the island’s stoic population.  What he saw in their courage and determination to keep on was a reflection of himself.

A move to North Africa proper saw a number of ops in support of the land campaign before Cranswick was unable to escape the inevitable and was posted for a rest.  Happily, he was to keep flying by ferrying aircraft along the Takoradi route.  Starting on Africa’s Gold Coast, the aircraft, having been delivered by ship and assembled, would be delivered to operational units on the other side of the continent.  Shortly after arriving at the coast, however, Cranswick was struck down by malaria.  Several bouts of this debilitating disease, and then scarlet fever, would not see him active, flying or otherwise, for more than a fortnight at a time and this went on for almost six months.  If anything, it was an enforced rest but the effects of the malaria in particular would continue to plague him.

Cranswick gratefully returned to ops with his old 148 Squadron in October 1941 and passed his half-century in terms of bombing sorties flown.  He was to experience another enforced rest when he was posted home.  He returned to a Bomber Command that was very different to when he had left.  Technology, navigational aids and greater co-ordination were making their presence felt.  This only served to increase Cranswick’s desire to return to operations.  He was not, however, in good health.  Until he was fully fit he was, despite his protestations, charged with instructing on the Liberator and also delivering motivational speeches to factory workers.  He missed flying on operations though.  Although he had had some close calls and seen things that still haunted him, ops seemed to be the solution to, and cause of, his problem.  It was not that he needed a ‘fix’.  He felt he had not done his job and there was much, much more work to be done.

Finally, he was posted to a Halifax conversion unit, where he met his rear gunner and navigator (men who would be with him almost to the end), and then to No. 419 Squadron RCAF as the all-Canadian No. 6 Group formed.  Cranswick’s experience and illness had changed him.  The determination was still there, of course, but he was now more reserved preferring the quietness of his room and classical music instead of the general melee that was the mess or local pub.  It was a measure of his strength of character, and his leadership in the air, that his desire to keep to himself was not questioned or criticised by his crew and peers.  His was an existence of contemplation and intense focus on the job at hand.  He was not without a sense of humour or compassion, however, as evidenced by his German Shepherd puppy, Kluva, who, in early January 1943, had his own logbook and a good dose of flying experience.  Kluva was soon to become well-known with another squadron when Cranswick, having volunteered himself and his crew, joined No. 35 Squadron and the Path Finder Force.

To be continued … my eyes are falling out of my head but I HAD to post this on the 70^th anniversary of Cranswick’s death.

Ship-Busters - Ralph Barker

Research is always a good thing. It is particularly useful when publishers re-release books that have been out of print for a while. A common practice is to rename said books which, at first glance, gets readily excitable readers such as myself in a bit of a lather. A quick bit of research, though, will confirm whether it is a simple reprint (and therefore available second-hand and cheaper) or, as is sometimes the case, a new edition with extra information and/or illustrations. In a similar vein, I rarely chase old books published before the 1980s. Those written during the war were subject to censor review and those written ‘immediately’ post-war have not had the benefit of a wide variety of source information (although the memories were fresher). On top of that, they can be delicate and awfully scary to handle! There are, however, exceptions born out of an interest for a particular author, pilot, aircraft or operation - hence the purchase of a cheap and care-worn 1959 edition of Ralph Barker’s The Ship-Busters several years ago off Ebay. Despite my love for all things twin-engined that fly very low, this book remains unread. A holiday late last year happily provided an alternative when I found a 2010 paperback by Stackpole Books. This was my chance to finally read one of the classics by one of the more prolific, and experienced, post-war authors.

The Beaufort torpedo crews of the RAF are particularly well-served when it comes to books honouring their service. I find it fascinating that the three best-known authors on the subject, all former Beaufort crew, were very active writers after the war. Wing Commander Patrick Gibbs, author of the sublime Not Peace But A Sword and Torpedo Leader, went on to write theatre reviews while both Roy Conyers Nesbit (Torpedo Airmen, Armed Rovers etc) and Ralph Barker have been writing since the end of the war and have many books to their credit. For such a relatively small population of aircrew, it is remarkable to have such a literary contribution.

The preamble featured in the Stackpole edition (the edition being reviewed) is a clever tool that engages the reader effectively. If the reader is not aware of the work of the Beaufort torpedo men, the preamble provides the perfect introduction. It focuses on a ‘typical’ Beaufort crew - Australian pilot, Kiwi navigator and two English W/AGs - and introduces the author’s marvellous narrative style. Having known many of the men featured, the author is well-placed to write as he does although, throughout the book, the characters introduced in detail are almost always good ‘specimens’. At first I thought this a bit clichéd and perhaps the ‘age’ of the writing was showing through but then if I was to describe these brave men in light of their achievements, they would be detailed similarly ... and, after all, with a photo section vastly superior to that of the 1959 edition, the descriptions are actually spot on.

With a sobering end to the preamble and a prologue that sets up the reader for the pages ahead, the author launches into the early Beaufort operations of the war. The early successes are tempered by the obvious vulnerability of the crews in broad daylight and, despite the Beaufort’s strong construction, against the withering defensive fire of the ships targeted. For those familiar with early Beaufort operations, you will know this led to the ‘Armed Rover’ – sending out small numbers of aircraft, often just two, to operate over the North Sea, Dutch coast etc at low level with cloud cover within easy reach should there be a need to disappear. 22 Squadron, flying out of North Coates, were the pioneers of this tactic and 'old friends' such as ‘Fanny’ Francis, Dick Beauman, Norman Hearn-Phillips and Patrick Gibbs feature heavily. Here, and the strength of these remarkable characters plays a big part, the author helps the reader develop an affinity with these men. This is done very efficiently and the clarity with which the writing conveys the danger these men faced is palpable. Indeed, the narrative style mentioned earlier is the perfect way to present this story. It flows from operation to operation, seamlessly introducing new crews or offering up an alternate viewpoint from a crew the reader has already ‘met’. Considering when the book was originally written, the writing stands up well in these modern times and, in fact, puts recent efforts to shame. Clearly, this, and the enduring fascination with what these men did, is why this book has returned to the market.

The North Sea Rovers were only a part of the Beaufort story however. The squadrons were always on hand to tackle the German capital ships should the opportunity arise. The solo, somewhat accidental but definitely determined, attack by Kenneth Campbell and his crew on the battlecruiser Gneisenau anchored in Brest harbour is the epitome of what these Beaufort men were all about. The author builds the drama and action extraordinarily well to the point the reader is astonished to imagine a Beaufort doing the attack alone. The awarding of the VC to Campbell barely scratches the surface of just how brave he and his crew were.

While SB is really a story about the Beaufort squadrons, there are cameos from the other torpedo bombers used extensively by the RAF and Commonwealth crews throughout the war. Swordfish, Wellingtons and Beaufighters all feature and make good comparisons to the Beaufort being antiquated, modified and from the same stable respectively. "Cameo" is too light a word for the Swordfish as its well-known role in the Channel Dash is recounted with detail, accuracy and feeling. Again the bravery and determination of the crews makes one admire them to the hilt and the overall coverage of the Dash itself, including the part played by Beauforts, is very well done.

Without besmirching the efforts and sacrifices in Northern Europe, it was the anti-shipping role in the Mediterranean that truly defined the Beaufort. The tactics and experience developed the hard way on the edges of Europe and her shipping lanes came to the fore in the warmer climes of the Med. For Rommel, Egypt and the Suez Canal would be his if seaborne supplies from Italy and Greece arrived intact. Here was the ideal opportunity for the Beauforts. While always part of a bigger picture, they were the only means available that could strike over long distances at short notice. Early operations from Egypt were hampered by a lack of aircraft but there was no shortage of crews with the likes of Pat Gibbs twiddling his thumbs behind a desk waiting for a squadron posting. He was, however, able to study the tactical situation and realised there was one place perfectly located to enable the Beauforts to disrupt the relatively unchallenged convoys – Malta.

The Albacores and Wellingtons (some modified to carry two torpedoes and therefore known as ‘Fishingtons’) had been operating at night with success but the ‘focussing’ of a Beaufort force on Malta promised around-the-clock strikes on whatever convoy was in range. The story of the Malta Beaufort strikes is well-known and this is the book that started it all. Roughly a third of the pages in the 2010 edition are devoted to operations in the Mediterranean and the ‘strike wing’ style of attack is developed and refined. While the use of Beaufighters as flak-suppression was not an original idea for the Malta strikes – I seem to recall this tactic first being used by units flying out of the UK – it was used extensively in the Med for the first time and was a portent of things to come for the likes of the Banff and Leuchars strike wings operating over the North Sea later in the war.

The extreme success of the Beaufort strikes was not, of course, without its cost and the crews paid dearly despite the Beaufighters going in first. The accounts of entire formation elements (e.g. a ‘vic’ of three aircraft) being lost within seconds are particularly sobering. The flak was indiscriminate with vastly experienced crews sharing the same fate as those new to strike ops.

While their working life was carried out with extreme risk, there was little let up for the crews when off ops on Malta. The island had convoy problems of her own with fuel supplies often measured in days. That she was able to strike back so effectively was a saving grace for the Maltese people and the thousands of service personnel living on the archipelago.

As the Mediterranean Beauforts were stopping Rommel in his tracks, new strike wings were forming in the UK. Based around the Beaufighter (and the Mosquito later on) these wings really were the culmination of years of hard-won experience in a number of theatres. Their initial operations revealed a need for more training but with a reliable supply of quality aircraft and crews, this shortcoming was quickly overcome. Add a new weapon into the game – the rocket projectile – and the torpedo was no longer the only game in town when it came to sinking ships. It was still an asset when delivered by ‘Torbeaus’ but the ability of the RP to be carried with little effect on performance –and its ‘punch’ – meant the air-dropped/aimed torpedo’s days were numbered. This is well conveyed in the last chapter of SB where the combined forces of the North Coates and Langham Wings are unleashed on a convoy off the Dutch coast in mid-June 1944. While far from being the final strike operation of the war (remember this is a book about torpedo crews), this chapter is the perfect book-end in that its massed use of aircraft is the complete polar opposite to the one crew featured in the new preamble.

As I've mentioned above the tactics and operations are exceptionally well-told, almost poetically so, but the real strength of this book is the men themselves. The little character nuances and small personal details make the crews more than just anecdotal inclusions that are occasionally, sometime necessarily, included in this style of book. Indeed, this is a look at their lives as they, not the aircraft, were the ship-busters. In this sense, I am very much looking forward to comparing SB to the recent A Separate Little War by Andrew Bird. Not having read this book, but having it in my collection, it will be interesting to compare the writing styles, the use of modern research tools and the treatment of information gleaned from interviewees looking back over 60+ years as opposed to 10. Beyond being a great read that ranges through the whole gamut of emotions, perhaps this is where the true value of SB lies – it is as close to a published eye-witness account as we’re ever going to see. In this respect, as the numbers of Beaufort torpedo men rapidly dwindle, SB (and other books like it) will take on a whole new importance.

Stackpole puts together a nice paperback and in doing so provides an affordable read. Whether this is a carbon copy of the recent Grub Street release, I do not know, but I suspect it is. The 38 photos are clearly reproduced on the same paper stock as the text and provide a superb range of images of aircraft, targets, crews and individual portraits. It is highly likely the pricier Grub Street hardback would have printed the photo section on a higher quality paper. The portraits in particular are of great use when putting a face to a name and description in the text.

I bought my copy of SB in a Barnes & Noble store. It is, of course, available online at B&N, Amazon and other such sites. The RRP printed on the back cover is US$18.95 but I am sure I paid less than that. Either way, great value for money ... and you can always go for the vintage edition.