The Life of Barry E. Gale - Andrew Arthy

 

As much as I am a fan of the physical book, I do begrudgingly accept there is a place, and a definite need, for digital editions. Most of the titles featured on Aircrew Book Review are now available in some digital format, making them accessible almost immediately from anywhere with a half decent internet connection. It was still a bit of a surprise, however, when I was asked to review a pilot’s biography produced by specialist publisher Air War Publications. How to tackle what is essentially appears as a long, well-researched magazine feature supplied as a PDF? The same way as everything else: fairly and honestly. What I found would put most magazine articles and shorter books to shame.

Barry Gale was an Australian Spitfire pilot, albeit born in England, who joined No 111 Squadron in mid-1942. He stayed with this unit until July 1943, initially flying on offensive operations across the Channel before the squadron moved to Algeria in late 1942 to support the Torch landings. Gale had already had some success flying the Spitfire Mk.V against the far superior Fw 190 and this would continue in Africa, although the Spitfires were now weighted down by Vokes chin filters. Conditions on the airfields were very basic and the men were subjected to regular raids by the Luftwaffe. It was an unpleasant existence, but the best was made of things and the squadron kept busy with interceptions and regular successes against their generally better-equipped enemy counterparts. Gale became a flight commander in March 1943, an indication of his experience and leadership qualities, and was awarded the DFC at the end of his tour.

The requisite rest spell followed, as an instructor at the RAF Fighter Leader School, before Gale was posted to No 165 Squadron. Now flying the Spitfire Mk.IXb, Barry and his colleagues were very much on the offensive in the second half of 1944 and converted to Mustang IIIs in January 1945. Barry was already acting as the CO of the unit and was promoted to squadron leader during this period, making him one of the few Australians to fly the Mustang in RAF service, perhaps one of the most senior too. He remained with the unit post-war but was eventually back in Australia by March 1946. He became a respected civil engineer and passed away in July 2011.

While I printed off my copy of The Life of Barry E. Gale (because I stare at a screen enough as it is!), the eArticle is designed to be viewed and read on a screen with all the advantages that offers (scalability, clarity, colour etc). While not restricted by space, although perhaps working to a predetermined in-house length and layout, the author (Western Australian Andrew Arthy) keeps the focus firmly on Gale yet manages to capture some of his contemporaries in passing. The fine control of the narrative indicates an author across his subject, at ease with it and definitely not flying his first solo. Considering the subject didn’t leave behind a diary or bundle of letters, there is a lot here; the references listed, consuming almost a page and a half of the eighteen-page document, put a lot of books to shame. 

This is not a long read, of course, and might barely consume thirty minutes. That said, taking your time with it, absorbing the supporting tables and the excellent map, will easily chew up an enjoyable hour. The useful glossary and ‘life at a glance’ sit on the inside front cover and, with the map on the following page, provide the ideal snapshot of Gale’s war.

The important thing about this work is it tells the story of a pilot who, at best, probably just gets a mention when featured elsewhere in photos or operational reports. A more than capable fighter leader, Gale falls into the ‘one of the many’ category, the thousands of remarkable aircrew who got the job done. We can only hope the author has the chance to apply this treatment to other Australian airmen. Who knows, perhaps a book of collected stories might eventuate. In the meantime, consider this and other titles from Air War Publications and you’ll discover a small publisher doing big things, and a Western Australian aviation historian ranking among fellow West Aussies like Cyril Ayris and Charles Page.

Jimmy Muir from Trois-Rivières - Sara V. Mosher

It can start with just a photo. Indeed, it can even start with just a name. Lucky are those with a shoebox full of memories and memorabilia or a cherished logbook. Of course, such things pave the road of research somewhat in that they already provide clues and leads, but a photograph can be a godsend or a frustration. Where was it taken? When was it taken? Who is that? A photograph can answer all of those or none. An image of a gravesite indicates the end of the story, at least for its occupant, and the two remaining queries – how and why. Sara Mosher had just that. A photo of a grave and its cross, before Commonwealth War Graves Commission attention, shortly after the war, and an apparently rushed photo of the subject returning from an op, was all she had to work with, but things grew from there and became Jimmy Muir from Trois-Rivières. She has given life to one of the many.

Born in Quebec, ‘Jimmy’ Muir instantly stands out in the aircrew stakes or, at least, in the aircrew I’ve read about. The French-Canadians were not overly supportive of the war, but his hard-working, staunchly religious parents instilled a sense of duty in their son and even though he soon, understandably, questioned the role of God in what he saw before him, even before he went to war, ‘Jimmy’ was as faithful a servant to the RCAF and RAF as ever there was.

Trained in Canada and successfully meeting every requirement to become a fighter pilot, Muir crosses the Atlantic and marvels at the clutter that is England and London in particular. For a young man from the wide open spaces of regional Canada, he is remarkably nonplussed by the change. He eventually joins No. 65 (East India) Squadron, one of the better known Tactical Reconnaissance units, and begins flying ops from England during the month leading up to the Normandy invasions. As the Allies push on, the squadron moves to Europe to stay close to the frontline. From June to the end of August, Muir flies fifty ops, the majority being armed recces dealing with bridges and motor transport and always, always, in the teeth of the flak.

The Tac/R sorties flown by the squadron is dangerous work, the rate of attrition steady and the flak indiscriminate. As detailed in the review of Peter Fitton’s Never Been Hit (Australian Les Streete flying Spitfire Mk.XVIs in Belgium with No. 66 Squadron), one aircraft could make it through and the second would receive a direct hit and cease to be. The pilot could be on his third op or his third tour. It didn’t matter. This was dirty, necessary work and survival was certainly down to luck more than skill.

‘Jimmy’ and his colleagues were flying the Mustang III. The squadron would continue to do so after it left Europe for a rest before returning to combat by escorting Coastal Command strikes across the North Sea. The Mustang is not an aircraft that crops up in RAF memoirs too often, relatively speaking, so it is a pleasure to encounter it here. That said, one of the strong aspects of this book is that the author uses quotes and excerpts from Muir’s colleagues on the squadron at the time. It is fortunate that at least three of them – Corran Ashworth, Tony Jonsson and Bob Milton – have had biographies published. They add the meat to the bones that is Muir’s five months with the squadron.

Good things really do come in small packages and this book is the epitome of that phrase. A mere 65 pages long, it can certainly be read in one sitting although I managed to savour it over four due to my wife being away for work and two children who have progressively succumbed to the sniffles. Sometimes it was almost too much to get through just a couple of the deceptively short chapters. It is an incredibly easy read, sparsely illustrated out of necessity, and the author uses her words well. She could easily have gone off on all manner of tangents, and she does to a minor extent, and made the book a lot longer than it is. This, however, would have lost our hero in the detail. A disciplined and focused narrative was needed to keep ‘Jimmy’ in the foreground, as the main player, and this is wholeheartedly achieved and very pleasing to see as it is so easy to succumb, and lose the reader, to the desire to provide context.

The efficiency of the words is what is most impressive. Despite the limited space, the Muir family history is very well done with enough convolutions to challenge the much longer family trees regularly encountered. In much the same way, the threat of the flak and the frenetic nature and danger of the Tac/R ops is in your face with barely a page turned. There is little in the way of build up (not much room for it), Muir’s operational flying just kicks off and settles into something resembling a routine albeit a repetitive, stressful and life-threatening one.

Perhaps the most valuable aspect that allows the reader to understand ‘Jimmy’ Muir in such a short space of time is that he was the author of the squadron’s Operations Record Book for much of his time there. It reveals both his gregarious nature, but also his ability to look inward and a feeling that he could quite easily feel alone in a crowd of friends and not be at all concerned about it. It is a surprisingly valuable gift in terms of ‘character development’ and one that the author surely had to pinch herself when she discovered it. Not all of the entries are included, of course, but what are show a lovely turn of phrase and humour. The quality of a squadron’s ORB depended on its author/s and 65 Squadron had a good one during this time.

The death is handled with both empathy and detachment, perhaps mirroring how Muir’s colleagues would have had to handle his loss. It is presented as but a small event in a world at war, but one that had a profound effect on his family. The detail of his discovery and burial shortly after his death holds little, if anything back, and serves to prove that the flak rarely spared its victims. Such was the nature of Tac/R. Fly low, fly fast, hit hard, get out or go in. After letting Muir grow on you, powerfully so despite the brevity of the narrative, it is a slap in the face.

Jimmy Muir from Trois-Rivières will not leap off the shelf at the book browser. It’s physical stature lends itself to being lost among the relatively bold and brash hardbacks with their aircraft, explosions and gunfire on their covers. It is a book of equal stature, however. With not a lot to go on, and with a clinical efficiency that belies the heart and soul invested in the narrative, Sara Mosher has crafted a remarkably moving and surprisingly descriptive account of a pilot who would otherwise have been consigned to a passing mention in books about his colleagues. Granted he had a much shorter flying career than his mates mentioned above, but that doesn’t mean he deserves anything less. In some ways, this book has given him more.

Then there’s the twist in the last chapter that will leave you with a sense of realisation and the smile to go with it.

ISBN 978-0-9866891-1-6