Thinks He's a Bird - Ian Campbell

 

I'm still flat out with manuscript editing so nothing original from me for now. However...

Ladies and gentleman, Sean Feast.

There have been a good many books on Bomber Command published recently, but not many good ones. Thinks He’s a Bird, by Ian Campbell, I am delighted to say, is one of those that is very definitely worth adding to your shelf.

It tells the story of Keith Watson, a young man from Queensland, who after the usual pattern of training overseas ultimately arrives in the UK to join Bomber Command before volunteering for Pathfinder Force (PFF), the corps d’elite. 

Describing the story in such simple terms, however, immediately does the story a gross disservice, because it is so much more than the standard bomber pilot’s biography. It is both poignant and funny, sad and uplifting in equal measure. It manages to weave in considerable detail of what life was like for a journeyman crew in training and operations with a front-line squadron with what was happening outside of Service life, relationships both inside and beyond the station and how, for example, a chance meeting while hitching a lift by the side of the A1 can lead to a lifelong friendship being forged!

For those who have little or no knowledge of Bomber Command, Thinks He’s a Bird is a great way of finding out more about what these brave men went through, and the often perilous training they had to undertake at the various AFUs, OTUs and HCUs dotted around the UK, often in some of the most inhospitable places. Factual detail is complemented by first-hand memories from Keith’s contemporary diary and subsequent interviews and is the stronger for it. 

Whereas some books are wont to gloss over the training, perhaps in fear of boring the reader or wishing (with understandable logic) to spend more time on their (‘more exciting’) operational flights, the author almost appears to take the contrary view and should be congratulated for it. Even as, dare I say it, an experienced author and – first and foremost – an avid reader of anything Bomber Command, I didn’t find myself speed reading to ‘get to the good bits’. The author’s easy style, helped by some intelligent editing, made this a very comfortable and enjoyable read from start to finish.

What I particularly enjoyed was how – intentionally or otherwise – the book helps to explode some of the myths of Bomber Command generally and Pathfinder Force specifically. The way, for example, that the pilot rejected one of the crew as not being up to the mark, which flies against the generally held belief that every crew was an unbreakable unit like a merry band of modern-day musketeers. They were not: tensions among crew members could easily spill over into something worse; personalities often clashed; competency and skill were not a given. Some were not up to the job.

Pathfinder Force, similarly, was not the well-oiled machine it is sometimes made out to be. Chaos and disorganisation were constant spectres at the feast, as evidenced by Keith’s own experiences in joining PFF. 

Having initially been identified as ‘gen’ crew in training (usually because of the skill of the pilot, navigator and air bomber (PNB) team), he did not go straight to PFF as was usual. (At one stage of the war, one third of new PFF crews were drawn direct from training, with the remainder taken from crews that were currently operating or those returning from a ‘rest’). Instead, he is posted to a Main Force squadron prior to being posted to the Pathfinder Navigation Training Unit at Warboys. But even when he does finally commence his PFF training, he is sent back to Main Force, owing to an administrative foul-up. It transpired that 5 Group had sent down too many crews for training – undoubtedly the result of a miscommunication between 5 Group and 8 Group (PFF), which was similarly no doubt a by-product of the enmity that existed between the respective AOCs – Cochrane (5 Group) and Bennett (8 Group).

So is there anything wrong with the book? Nope. Not as far as I can see. It is long, which when your glass is half full means you’re getting excellent value for money. It’s a shame it’s not a hardback, or that the quality of imagery isn’t better, but that’s only a minor issue, and in fairness – as a paperback – I would argue the production is as good as you will find. There are a few very minor points I could take issue with, but to do so would be churlish. This is a thoroughly enjoyable, well researched and well-written book which deserves every success.

ISBN 978-1-92261-5-152

'Artie' Bomber Command Legend - Vincent A. Ashworth

Arthur Ashworth is one of the relatively few who took the time to record their wartime memories. He is hardly a household name. His awards – DSO, DFC*, AFC*, MID – suggest he should be better known. However, while his long RAF career would be relatively easy to recount, a good biography needs the bookends – pre-war and post-RAF. Not many have much of either and are the poorer for it. Such things are sometimes best left to those who knew the man. In the case of Ashworth, his younger brother does the honours. ‘Artie’ Bomber Command Legend is the result and, yes, there is a bit of hero worship but it is kept in check. However, when you’re dealing with ‘Artie’, it really can’t be helped. Here is a man who, frankly, lived up to the legend.

‘Artie’ was the seventh of the Ashworth children. His father was well regarded in the New Zealand agricultural industry. Such was this regard that, in 1926, he was accepted to manage an experimental sheep station in the Falkland Islands. The entire family followed him over before returning home in 1928. Ashworth Senior died in 1932 and the strength and determination exhibited by ‘Artie’ during the war was in no small part due to his mother who shouldered the responsibility of raising her large brood during the Great Depression.

With his brother and best friend, Corran, ‘Artie’ more or less excelled at everything he did as a teenager. He was fondly remembered by his peers (of whom many were interviewed) and the family in general, despite their financial struggles, were fine members of the community. The war would take anyone no matter their background. ‘Artie’ and his brother Archie would survive. Corran would not.

Flying training for our hero began in late 1939. Training initially on Tiger Moths, ‘Artie’ moved on to Vickers Vildebeests and Fairey Gordons before embarking for the UK to do his time on OTUs prior to joining No. 75 (NZ) Squadron. Eight months later, at the end of August 1941, his first tour was complete after 31 ops. Not wanting to work as an instructor, ‘Artie’ volunteered for service in the Mediterranean and, with a new, all-volunteer crew, flew a Wellington to Malta. In a little more than two months he flew more than 20 ops, from Malta and Egypt, against targets in Italy and North Africa. Certainly quite a change from operating out of an English airfield! An even greater change came when ‘Artie’ was posted to No. 216 Squadron at El Khanka in the Nile delta. Here he flew Bristol Bombays and four engine DH86s to deliver supplies to the front line. The return journey was, more often than not, a more sombre affair with wounded soldiers and aircrew filling the aircraft and heading to the rear for treatment. The flights were classed as operational but it was hardly the best employment for an experienced and effective bomber pilot. His most ‘shaky do’ was to come, however, when he returned to the UK.

‘Artie’ was back with his countrymen on 75 Squadron by mid-1942. By the time he left the squadron again, in August, he had completed 64 operations, been awarded the DSO and developed a reputation for getting the job done. His upbringing of accepting responsibility and excelling at the task at hand was the force that drove him forward. He was the perfect bomber pilot and, at 22, had completed his third tour.

This determination was tested to the hilt when, after a month as a founder member of Don Bennett’s Path Finder Force HQ staff, Ashworth wangled an op to Saarbrücken and flew with an unfamiliar crew. A flare ignited in the bomb bay and set the rear of the Wellington on fire. ‘Artie’ instructed the crew to bail out but found his parachute missing. He made it home alone after side-slipping to put the fire out. He was lauded by the media but, curiously, not by the RAF. He was a valuable member of the PFF HQ that was developing the tactics that would ultimately transform Bomber Command into a force that resembled the early efforts of Ashworth and co in name only. Perhaps this is why the op was frowned upon. Either way, he was soon on a ship home where he was given a hero’s welcome upon arrival in mid-1943.

He was very much a changed man. The modesty was still there but he now had that work hard, play harder, live for the day mentality that those who faced death daily naturally developed. His family adapted, he was still ‘Artie’ behind the chest full of medals after all, but the RNZAF weren’t too sure what to do with someone so over-qualified. Ultimately, he attended staff college and served at some of the RNZAF’s major bases in the Pacific. He was back in New Zealand and training to be a fighter pilot by April 1944 and was flying operationally again by August. This time, however, he was flying Corsairs with No. 17F Squadron on Guadalcanal. He was, by all accounts, not the greatest of fighter pilots but was certainly universally respected. While he was kept busy, ‘Artie’ became desperate to return to the bomber war he felt he was missing out on. With hindsight, given the losses Bomber Command experienced in 1944, perhaps this sojourn in the South Pacific saved his life. That’s not to say flying Corsairs was without risk. It’s just that the chances of survival were considerably higher than attacking Occupied Europe time and time again.

He managed to fly a further thirteen trips with No. 635 Pathfinder Squadron before his war ended. This took his total to 78 bomber operations. His next flights were for Operation Manna, repatriating former POWs and taking ground personnel on tours of a devastated Europe.

‘Artie’ made a career of the RAF and did not retire until 1967. He served as an instructor in the Middle East and commanded a Communications Flight there. A stint as a test pilot at Farnborough followed before he was posted to command No. 139 (Jamaica) Squadron and then No. 59 Squadron (both flying Canberras). ‘Artie’ settled in England and became a hotelier and then ran a small block of holiday units. He remained an unassuming chap with the only public indication of his achievements being the medals he wore when collecting for the British Legion. He died in 1994.

This book, from Fighting High, is the UK edition of the author’s self-published paperback. While the original is a nice and heavy softcover, it pales in significance alongside the new hardback. Like the man, it has an understated presence and the designers have cleverly used Ashworth’s most noticeable feature – his epic moustache – almost as a logo as a rendition of it appears in the front papers and it is the only mark on an otherwise blank back cover. Little quirks like this reflect the care that has been put into the production of the book. There are many pages of Ashworth’s logbook reproduced on both glossy and ‘normal’ paper stock. This is an important addition as the logbook entries were written in copperplate and are beautiful to look at. A lot is added to the book by their inclusion.

While ‘Artie’ did write a short manuscript detailing his life, and this is referred to throughout, he was, as a man who did not blow his own trumpet, quite brief in some of the descriptions of his more harrowing or outstanding achievements. The author, therefore, has had to add depth to what he can by including the memories of those who flew with his brother. Remarkably, two of his colleagues from initial training, Rex Daniell and Bob Spurdle, wrote books of their own and, despite their differing careers, provide wonderful detail as they crossed paths with ‘Artie’ during the war. Where the details of what ‘Artie’ got up to are not enough, the author does a fine job providing a picture of what happened through contemporary reports and recollections.

It is here, however, that things can get a bit disjointed. ‘Artie’ was remarkable. No question there. The author’s writing presents him well and allows the reader to understand the man and, easily, like him. Even where ‘Artie’ remembers things incorrectly, and the author’s subsequent research proves otherwise, Vince gently corrects him. It is this affection and respect in the writing that gives this book such a warm glow. The research, however, more often than not, includes the experiences of others (as mentioned above). Once the passage is complete a mini-biography of the colleague in question often interrupts the narrative in bold text. As fascinating and as useful as these are, I found myself investing in another person’s war, going off on a tangent, when I was itching to get further along Ashworth’s experience. These biographies, and the chapter detailing the fate of each man on that initial training course in New Zealand, could easily have been included as appendices and not affected the quality of the book as a whole. This is a carry over from the first edition. That, frankly, was a bit all over the place and while Fighting High has clearly done a lot of work to tidy the manuscript, I think more could have been done to ensure the focus rarely shifted from progressing Ashworth’s tale. That said, sometimes it felt as though the author was keeping me in suspense as to what his brother would get up to next.

That this is the manuscript from an earlier edition is sometimes evident with a reference in the text to a photo that doesn’t appear until much later and good, flowing descriptions of, for example, the Wellington, weirdly interrupted by a couple of paragraphs regarding something else before returning to the original subject. As I mentioned above, a lot of work was done by Fighting High to tighten up what was in the self-published edition. A few things still got through though. Several names are misspelt, the Tiger Moth is referred to as the DH86 and I was befuddled by the Italian fighter designation “CD425”, amused by the “Fleischer” Storch and, in the otherwise excellent note section, somewhat dismayed by the “torpedo-carrying” Gladiators.

These, of course, are single words in an otherwise high quality biography. They are mentioned for completeness and to honestly reflect the frustration felt when I read them. My typos above are, I suspect, too many to count so, really, who am I to talk?! Nothing is taken away from the very fact that this book expertly paints a picture of who ‘Artie’ Ashworth was. On top of that, the reader fully understands just what he faced. Chapters Six and Seven set the scene for what Artie is about to step in to. The latter chapter does a very good job at examining the quality of character exhibited by bomber aircrew. Even the interlude that is Chapter 16, where Vince details the careers and experiences of two rear gunners who flew several ops with ‘Artie’, is a powerful tribute to the loneliest, and most at risk, member of a bomber crew.

The title is no grandiose statement. It is a fact. Artie completed all but thirteen of his ops in Wellingtons. He did not have the power to fly higher or faster as he would have in the Lancasters of his final wartime posting. He pressed on and added to his tally without a lot of fanfare, not counting solo return flights, and, similarly, earned respect, admiration and honours simply in the course of carrying out his duties to the best of his ability. He just got on with the job at hand be it at the controls of a Wellington or Corsair or using his experience to help develop campaign-changing tactics. The book is the same. It is a typical product of Fighting High – superbly designed with care and intimate knowledge shown in its production. The cover is the epitome of this understanding in that it is mostly a subdued grey with just the information a prospective reader needs. It is modest but imposing. “DSO, DFC and Bar, AFC and Bar, MID”.

A proud brother has shared his hero with the world effectively but quietly. If ever there was a book that resembled its subject, it is ‘Artie’ Bomber Command Legend.

ISBN 9-780992-620752

Pathfinder Cranswick - Michael Cumming

I came to the story of Alec Cranswick quite by accident.  As I’ve mentioned before on ABR, I was reading Chris Ward’s 6 Group Bomber Command and came upon reference to Cranswick, the number of ops he’d flown and his dog, Kluva.  At the time I was heavily involved in an excellent, but now defunct, Commonwealth forces-focussed internet forum so I asked the question there.  Numerous responses ensued, it became apparent a book had been written in the ‘60s and, although he didn’t make his identity immediately known, author Michael Cumming posted about the ongoing history of the book.  In short, it had been reprinted twice, become a well-regarded classic, updated with new information and was about to be released as an e-book.

I could not justify the exorbitant prices being asked for the first edition nor could I, try as I might, get hold of the more affordable self-published 2005 (??) edition.  In the meantime I had been chatting with the author and became fascinated with, and a keen supporter of, his mission to keep the Cranswick story alive for future generations.  The e-book was his latest effort and was certainly a cheaper way of producing a new book.  Resigned to having to read an electronic copy, I bought and downloaded the e-book to the iPad and got stuck in.  This is where the journey really began as I was drawn into a remarkable world of dedication and phenomenal determination.

Coming out the other end, my head swam with the sheer feat of flying 107 bombing operations.  I found I recalled small details easily because the writing was honest and straight-forward yet managed to breathe life into things from deep within Cranswick’s soul.  However, the e-book was too clinical a medium.  There was passion and warmth here that needed to be in print in the most beautiful format there is – the hardback.  The end result is the 50^th anniversary edition – released in May 2012.  There are few aircrew-related hardbacks that surpass this beautifully-produced book.

Alec Cranswick was born in 1919 in Oxford but this is not when we first meet him.  Instead the reader’s introduction to this gentle but determined man is at the controls of a Lancaster as he waits, somewhat impatiently, for the green Very light that will send him and his crew on their way for the night’s op – this time to the Villeneuve-St.-Georges marshalling yards near Paris.  He is on his second tour with No. 35 Squadron of the Path Finder Force.  This opening chapter is the perfect study of an experienced Pathfinder crew and paints a picture of professionalism, efficiency and effectiveness.  For all that, though, for all the experience, for all the punctuality almost to the second over the target, this was to be their last operation as a crew and, for six of them, their last night alive.  They were a remarkable crew but, really, their loss was anything but.  Like so many before them, and so many after, they fell victim to a night fighter.  Experience could only count for so much.  Luck always played a large part.  This crew had the experience covered – both gunners had flown more than 30 ops, the bomb aimer had earned the DFC and Cranswick, DSO DFC, the quiet journeyman who just wanted to get on with the job, was flying his 107^th operation.  His luck, for so long a companion in the cockpit, abandoned him that night.

Cranswick grew up a happy child with a surprising grasp of the world around him from early on.  The inclusion of a poem, written at the age of six, is proof of this and is of a quality you will never find here (!).  Aviation was prevalent as Alec’s father, a WW1 veteran, realised his dream in the early 1920s and joined the RAF.  This, sadly, did not end happily as he was killed in a mid-air collision in 1928.  It was, of course, a turning point for the young Cranswick.  He was now the man of the house but he also knuckled down at school to ensure he and his mother and sister had a future.  This, combined with the equally determined saving of his mother, allowed him to eventually attend St. Edward’s in Oxford.  The school has a close association with the RAF and, when Alec graduated to become an Old Boy, he joined a group that included Douglas Bader, Guy Gibson, Adrian Warburton and other remarkable men.

Cranswick, somewhat enamoured by the Mounties of Canada, joined the Metropolitan Police in 1937 but found the work depressing.  It was clear war was coming and he saw this an opportunity to finally realise his dream of flying for a living.  When war finally came, and Bomber Command was making its first leaflet raids and attacks on strictly military installations, Cranswick was building hours on the Tiger Moth as a newly-minted RAF recruit.  With barely 50 hours in his logbook he opted for multi-engine training as he saw the bomber as the most effective way to take the fight to the enemy.

Wellingtons were the ‘big’ bomber of the RAF at the time and Cranswick was fortunate, after training on them, to be posted to No. 214 Squadron in Suffolk as a second pilot.  This was mid-1940 and before the four-engined heavies flown by one pilot with assistance from a flight engineer.  Our man was expected to fly operations with a more experienced pilot until deemed fit to lead a crew, and a new second pilot, himself.  At the age of 20, after just eight ops, Cranswick was given this opportunity after proving himself a competent pilot and, most importantly, incredibly reliable and cool under pressure.  Twenty years old, 300 hours in his logbook and flying over Occupied Europe in the dark.

His tour with 214 was by no means an easy one.  Cranswick’s determination to find and hit the target was often tempered by hitting an alternate but more than once he pressed on and on to get the job done.  It was his duty.  He was certain that what he did would help shorten the war even in the dark days of late 1940.  RAF Bomber Command was by no means the ruthlessly efficient machine it was to become in the near future.  Small forces of bombers were sent out and, affected by the defences, performance, weather and experience, many crews often found themselves bombing alone over what they thought to be the target.  Everything was, for want of a better word, rudimentary.  Everything, that is, except for the men in the bombers.  They pressed on and crews like Cranswick’s survived flak damage, forced-landings on decoy airfields, icing and even accidentally switching on the landing lights while over the target!

Cranswick dreaded the thought of being taken off ops at the end of his tour and, as an indication of his leadership, his crew did not want to be broken up.  Volunteering for a posting to the Mediterranean seemed the thing to do.  After some false starts, and a long flight to Malta, the crew joined No. 148 Squadron and flew on ops attacking mainly enemy airfields and shipping with particular success against Italian warships.  Cranswick found Malta’s history fascinating and immersed himself in the culture and was inspired to write a poetic tribute to the island’s stoic population.  What he saw in their courage and determination to keep on was a reflection of himself.

A move to North Africa proper saw a number of ops in support of the land campaign before Cranswick was unable to escape the inevitable and was posted for a rest.  Happily, he was to keep flying by ferrying aircraft along the Takoradi route.  Starting on Africa’s Gold Coast, the aircraft, having been delivered by ship and assembled, would be delivered to operational units on the other side of the continent.  Shortly after arriving at the coast, however, Cranswick was struck down by malaria.  Several bouts of this debilitating disease, and then scarlet fever, would not see him active, flying or otherwise, for more than a fortnight at a time and this went on for almost six months.  If anything, it was an enforced rest but the effects of the malaria in particular would continue to plague him.

Cranswick gratefully returned to ops with his old 148 Squadron in October 1941 and passed his half-century in terms of bombing sorties flown.  He was to experience another enforced rest when he was posted home.  He returned to a Bomber Command that was very different to when he had left.  Technology, navigational aids and greater co-ordination were making their presence felt.  This only served to increase Cranswick’s desire to return to operations.  He was not, however, in good health.  Until he was fully fit he was, despite his protestations, charged with instructing on the Liberator and also delivering motivational speeches to factory workers.  He missed flying on operations though.  Although he had had some close calls and seen things that still haunted him, ops seemed to be the solution to, and cause of, his problem.  It was not that he needed a ‘fix’.  He felt he had not done his job and there was much, much more work to be done.

Finally, he was posted to a Halifax conversion unit, where he met his rear gunner and navigator (men who would be with him almost to the end), and then to No. 419 Squadron RCAF as the all-Canadian No. 6 Group formed.  Cranswick’s experience and illness had changed him.  The determination was still there, of course, but he was now more reserved preferring the quietness of his room and classical music instead of the general melee that was the mess or local pub.  It was a measure of his strength of character, and his leadership in the air, that his desire to keep to himself was not questioned or criticised by his crew and peers.  His was an existence of contemplation and intense focus on the job at hand.  He was not without a sense of humour or compassion, however, as evidenced by his German Shepherd puppy, Kluva, who, in early January 1943, had his own logbook and a good dose of flying experience.  Kluva was soon to become well-known with another squadron when Cranswick, having volunteered himself and his crew, joined No. 35 Squadron and the Path Finder Force.

To be continued … my eyes are falling out of my head but I HAD to post this on the 70^th anniversary of Cranswick’s death.