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

Hurrah For The Next Man - Phil Davenport

Time marches on and we’re simply along for the ride. It, however, gives us the chance to live and grow … or live and learn. Its passing yields experiences too many to count and each of these shape our opinions and views of the world. Many people, through the wonders of technology, publicise their opinions and, more often than not, these published words, qualified or not, are at odds with the views of others. Fair enough. If we were all the same it would be a pretty boring world but are there some writers we should listen to more than others? In relation to war – and you know where I’m going with this – those who have been there should be heard. Phil Davenport, author of Hurrah For The Next Man, is certainly qualified to argue against the sacrifice of good men. I was caught off guard by his apparent initial cynicism (perfectly captured in the title) and disagreed with some of his jaded comments. However, as I read on I realised it was my fortunate naivety – thanks to men such as PD – that clouded my initial judgment. When Phil Davenport talks of the futility of war, or of a Sunderland flying boat under attack from German heavy fighters, we should all listen.

The reader is immediately aware of Davenport’s ‘qualifications’ when he opens his wartime account with his crew’s running, uneven, fatal battle between their No. 461 Squadron RAAF Sunderland and Luftwaffe Ju-88s. A dramatic account is a useful tool to hook a reader and it is employed well here. While, naturally, told out of sequence it perfectly illustrates the threats to the long-range Coastal Command crews. The reality of flying the Sunderland is laid bare and this action – indeed, this ‘environment’ when the Germans countered the defensive successes of the ‘boats with flights of heavily armed long-range fighters – sticks in the back of the reader’s mind.

Growing up in Sydney with two younger brothers Davenport keeps a ‘weather eye’ on the various political and military posturings around the globe. Quite worldly, as a result, his volunteering for service is inevitable. His two brothers also join the air force and the reader is given a brief window into the trepidation of a family (and community) sending its sons to war and then waiting for a telegram that hopefully never comes.

Unlike his brother Jack (future No. 455 Squadron RAAF Hampden and Beaufighter pilot) PD only completes his initial ground training in Australia before sailing for Southern Rhodesia via a decidedly unwelcoming South Africa.

Six weeks of Tiger Moth flying and another 14 in the Harvard has the author graduating and returning to South Africa for a Navigation and Reconnaissance Course. His time learning to fly is told matter-of-factly with equal space given to his experiences on the ground and observations of the social aspect of life in Southern Rhodesia. His life in South Africa proceeds similarly before embarking for the UK to eventually arrive in February 1942. Two months later, having reunited with his brother Jack on several occasions, Davenport has his first flight in a Sunderland and, after a few episodes of ‘gale watch’ aboard moored aircraft, is soon in the thick of it as a flying boat second officer before, after three months, becoming a permanent first officer. His ‘welcome’ to the world of Sunderlands consisted of anti-shipping strikes, bad weather, U-boat sightings and successful encounters with enemy fighters. All this and not even close to being halfway through his tour of 800 hours or 75 ops! All adventures are written with an eye for detail – particularly descriptions of weather and sea conditions – and more than a little wry, unintentional humour e.g. in a stalled Sunderland coming out of an updraught and experiencing negative G, the author on the flight deck with his head “pressed against an overhead panel” used “both feet to line up the throttles.”

Leave, ferrying an aircraft to a dismal servicing depot in Scotland and then having to endure six weeks at said depot waiting for said aircraft to be finished eventually led to another series of patrols that culminate in a night take-off accident the crew are lucky to survive when a surging, and ultimately seizing, engine causes the Sunderland to cartwheel into the water just short of a stone jetty. Davenport’s luck holds as he is later involved in a successful attack on a U-boat before being given his own Sunderland to command. Six patrols later the crew are engaged by the six Ju-88s in the action that introduces us to Davenport’s flying boat war at the start of the book. They return to operations after survivors’ leave in late August 1943 and immediately encounter 88s again but are, happily, saved by Mosquitos. The use of Mosquitos over the Bay of Biscay was partly in answer to the threat of the Ju-88s.

Tiredness, in mind and body, took its toll towards the end of the tour and a momentary lapse of judgment had him lining the Sunderland up on the grass runway at Haverford West in order to give the place a good ‘beat-up’. This stunt, however, was witnessed by the Group Air Officer Commanding and Davenport was given the choice of a court-martial or, luckily, three weeks at a disciplinary school. The latter was chosen of course and proved to be surprisingly refreshing and constructive despite the best efforts of some of the ‘instructors’.

PD’s final landing in a Sunderland was on January 4, 1944 and he left 461 for an OTU at Alness, Scotland. His two weeks’ leave involved attending the wedding of his brother Jack (all three brothers reunited after youngest Keith had joined 461 just prior to PD’s posting) – also in Scotland. The ceremony and events surrounding this special occasion are lovingly told (see also Kristen Alexander’s Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader).

This happy time continued into the author’s stint at No. 4 Sunderland Operational Training and Maintenance Unit although it initially looked as though he was in for a frustrating time. Commanding the ‘test flight’ section of the unit Davenport was in charge of a range of men who, in one way or the other, all resented being sent to a ‘backwater’ instead of an operational squadron or, in the case of tour-expired chaps, home. Maintenance was performed to a minimum standard with little or no responsibility taken. Displaying the leadership that came so naturally as a flying boat captain Davenport ensured proper sign-offs and independent checks of ‘completed’ work by technical aircrew. Slowly but surely the quality of work improved and the five months spent at Alness became the most enjoyable of his service.

Operational flying beckoned, however, and Davenport became a Mosquito pilot. The conversion from Sunderlands to Mossies is, surprisingly, not detailed beyond a photo of the course pilots. Perhaps there was no need as the author took to the de Havilland design like the proverbial duck to water. His affinity with the aircraft oozes from his writing and, experienced but indifferent navigator aside, there is every indication he was an effective strike pilot.

His thirteenth operation with No. 235 Squadron in April 1945, and the first with a new navigator who would save their lives, was also his last. Davenport and Ron Day are helped by local Norwegians before being interrogated by the Germans after crash-landing on a frozen lake. What follows is a necessarily short but detailed account of something you don’t read about too often – a POW imprisoned in Norway.

Finally making it home to Australia in September 1945, the author was uncertain of his future. What to do? The United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration was considered a good place to try his hand and, by April 1946, Davenport was on his way to China to be a depot master for a canal project north-west of Shanghai. Perfectly suited to the role, he ultimately, somewhat unbelievably after so many years of war, found himself in another conflict – the Chinese civil war.

As Davenport’s career with UNRRA progressed in China so did the war. He was soon very much in the front-line and even found himself under fire again – this time from the air and from the banks of rivers he tried to navigate small ships through on supply runs. Surrounded by death, persecution and brutality he kept his head – figuratively and literally – to return to Australia at the end of 1947.

Already a man who did not suffer fools or bureaucracy lightly, Davenport’s experiences in China appear to have had the most profound affect on his view of the world and it shows throughout his writing. At times his apparent cynicism comes across as a little too much but, as alluded to in the opening of this review, his opinion is, more than anyone else’s on this occasion, completely justified. The book is most definitely written looking back through 60+ years of life with any ‘innocence of youth’ decidedly absent and replaced by a well-honed and earned weariness with those who govern us. Observant of the world around him, Davenport is not a stereotypical Australian with a healthy disrespect for authority. Instead he has a disdain for inequality and for those who would not get their hands dirty or sought to feather their own nest ahead of any compassion for their fellow man.

HFTNM is the first flying boat-based book to feature on ABR. Indeed, it is the first Sunderland book I have read in a very long time. How it compares to others in this area I cannot say. Certainly not technical in its delivery, with a distinct lack of ‘numbers’, the writing provides a good idea of what it was like to fly (and fly in) one of Short Brothers’ finest. Flying the big aircraft into combat is related in an easy, flowing manner. In some cases not a lot is written about particular events but none are lacking on detail with Davenport writing efficiently and effectively. Initial physical inspection of the book is misleading as there is plenty of detail – not just of his flying but also of the good men he served with – throughout. It is said maritime patrols consist of long hours of boredom punctuated by brief moments of sheer terror. If anything, Davenport, in his first tour, experienced more than his fair share of the latter.

Very few of the books relevant to ABR glorify war. In fact it is probably fair to say none do. However it is easy to get wrapped up in the action and hi-jinks that pervaded the lives of aircrew and become somewhat addicted to these rollicking tales. The ‘experienced’ reader knows, however, that, with absolute certainty, death, injury and loss are but a page away and that these aspects of the war were as much a part of an airman’s life as the combat and ‘play hard’ attitude. Living with such things hanging over you and realising you were just “one of those grains of sand or drops of water” would certainly lead to a questioning of the sense (or lack of) of it all. Never have I come across a book that illustrates this combined sense of helplessness and frustration at being put in harm’s way to do another’s bidding so well. Phil Davenport had a choice to go to war and did (and did it well). Many others since have had that choice made for them. That they have means, to some extent, we haven’t learnt a thing.

An attractive and well-produced paperback, HFTNM features more the 80 photos throughout the book printed on the same, high-quality semi-gloss paper as the main text. Footnotes are extensive and the four maps preceding the excellent index are clear and detailed and among the best I have seen in this genre.

Published by Beachcomber Press in 2009 in Tasmania the entire package is the perfect vehicle for Davenport’s story. I have seen it available in museums and some specialist bookshops (online and 'shopfront'). You can also contact the publisher at Beachcomber Press.

Review copy ISBN 978-0-9805265-0-9