Never Been Hit - Peter Fitton

Publishing is an interesting animal (says he who has little experience in it).  Anything written can be published and passed off as a ‘legitimate’ book these days.  Yes, publishers still accept manuscripts but those that are rejected, or suit a very small niche market, can still be printed by the so-called ‘vanity’ or print-on-demand publishers like Lulu and Xlibris.  Some authors may even decide to publish through these publishers to avoid the hassle of the traditional approach and so they can do their marketing although, to be fair, the author is the marketer these days as publishers tighten their belts.  Even small print runs can be done by professional printing firms (see Chasing Shadows for a very good example).  The modern author has a variety of paths to follow to see his or her name in print or even digitally.  These books form almost a sub-culture in that they generally do not get noticed by the wider reading public – admittedly the reason why ‘vanity’ publishers exist – despite the efforts of the author who simply wants the story ‘out there’.  They may not be perfect but their existence is what is most important.  One such diamond in the rough is Peter Fitton’s Never Been Hit.

Towards the end of the war in Europe many Allied fighter squadrons, particularly those based on the Continent, were heavily involved in strikes on enemy transport, flak units and almost anything else that moved.  It was incredibly dangerous work.

It’s not often we learn about an Australian’s experiences during this time so NBH is particularly interesting and was something I was particularly keen to read (and support).  Les Streete, a well-known identity and community leader on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula post-war, grew up in country New South Wales and, upon joining the RAAF in October 1942, learned to fly at Narromine.  In July of the following year he sailed, like so many other Australians destined for the war in Europe, to Canada for advanced training and then to the UK before joining No. 66 Squadron, and its clipped-wing Spitfire Mk XVIs, in Belgium in late 1944.

His time training in Canada is detailed particularly well and his travels around North America while on leave provide a good picture of a ‘home front’ that was the polar opposite to what he would experience in the UK and Europe.  Well aware of the death and destruction on the other side of the Atlantic, there are times when Les feels guilty for enjoying what was on offer in the likes of New York and Montreal. 

Les was a fine athlete so performed well on and off the airfield.  He threw himself relentlessly into his studies and flying and by early 1944 was flying Hurricanes with No. 1 Operational Training Unit in Bagotville, Quebec.  Less than a month later he was forced to bale out, at more than 20,000 feet over the frozen Canadian countryside, when his Hurricane caught fire.  Losing a boot on the way down, Les ended up in a fir tree where he proceeded to wrap strips of silk around his now very cold foot before launching himself into the safest looking snowdrift.  Struggling to an isolated cabin nearby he thawed out while the two French-speaking old ladies of the cabin embroidered part of his parachute as a keepsake of his adventure that day.  He always flew with that ‘scarf’ from that day on.

The budding, and now somewhat hardened, fighter pilot still had a way to go before he began flying combat ops.  After some leave upon graduation, he did not arrive in the UK until late June.  It was a time when the optimism of the Normandy landings had everyone thinking the war would be over by Christmas.  This was somewhat tempered by the first V-1 flying bombs being launched against London.  It must have been an interesting time for newly fledged pilots as they wondered whether they would join a squadron before hostilities ceased.  It was the same for Les as, although he was kept busy with refresher training and then ferrying a variety of aircraft, he did not join No. 66 Squadron, newly arrived at Grimbergen in Belgium, until the end of November.

Despite this delay, which admittedly allowed a familiarisation of the local flying conditions, the tempo of operations on the squadron, weather permitting, soon made any perception of time wasted a distant memory.  Les was heavily involved in operations against harried German forces until he left the squadron at the end of April 1945.  He was a talented flyer who experienced considerable success dive-bombing ground targets (his Spitfire often carried one 500lb and two 250lb bombs).  He even managed to make the most of rare encounters in the air and was successful against several V1s and enemy fighters.  However, it was a tenuous existence.  The first V1 he destroyed, on a relatively safe escort sortie, blew up at close range.  Les was unable to take evasive action so had to fly through the explosion.  He was lucky to escape with just a missing spinner.

Ground fire was, of course, the biggest threat and the book is sobering in its regular accounts of one of Les’ squadron mates, flying either just ahead or just behind, collecting a packet and ‘going in’.  It was a rare occurrence, given the heights they operated at on ground attack ops, for a pilot to have any chance when hit.  It makes for such harrowing reading that when a pilot does manage to coax some height and/or distance out of his crippled Spitfire, before baling out or force-landing, the reader’s heart soars with relief.

Life on the squadron, as you might gather from the above, was busy, stressful and certainly took its toll on the young men.  Les, as expected, was fit and strong and thought nothing of the regular lectures, by the medical officer, on subjects like fatigue.  Yet, when he returned to England for a spot of leave, he was more than grateful to leave the bleak and dangerous existence of operational flying. 

Given the job the squadron was doing, losses were regular and often personal.  There are two levels to this.  Firstly, obviously, losing a squadron mate would be keenly felt by those left behind.  For a fighter squadron, where, at most, there were two dozen pilots, all of the aircrew would have been quite familiar with each other (perhaps more so than a bomber squadron with its greater number of aircrew and focus on the crew unit).  Secondly, most of the losses were witnessed at very close range and this could not fail to have an impact on such a tight-knit group of men and the individuals within.  Les, reeling from several losses of squadron mates, and hearing the news of the deaths of close friends, developed a simple weariness.  Gone was the exhilaration of being a young flyer piloting one of the finest aircraft ever built at low level.  This was not helped by an attack on a purported Gestapo Headquarters in North Amsterdam.  Acting on intelligence from the Dutch Underground, three Spitfires attacked the building successfully but without avoiding civilian casualties in the busy street.  All three men were haunted by the people they had seen killed and were devastated when they were told it was the wrong building – right target as per the intelligence but they had deliberately been given the wrong information.  Les was already suffering sleepless nights from this attack so he was relieved beyond belief when a return visit was cancelled due to bad weather.

The squadron flew until the end of April.  They handed their Spits over and returned to England.  Generous leave followed but Les was keen to keep flying so converted to Tempests.  With the war in Europe over, however, the writing was on the wall and the newly commissioned Les began his journey back to Australia in early August 1945.  He was just a few days short of his 23^rd birthday.

As many returned aircrew experienced, Les was restless and ill at ease with civilian life.  He was still visited by visions of his mates going down and images of the ill-fated North Amsterdam attack.  Nothing held his attention for long but he married a very understanding and compassionate woman in 1948 and the two of them worked hard.  That hard work led to a successful business in the holiday mecca of Rye (now the outskirts of Melbourne) and, combined with his wife’s intuition as to what was going on in his head, Les slowly resurfaced from the war.  He never forgot, of course, but he recovered to make the most of what would turn out to be a life of service to his fellow returned servicemen and women.

Peter Fitton, a member of the Tyabb Aero Club, was fortunate to be given access to Les’ logbooks and diaries so the reader is able to gain a marvellous insight into this relative latecomer to the European war.  It was almost a rite of passage as he was first given the logbook and ‘formal’ diary before, trust being established, he was allowed to read the personal, more elaborate diary that had not been seen by anyone other than Les.  Good use has been made of all primary sources and an understanding of Les’ character allowed a bit more depth in the writing.  It’s not just “Les did this, then he did that”.  His place in the big picture is detailed with contextual passages covering the Allies’ push to Berlin.  Some of these, particularly the crossing of the Rhine and events leading up to it, are a little hard to follow without some knowledge of the geography.  Some maps are included but are a little confusing as there’s a lot going on.  The employment of a graphic designer here would have helped to clean things up a bit but these come at a price. 

The author does engage in a bit of poetic licence here and there to ward off any ‘dryness’ and, for the most part, does this well although there are times when an entire passage could have been removed without affecting the delivery of the story.  I am far from a prude but the failed sexual adventure of one of Les’ mates soon after arrival in the UK was completely unnecessary and certainly did not warrant almost two pages of Mills & Boon-esque imagery.  It could have been written in one or two sentences … if it had to be included. 

That said, the author’s experience as a pilot helps the reader to feel some of the flying sequences in their gut and the speed and danger of low-level flying is exceptionally well conveyed. There are a few technical and RAF terminology glitches however.  Add these to regular typos and grammatical issues and the print-on-demand book is more or less defined.  Yes, this book is well written but with a nice edit and tighten, it would be an easy sell in the ‘formal’ publishing world.  I hope it gets its chance.  Both the author and Les deserve it.

I bought my paperback copy of Never Been Hit direct from Xlibris.  All copies available online will ultimately come from Xlibris.  For what it is – a paperback of the American ‘floppy’ format and production value – it is not relatively cheap and, I believe, the price went up for all formats (hard, soft and e-book) soon after I bought it.  However, with the exchange rates now, it should work out quite affordably.  That’s a good thing as it draws attention to one of the unsung Australian pilots of the war.

ISBN 978-1-4771-2356-0

Blood, Sweat And Courage - Steve Brew

The inspiration for writing this review, besides the book itself, stems from deciding I would attempt to publish the world’s first book review of 2015.  There’s a good chance I will have achieved this assuming no Samoans, Kiwis or Norfolk Islanders have had the same idea and usurp me in the three hours from the first seconds of 2015 to midnight here in Melbourne.  Thinking of this little record attempt for ABR got me reflecting on 2014, a year that has gone a bit downhill in the past month, and one word came to mind.  Legacy.  

As a very amateur writer on old things that fly, and the people that made them do so, I have written relatively little for ABR but have contributed elsewhere this year.  This has been the best year, however, for the website’s traffic so, with luck, the goal of increasing the audience for these books has been achieved.  I think about the authors I have ‘worked’ with and met this year and their contribution to the collective memory of the aircrew and their experiences.  Staring at the SAAF Bisley profile artwork that hangs above my desk, and thinking “legacy”, brings one author to mind ahead of the others - Steve Brew.  Many of you will know of his work with No. 41 Squadron’s history and his magnificently enormous Blood, Sweat And Valour.  Well, after 11 years of work, and no doubt a fair bit of blood and sweat of his own, Steve has completed his wartime history of the unit with Blood, Sweat And Courage.  The two volumes comprise almost 2,000 pages of history.  That is some legacy.

Two Battle of Britain books in the same year for ABR!  The first, of course, was the intimate Australia’s Few And The Battle Of Britain by Kristen Alexander.  It’s perhaps a bit generalist (and lazy), however, to call BSC a Battle of Britain book.  It is so much more but certainly the longest section of the book is the summer of 1940.  Blood, Sweat And Courage is the history of the squadron from the declaration of war through to July 1942. 

You would expect the Phoney War period to be quite dull especially as the squadron was equipped with Spitfires and therefore ‘quarantined’ from operating in France with the British Expeditionary Force.  To some extent this is true, and the diary entries support this at times, but the war was only six weeks old when the squadron scored its first victory and, incidentally, the first German airmen were captured on British soil.  As celebratory as this is (as by the now the reader is heavily invested in the fortunes of the squadron), it is the events of the following day, October 18 1939, that put things in perspective and sets a tone, an emotion, for the book.  One of the three pilots who shared the previous day’s victory, Sergeant Albert Harris, was a passenger on the grossly overloaded Whitley that was being used as a transport for the squadron’s move to RAF Wick.  He was killed when the aircraft stalled and crashed on take-off.  Reading this passage results in an incredulous “Hang on, wasn’t he…” moment.  It was the moment the book went from squadron history, with its staccato diary entries, to squadron memoir.  It became personal.

The rapid-fire diary entries, early on in the war when, relatively, not a lot is going on, are increasingly interspersed, as the war heats up, with contextual ‘elaborations’ that provide considerably more detail as individual memories from squadron members illustrate events or the author expands on noteworthy items.  The language used in the diary entries also helps to draw the reader in.  The author particularly uses “today” extensively.  It is a simple but clever use of the word as it fosters a feeling of currency and involvement.

Diary entries and expertly collated and assembled combat narratives, and personal recollections to support them, are great but what is particularly telling with regard to the Battle of Britain period are the tables detailing the flights made in a day by pilots and aircraft.  The take-off and landing times are very good at communicating the frequency and urgency.  It is easy, in conjunction with the narrative, therefore, to imagine the sheer exhaustion the pilots felt after days and days of such frenetic activity.

The post-Battle of Britain period was a time of change for both sides.  Fighter Command went on the offensive and the Spitfire units eventually converted to the Mk V while the Germans moved on to the Me109F and, in time, the Fw190.  The squadron, however, spent six months of 1941 on rest (defensive duties with not much ‘rest’) before returning to the fray.  Their lot for the next 12 months was one of Circuses and sweeps, taking the fight to the enemy.  The combat actions for the Circuses in particular are, as you’d imagine with the squadron flying with several others, confusing to say the least but the author makes sense of it all and produces entertaining, informative and very readable accounts.  Here, the diary entries are quite a bit longer (!) and each operation is headed by a table summarising the RAF involvement.  Happily, Brew analyses the losses and claims and does not accept the ORB as gospel.  He even corrects previous research and conclusions he made as the squadron historian.

The narrative ends not with the squadron being pulled from ops for a rest, although this ultimately happened, but with it being stood-down in preparation for transportation to Russia following the success of the Hurricanes that made up Force Benedict.  This, of course, did not eventuate but it is a fascinating little conclusion for the time period covered by BSC. 

This is a huge book.  Despite being very well written, it does require dedication to get through.  The main section, obviously and necessarily, contains a lot of names and numbers but they do not overpower the reader.  As is common with works of this ilk, the reader will develop ‘favourite’ pilots as they pop up time and time again.  All men, where possible, are introduced by way of their career to the date of joining the squadron.  On being posted out their subsequent service is included in the narrative in surprising detail and the author regularly refers to pilots flying with other squadrons as being previous or future 41 Squadron members.  Even the captions for the many photos provide as much biographical detail as space allows.  It is the most comprehensive personnel history, with the benefit of being told and presented exceedingly well, I have come across.  The author has achieved his aim to “give every man his place in history”.

The appendices are, as expected, massive and provide a lot of information with the largest detailing each pilot’s service record.  The format is the same as that used in the previous volume Blood, Sweat And Valour and, for the pilots’ records, requires a lot of understanding of abbreviations and acronyms but all are listed in a later appendix.  There’s even appendices dedicated to surviving gun camera films shot by the squadron, a ground victory listing and the aircraft used as squadron hacks!  This is the type of book you consult to corroborate everything.  As is the norm for the Fonthill books I have encountered there is, maddeningly, no index although, once again, the author provides one on his website.  This book would be absolute perfection with an index but it does not suffer from not having one.  It’s just that it deserves one.

If you’ve read BSV then you know what follows where BSC closes and how the squadron built on its already enviable reputation.  Upon finishing BSC, there is a desire to re-visit the first volume to continue and conclude the squadron’s wartime story.  Preparing for this review required a week of very late nights coupled to several very early mornings.  It was a pleasure and a privilege to go through the advance copy and be in the presence of something remarkable.  Blood, Sweat And Courage had a lot to live up to after the release of BSV and it was eagerly awaited because of the quality of the first volume.  It had to be superb.  It had to be readable.  It is both and so much more.

Australia's Few and the Battle Of Britain - Kristen Alexander

For as long as books are written about aviation there will always be books about the Battle of Britain.  It is perhaps the one enduring ‘household name’ from the war.  Indeed, even its ‘stars’ – The Few, Churchill, Dowding, Bader, Spitfire, Hurricane – still roll off the tongue.  It must be considerably difficult, given so much has been written about this period of the war already, for an author to come up with a new angle that will be of sufficient interest to publishers and, of course, the target audience.  The key, however, is “The Few”.  The aircrew.  Every single one deserves to have his story told.  Many have.  Many haven’t.

Such was the impact of the RAF’s victory against the odds that the campaign still resonates with astounding clarity.  It is a popularity that has seen myths and tales repeated until they are accepted as fact before, thankfully, being debunked through good old-fashioned historical research.  This research, and the continuing interest in the subject matter, has ensured documents are re-discovered, or re-interpreted, and crash sites continue to be found.

The household names are such because, for the most part, they endured.  They added to their achievements beyond that summer of 1940 and provided future biographers and researchers with enough material to generate countless volumes of work.  Those who survived had a life after the Battle.  They had a voice with which to tell their own story.  What, then, of those who did not make it?  How can their voice be heard when, perhaps, it is hidden safely away in a shoebox in the cupboard of a still grieving widow or relative?  For many they are simply a name on a plaque or on a headstone.  A pilot of the Battle of Britain.

What was he like?  Why did he fly?  Was he married?  Who and what did he love?  Where did he come from?  Someone always remembers and that is how the lost are heard.  In the case of this book, realisation came before remembrance.  The author became inquisitive about the Australian involvement in the Battle after reading one of H.E. Bates’ classic works.  There followed a journey of discovery that produced astounding access to the personal papers and records of eight men who flew in the Battle of Britain and who are certainly not household names.  The result is a perfect blend of military and personal biography.  Now these young men have a voice again.

Crossman, Glyde, Holland, Hughes, Kennedy, Millington, Sheen and Walch.  All were Australians in the RAF.  Some learned to fly at Point Cook.  Others in England.  Some became aces.  Some earned the DFC.  One survived.

As expected, there is a lot of combat but these sequences are, as much as possible, told in the pilot’s words through snippets from logbooks and combat reports and judiciously selected comments from diaries and other musings.  This is, of course, what we expect of a book about the Battle of Britain.  What is expertly woven into the narrative, however, is exquisite detail of the personal lives of the men – their thoughts when on station, the evident tension experienced as time passed and fatigue grew and, most importantly, their experiences when not on duty.  Here we really learn who these men were. 

The most valuable material is, however, in the pre-war/pre-Battle narrative.  Logbooks and diaries are expected sources when writing about pilots in combat.  Discovering their lives before their greatest achievements requires a much more personal approach and a desire to tell the whole story and not just the exciting stuff.  The result of such in-depth research and analysis, lovingly so in each respect, is an understanding beyond anything official records will ever provide.  There is a reason why Kennedy never smiled in photographs, for example.  Yes, there is some reading between the lines but, given the extent of the source material at hand, it is very much an educated, informed and perceptive interpretation.

All eight men come to life as their lives are laid bare. The reader develops an affinity with each to the point where the losses are keenly felt.  Hughes, a phenomenally aggressive (Point Cook might still bear the scars!) and successful pilot and flight leader, particularly got under my skin as he built the foundation of a loving relationship and potential future family (he was, of course, not the only one to find love while overseas). The progressive losses set-up the final chapters as the stories do not end as seven men are shot down.  They leave behind families and friends who struggle to accept their shining light has gone.  This is where the writing really benefits from the author’s unsurpassed ‘eye for the personal’, as I like to call it, developed in her earlier works (Clive Caldwell Air Ace and Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader).  While the entire book is written with emotion and caring, the closing chapters are almost heartbreaking as each family unit comes to terms, more or less, with their loss over the decades that followed the war.  The immediate reaction by colleagues and loved ones to each death is recorded in the main ‘action’ chapters but the Battle moves on and, of course, so must the narrative.  The last few chapters, however, are a delicately and expertly assembled section of the book that serves to remind us that these men left so much behind.

Such sublime content deserves an equally well-crafted package to be presented in. As much as this is the author’s coming of age as an aviation history writer, the publisher has gone above and beyond in ensuring this book is well presented. Indeed, the sheer presence of this beautiful hardback demands attention on the shelf.  The hardcovers replicate the dust cover artwork and prove there is more to life than dark cloth and gold-embossed text.  The pages are clean and crisp, the text is (justified!) the perfect size for easy reading and the photo section, cut down from a large number of images the author had collected, happily focuses on personal and intimate images of the men rather than stock photos of Spitfires and Hurricanes etc.  The effort put in to the design and layout is evident.  Someone at NewSouth really understood what the book is all about.  Add the professional notes and index and we have an example from the very pinnacle of book design.

If I’m honest, and that’s what ABR is all about, I tend to steer away from books on the Battle and prefer to hunt down those from lesser known campaigns, battles, squadrons and theatres.  That summer of 1940, however, is what I cut my teeth on when I first ‘discovered’ the world of Second World War aviation.  It’s always there, in various forms, on my shelves, online or, most of the time, at a local bookshop.  Why then, in this world of a seemingly inexhaustible supply of Battle of Britain books, and with the 75^th anniversary just around the corner, would you buy this book over the others?  The question really should be “why wouldn’t you?”  From cover to cover it is the perfect tribute to eight Australian pilots and, hands down, the best-presented ‘package’ I have seen in a while.  It can be tricky, as the narrative changes to another ‘character’, to keep abreast with who’s who but this is really only experienced early on before the reader gets to ‘know’ each budding pilot.  The timelines of all eight are well managed and I hate to think of the headaches weaving them all together must have caused.  At a little over 400 pages of narrative, notes, bibliography and index, you’d think this would be a longish read but it flows so nicely, and there is always something to discover on the next page, that progress is swift.

Eight men have finally had their stories told.  It couldn’t have been done better.  I am bloody glad to have read Australia’s Few and the Battle of Britain.  I am bloody glad to have it on my shelf.

NewSouth Publishing 2014

ISBN 9-781742-234151

April 30, 2015 - Now available through Pen & Sword in the UK!