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.
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