Heroes are Fools – Murray Crawcour

This will come as no surprise, but the time between me reading this book and then writing the review is far too long. My records show I acquired it at the end of February 2023 and, by all accounts, read it in late 2024 and/or early 2025. Nothing like fresh memories, especially when I forgot the simplest of things – start and end dates. In keeping with this theme, my copy has quite the non-descript appearance (not the lovely artwork edition above); there’s not even a title on the spine. Reliant on a diary and some slightly fallible memories, Heroes are Fools is quite the surprising package, and it’s written by a former member of the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) no less.

The author began his RAAF training in January 1941, working up as a navigator/bomb aimer. He is sent to Egypt before attending an operational training unit in Kenya. After several periods of seemingly interminable waiting around, coupled with immense frustration at being ready to go but missing out at the last minute, Murray flies his first operation on Blenheims with No. 113 Squadron, out of Asansol, India, in May 1942, having previously flown into Akyab just before it fell. Conditions at Asansol are not pleasant and, over time, despite a serious amount of operations (what he refers to as the ‘monotony of life’), or because of them, Murray begins to drink heavily, somewhat out of wanting something to do. Ferry flights from Africa and trekking in the Darjeeling district serve to break up the routine, but only the latter is an escape from the oppressive heat and clapped-out Blenheims.

Upon completing his tour of 300 hours, Murray asks to stay on until his pilot finishes his tour but is told his nerves are shot. Arguing the point to no avail, he realises, once he begins ‘flying a desk’, that his nerves are indeed gone. While instructing, he spends some time in hospital before finally returning to Australia, Geelong specifically, pending his next tour. The return to operational flying is initially with No. 32 Squadron in Queensland and then No. 8 Squadron in Tadji, New Guinea, where he spends much of 1945 flying three times the number of sorties as he did in India (for a total exceeding 200, of which 153 were ‘completed bombing strikes’). Inexplicably, he consistently refers to the aircraft of 8 and 32 Squadrons as Bisleys, not the Beauforts they clearly were.

Post-war, he studied law before moving to Israel and, remarkably, was called up to the Israeli Air Force for brief service (including on board a Flying Fortress during a bombing raid where it appeared he was the only ‘professional’ among the crew). Raising a family in Israel, he was, of course, still impacted by conflict despite being too old to serve. There is a sense of relief when he mentions that and it is clear, at the time of writing the book, he is tired of humans being no different to animals. The weariness that crept in during his tour in India, held at bay by the importance of his work as squadron bombing leader in New Guinea and replaced by an enthusiastic idealism in the 1950s and 60s, returns as it only can in people who have fought for what they saw as right over and over again.

While the subtitle refers to the book being a diary, the narrative is certainly not set out that way. Indeed, there are mentions of future events (such as the huge amount of flying he goes on to do, the positions he held, etc.) throughout. It is, however, classic storytelling with lots of decent anecdotes painting pictures of life in Egypt, Kenya and India in particular.

It was surprising to read of Murray’s move to Israel post-war. His faith is clear throughout his service, and guides many of his activities, but he did not come across as ardent, though it was clearly a major part of his life growing up. If nothing else, services, acknowledging specific days and dates of note, and networking with local Jewish communities gave him something to do. The networking proved useful and seemed to keep his social calendar full. With the passing of time, however, what probably peaked in the 1950s and 60s mellows as he ages and reflects on our inability to evolve beyond armed conflict.

Rather bizarrely, details of family history, growing up, education, and his post-war study, relationships and work are placed in appendices. This perhaps contributes to the impression Murray was not married to his faith as the narrative opens with his first day in the RAAF. While it’s straight into the whole reason for acquiring this book, the familiar structure of, at least, growing up and education in Melbourne would have helped the reader build an image of the author, rounding out their understanding as he embarks on the great events of his young life. With the Crawcour story coming to an end, I admit to not being terribly interested in the family history and religious introspection, for example, by then and skimmed a fair chunk of the appendices (which make up about a third of the page count).

To each their own from that point of view, but don’t let it scare you off trying to find a copy of Heroes are Fools. It is largely a book about flying in India/Burma and I’m all for that, especially considering the Australian connection. There’s only a handful of pages covering New Guinea, indicating how busy he was, which is a shame as such accounts aren’t exactly thick on the ground, especially ones as entertainingly written as the Indian sojourn is. That said, the eclectic photo section includes some good images from the New Guinea tour, although all photos are reproduced a little on the small side, there being enough room on each page for them to be made at least 20 percent larger.

Heroes are Fools is a self-published (in Israel, remarkably) diamond in the rough. The passage of time is a little hard to follow – although some good indicators are easy to note if you need them – and there’s a couple of niggles when it comes to memory that can lead to questions elsewhere, but it’s an otherwise entertaining and thought-provoking read. The author’s access to his diary and logbook provides an immediacy to his writing and serves as an ideal trigger for his colourful and erudite observations which are, albeit, slightly influenced by looking back over a life peppered by a series of conflicts witnessed firsthand. That said, the narrative is seemingly unaffected by external ‘influences’ such as contemporary memoirs, unit histories or even in-depth archival research. This might have added helpful context, but it would have removed the reader from their place at Murray’s side, diluting an engaging tale.

ISBN 978-9-65229-0-526

Gestapo Hunter – Sean Feast

 

This will sound ridiculous, but I don’t think I’ve read a pure Sean Feast book since Thunder Bird in Bomber Command. By ‘pure’ I mean a book where he’s listed as the sole author on the cover (not taking anything away from his many collaborative works). Sure, I’ve dipped in and out of The Pathfinder Companion, Pathfinders – The Definitive Story and Halton Boys, but I’ve not yet read them cover to cover. I’ve also read A Thousand and One by Humphrey Phillips DFC ‘with Sean Feast’ (one of those rare books written by a flight engineer). There’s lots of shouting when new books are released but I’m finding, of late, some to be lacking either in terms of being rushed to market, scant genuine understanding for a subject or (with my editing hat on) a lack of interest or care at the final hurdles, with perhaps the latter two being a function of the first. Reading Gestapo Hunter reminded me how well-crafted an aircrew book can be.

I’ve always thought the wartime RAF to have been the finest proponent of low-level flying (and no doubt post-war Buccaneer and Tornado crews, for example, would agree to have continued that legacy), especially over land. Blenheims, Bostons and Mosquitos immediately come to mind, some to survive in an interceptor-rich environment, some to ensure a second visit wasn’t needed. It is hard to fathom the feelings of civilians in Occupied Europe upon seeing a loose formation of Mossies screaming by at rooftop level. It is awe-inspiring to think of now, but it was clearly dangerous work with little room for error, be it in finding the target easily, hitting same and reacting to emergencies where a greater altitude would allow some options, or a chance. Giving the game away somewhat, of all those involved in these operations, it is fair to say Ted Sismore DSO DFC** AFC, the subject of Gestapo Hunter, was the finest of the low-level navigators. That is saying a lot.

Interestingly, his RAF career did not initially proceed as he wanted. While his instructors figured he’d get there eventually, such were the exigencies of wartime that he ran out of time to solo in a Tiger Moth. While this scuppered his dream of being a pilot for a few years, the RAF, and the war effort at large, benefitted from this failure. Sismore would, however, go on to fly Meteors, Javelins and Canberras, among other types, in the post-war RAF, seeing a career through to unit command and the higher echelons of the Service.

Having flown 26 operations on Blenheims by the end of June 1941, Ted’s subsequent posting to Malta was cut short by fever. From arriving on the island to his repatriation, he survived a frenetic period in which the crews of the detachment, while successful, suffered badly. The same applied to those of his unit, No. 110 Squadron, who had remained in the UK. An uncomfortable posting to No. 13 OTU (Ted didn’t want to be there and made it known) led to No. 24 OTU and, interestingly, involvement as a Whitley nav in the ‘big push’ raids on Bremen and Düsseldorf of mid-1942.

Just before these raids, the Mosquito had flown its first operational sorties. Ted already knew he wanted to fly on a Mossie squadron; this became a reality when Reg Reynolds, a veteran of two Bomber Command tours, teamed up with him for posting to No. 105 Squadron. This is where the Ted Sismore legend truly began with his ability to plan, and execute succinctly, routes to and from targets coming to the fore. While getting ahead of myself slightly, name a ‘classic’ Mosquito raid and Ted was involved: interrupting Göring’s Berlin speech in January 1943; deep-penetration raids; planning Operation Jericho, the raid on the Amiens Prison; the ‘Aarhus raid’; and Operation Carthage, the March 1945 raid on Gestapo headquarters in Copenhagen. Of course, not all of these were done with Reynolds flying the aircraft, although they did transfer to No. 139 Squadron together and were part of the early Light Night Striking Force before briefly parting, Ted heading to No. 2 Group HQ but duly flying with the likes of Charles Patterson and Basil Embry, the latter on some of the first ‘Noball’ strikes.

Ted and Reynolds were reunited in early 1944 when the latter assumed the role of wing commander flying for No. 140 Wing. After some time away learning the intricacies of Gee-H, Ted became wing navigation officer alongside Reynolds. As always, there were ‘run of the mill’ ops interspersed by stand outs such as the raid on the SS base at Château de Marieville in retaliation for the murder of SAS members of Operation Bulbasket (see the recently released SAS Rogue by Peter Weaver for details of the betrayal, attack and subsequent war crimes committed against these men). The successful Mosquito raid also saw the RAF’s first use of napalm.

With Reynolds having flown his last operational sortie during the Aarhus raid, Ted flew with his replacement, Bob Bateson, and Bob Iredale, the great Australian Mossie flyer, specifically flying with the former on Carthage and the attack on the well-camouflaged Gestapo headquarters on the island of Funen, near Odense. Post-war flying saw him team up with another great proponent of low-level flying, ‘Micky’ Martin, on a record-setting flight to Cape Town before entering the world of all-weather fighters, a long Cold War RAF career ending in the early 1970s with ‘retirement’ into private enterprise, leveraging his navigational and electronic-equipment expertise.

It is probably a bit of an oversell to regard the author as a modern-day Tony Spooner or Roy Conyers Nesbit. Admittedly, he didn’t fly during wartime, or at all as his primary career, but it’s the comprehensive understanding of the subject that leads to this comparison. That’s the great strength of Gestapo Hunter; Ted Sismore, while leaving behind enough of an ‘official’ record, didn’t reveal any unpublished manuscripts or diaries in his personal collection, although he did give interviews. As a result, the author has a few holes to fill and does so beautifully, leaning into his knowledge. His previous works, extensive research and enduring fascination for the period come to the fore with the ability to place Ted in the bigger picture, for example, explaining the move of 105 and 139 Squadrons from low-level ops to the Path Finder Force (PFF), and the reasons behind the creation of the PFF. Such ‘scene setting’ could easily lead to excessive tangents but, in every case, the author maintains a tight rein to ensure the focus remains on Ted. This sort of control only comes from truly understanding, being at one with the subject as it were, what is being written about. The ability to get the point across succinctly, particularly with complicated subjects, is a skill of great value (and why my reviews are so long …) honed, in this case, by decades of getting to grips with all aspects of the air war. It is impressive to read it in action. At the same time, however, the author doesn’t assume established knowledge among his readership, making Gestapo Hunter remarkably accessible, which is another nod to his grasp of the subject.

As you’d expect from a Grub Street hardback, this is a lovely book, the boards replicating the artwork of the dust cover, something that remains unique among ‘modern’ aircrew books. The text is quite small, cramming a lot of fine narrative and the standard endpapers into a little over 200 pages. There’s the ‘classic’ glossy photo insert (eight leaves, 16 sides) with the majority of images clear, albeit reproduced relatively small. The most interesting of these, despite the ‘familiar’ and remarkable low-level images of Copenhagen, etc., are of Ted and his fine colleagues, many of whom, as you’d expect, are talked about at length in the narrative. Just before the extensive Cold War selection of images are several from Ted’s sobering visit to Copenhagen, during which he met with some of the families who had lost children when the school was hit during the Carthage raid.

The Spooner/Conyers Nesbit comparison, with further reflection, stands up well. There are very few authors consistently releasing standalone aircrew biographies of this calibre. Gestapo Hunter is proof there are still great aircrew stories out there to be shared and that truly understanding the subject at hand, putting the work in, is as great an instrument in ensuring their survival as spreading the word about them.

Read wide. Talk about it!

ISBN 978-1-91171-4-118