The Aircraft Enthusiast’s Bookshelf
– recommendations for a good read.
Guy Murchie trained navigators for the rapidly expanding wartime fleet of US Transport Command. Later he flew trans-Atlantic and trans-Pacific routes as a navigator on Douglas C-54 Skymasters. It was during these flights, between shooting the stars with his bubble sextant, that he began jotting down the notes for this book, not as a navigational primer but as his wider thoughts on the ocean in which airmen fly. His skill with words as a journalist resulted in ‘perhaps the least-known truly great aviation book’(published in 1954). He describes the navigator’s art from pre-historic times to the 1950s.
‘Song of the Sky’ is aptly named and Murchie’s lyrical prose and drawings explore the basics of air and ocean currents in a way that often evokes an ‘I didn’t know that’ reaction. The Mayans calculated the length of the Venus year (583.92 earth days) and adopted it as their calendar; the Greek sailor Pytheas accurately calculated the latitude of his departure port and kept track of his latitude by the Pole star as he sailed north to Iceland – and this was in 330BC; the Romans measured the speed of their ships with a waterwheel and a tally pot into which a pea was dropped at each revolution; in WWI, the German’s Big Bertha gun, firing at Paris from 70 miles away, had to aim one mile to the left of the target to hit it - and so on.
The weather in all its forms gets a close examination. The essential part played by dust in the atmosphere, the behaviour of insects and birds, understanding these increases our ability to fly efficiently and safely. There are many tales of aviators who came to grief by mis-reading the signs.
You might read this book because you wish to widen your knowledge or just because you will enjoy the stories. Whatever your approach, its readers seem to have one common reaction. It’s so well written, ‘high adventure’, ‘sheer poetry’, that reading it is an unmitigated pleasure. Although it’s long been out of print you can easily find second-hand, usually ex-library copies on the internet. Try www.abebooks.com. At $7 it’s a steal.
“Iceland is not large. An error of fifty miles could cause us to miss it entirely and I had not been able to take any navigational fix for over four hours. .. .. I told Johnson to start a descent. We slipped into the lower level of clouds at three thousand feet and it was instantly night. .. ..We passed three hundred feet and I told Johnson to hold altitude. We were still in cloud, deaf, dumb and blind. What the altimeters said could still be a lie. ‘Take her down to two hundred and hold.’ .. ..
“ I called Summers (the radio operator). ‘We’re going to let down until we can see something. I want you to hold on to your antenna wire (the trailing aerial) as we descend. If you feel a jerk, yell your head off. Then we’ll stop going down.’ .. ..
“We passed through one hundred feet according to the altimeters. ‘Should I keep descending?’ ‘Yes.’ The last time I looked at the altimeter it said eighty feet. I determined to ignore it. Then Summers cried out so piercingly I could have heard him had I been standing on the wing. Seconds later I saw the black ocean and was appalled at its nearness. We set our altimeters at forty feet.”
This is just one incident in a book dedicated to more than 300 ‘old comrades with wings – forever folded.’ The author, Ernest K Gann, learned to fly in the 1930s. Although he aimed for a career in film production he managed to fit in some time as a barnstormer and stunt pilot. In 1938 he joined American Airlines as a co-pilot on DC-2s and DC-3s (and there are some rich tales of his experiences). In the early days of WWII he flew for the Air Transport Command of the USAAC, covering the world in DC-3s, DC-4s and C-87s, the freight version of the B-24 Liberator, all without the benefit and safety of modern navigational aids. Post-war he joined Matson Airlines, a venture of the Matson Steamship company. When this failed he concentrated on his writing and produced many books. Those which you might remember as films were The High and Mighty, Twilight for the Gods, Island in the Sky, The Aviator and Soldier of Fortune.
The background for these stories came from his own eventful life, vividly related in his autobiography ‘Fate is the Hunter’, a riveting read which details the many times he cheated fate and, on one memorable occasion, just avoided serious damage to the Taj Mahal. He coped with weather, engine failure and even a flight to Japan in an aeroplane which had been, by a bizarre error, grossly overloaded with two full loads. It’s a masterpiece of aviation writing and readily available from Amazon, W H Smith and others. And when you’ve finished it, track down his novels – even though they’re fiction they are almost as exciting as ‘Fate . . . .’
Of all the books published about flying in the first World War the best are those written by those who actually took part. They were using instruments of war that had been conceived little more than five years before. Military strategists were unconvinced that they had any practical use. And when they did prove their worth they were often tasked beyond their capabilities. Aeroplane design and technology were in their early stages and youthful pilots had to learn to cope with eccentric handling characteristics and unreliable engines. They developed skills and tactics, often by self-education rather than training, all in a hostile environment.
There are three outstanding authors whose love of flying and sense of duty overcame their fears of almost certain death if shot down. Their powerful writing takes the reader into the cockpit sharing the bitter experiences of war. They can still be found on the internet, although Arthur Lee’s books are rarer and can command high prices. They are well worth tracking down.
Sagitarrius Rising by Cecil Lewis – first published in 1936
Wind in the Wires by Duncan Grinnell-Milne – first published in 1933
Open Cockpit by Arthur Gould Lee – first published in 1969 and
No Parachute also by A G Lee, based on his letters to his wife.
‘Song of the Sky’ is aptly named and Murchie’s lyrical prose and drawings explore the basics of air and ocean currents in a way that often evokes an ‘I didn’t know that’ reaction. The Mayans calculated the length of the Venus year (583.92 earth days) and adopted it as their calendar; the Greek sailor Pytheas accurately calculated the latitude of his departure port and kept track of his latitude by the Pole star as he sailed north to Iceland – and this was in 330BC; the Romans measured the speed of their ships with a waterwheel and a tally pot into which a pea was dropped at each revolution; in WWI, the German’s Big Bertha gun, firing at Paris from 70 miles away, had to aim one mile to the left of the target to hit it - and so on.
The weather in all its forms gets a close examination. The essential part played by dust in the atmosphere, the behaviour of insects and birds, understanding these increases our ability to fly efficiently and safely. There are many tales of aviators who came to grief by mis-reading the signs.
You might read this book because you wish to widen your knowledge or just because you will enjoy the stories. Whatever your approach, its readers seem to have one common reaction. It’s so well written, ‘high adventure’, ‘sheer poetry’, that reading it is an unmitigated pleasure. Although it’s long been out of print you can easily find second-hand, usually ex-library copies on the internet. Try www.abebooks.com. At $7 it’s a steal.
“Iceland is not large. An error of fifty miles could cause us to miss it entirely and I had not been able to take any navigational fix for over four hours. .. .. I told Johnson to start a descent. We slipped into the lower level of clouds at three thousand feet and it was instantly night. .. ..We passed three hundred feet and I told Johnson to hold altitude. We were still in cloud, deaf, dumb and blind. What the altimeters said could still be a lie. ‘Take her down to two hundred and hold.’ .. ..
“ I called Summers (the radio operator). ‘We’re going to let down until we can see something. I want you to hold on to your antenna wire (the trailing aerial) as we descend. If you feel a jerk, yell your head off. Then we’ll stop going down.’ .. ..
“We passed through one hundred feet according to the altimeters. ‘Should I keep descending?’ ‘Yes.’ The last time I looked at the altimeter it said eighty feet. I determined to ignore it. Then Summers cried out so piercingly I could have heard him had I been standing on the wing. Seconds later I saw the black ocean and was appalled at its nearness. We set our altimeters at forty feet.”
This is just one incident in a book dedicated to more than 300 ‘old comrades with wings – forever folded.’ The author, Ernest K Gann, learned to fly in the 1930s. Although he aimed for a career in film production he managed to fit in some time as a barnstormer and stunt pilot. In 1938 he joined American Airlines as a co-pilot on DC-2s and DC-3s (and there are some rich tales of his experiences). In the early days of WWII he flew for the Air Transport Command of the USAAC, covering the world in DC-3s, DC-4s and C-87s, the freight version of the B-24 Liberator, all without the benefit and safety of modern navigational aids. Post-war he joined Matson Airlines, a venture of the Matson Steamship company. When this failed he concentrated on his writing and produced many books. Those which you might remember as films were The High and Mighty, Twilight for the Gods, Island in the Sky, The Aviator and Soldier of Fortune.
The background for these stories came from his own eventful life, vividly related in his autobiography ‘Fate is the Hunter’, a riveting read which details the many times he cheated fate and, on one memorable occasion, just avoided serious damage to the Taj Mahal. He coped with weather, engine failure and even a flight to Japan in an aeroplane which had been, by a bizarre error, grossly overloaded with two full loads. It’s a masterpiece of aviation writing and readily available from Amazon, W H Smith and others. And when you’ve finished it, track down his novels – even though they’re fiction they are almost as exciting as ‘Fate . . . .’
Of all the books published about flying in the first World War the best are those written by those who actually took part. They were using instruments of war that had been conceived little more than five years before. Military strategists were unconvinced that they had any practical use. And when they did prove their worth they were often tasked beyond their capabilities. Aeroplane design and technology were in their early stages and youthful pilots had to learn to cope with eccentric handling characteristics and unreliable engines. They developed skills and tactics, often by self-education rather than training, all in a hostile environment.
There are three outstanding authors whose love of flying and sense of duty overcame their fears of almost certain death if shot down. Their powerful writing takes the reader into the cockpit sharing the bitter experiences of war. They can still be found on the internet, although Arthur Lee’s books are rarer and can command high prices. They are well worth tracking down.
Sagitarrius Rising by Cecil Lewis – first published in 1936
Wind in the Wires by Duncan Grinnell-Milne – first published in 1933
Open Cockpit by Arthur Gould Lee – first published in 1969 and
No Parachute also by A G Lee, based on his letters to his wife.
Cecil Arthur Lewis joined the RFC in 1915 after lying about his age – being 6’ 4” tall might have helped. After just 80 minutes dual he flew solo and before his 18th birthday he was flying observation patrols over the Somme. 3 Sqn used Morane Parasols, a notoriously tricky-to-fly two-seat monoplane –it had no tailplane, just an over-sensitive, all moving elevator. Nevertheless, Lewis flew 300 hours in the Morane, earning an MC and a Mentioned in Despatches for his dangerous work.
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After a brief home posting, he joined 56 Sqn, two of whose flight commanders were Albert Ball and James McCudden. Flying an S.E.5a in the summer of 1917 he shot down 8 enemy planes until a wound brought a home posting. He joined a newly formed night fighter squadron and returned to France for the last months of the war.
His post-war activities are worthy of mention. Lewis joined Vickers who had won a contract to train Chinese pilots to fly converted Vickers Vimy bombers for airline service. He spent two years in Peking where he met and married the daughter of a Russian general (the courtship was in French). In 1922, he was one of four young men who founded the BBC and he wrote, produced and directed programmes. He wrote the film adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, winning an Academy Award. When Sagittarius Rising was published the book received high praise and it has since become widely acclaimed as both the best account of WWI air fighting and a literary work of some significance.
Lewis was in uniform again in WWII, serving as a Wing Commander in the Mediterranean theatre. When he was 93, he was offered a flight in a Tiger Moth and pulled off a perfect landing on a difficult grass strip in a 15 knot, 90 ° crosswind. “Flying is just like riding a bike,” he said. “You never forget how to do it.” He died aged 98, the last surviving ace from the 14-18 war.
His post-war activities are worthy of mention. Lewis joined Vickers who had won a contract to train Chinese pilots to fly converted Vickers Vimy bombers for airline service. He spent two years in Peking where he met and married the daughter of a Russian general (the courtship was in French). In 1922, he was one of four young men who founded the BBC and he wrote, produced and directed programmes. He wrote the film adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, winning an Academy Award. When Sagittarius Rising was published the book received high praise and it has since become widely acclaimed as both the best account of WWI air fighting and a literary work of some significance.
Lewis was in uniform again in WWII, serving as a Wing Commander in the Mediterranean theatre. When he was 93, he was offered a flight in a Tiger Moth and pulled off a perfect landing on a difficult grass strip in a 15 knot, 90 ° crosswind. “Flying is just like riding a bike,” he said. “You never forget how to do it.” He died aged 98, the last surviving ace from the 14-18 war.
Duncan William Grinnell-Milne was commissioned in the Rifle Brigade in 1914. Aged just 18, it was considered that he was too young for active service so he transferred to the RFC.
Proud of his 33½ hours he joined 16 Sqn in France. He was surprised to find that they were equipped with Maurice Farman Shorthorns, the type on which he had learned to fly.
Duncan William Grinnell-Milne was commissioned in the Rifle Brigade in 1914. Aged just 18, it was considered that he was too young for active service so he transferred to the RFC.
Proud of his 33½ hours he joined 16 Sqn in France. He was surprised to find that they were equipped with Maurice Farman Shorthorns, the type on which he had learned to fly.
Fortunately the Shorthorn was soon replaced by the B.E 2c. Whilst an improvement, it was ‘not a machine to go to war in’. It was very stable, with a max. speed of 72 m.p.h. and the observer and his gun were under the wing hemmed in by struts and wires. Nevertheless, Grinnell-Milne and his observer attacked and shot down an Albatross two-seater. By the winter of 1915 he had won an MC. Then engine failure and a strong west wind drove G-M down behind the German lines. He spent more than two years in captivity before he managed to escape to neutral Holland and so to England in May 1918.
He found a way to circumvent the official policy that prevented escaped prisoners returning to France and soon he was in the overcrowded pilots’ holding depot at St Omer. Dismayed at the number of people waiting for a posting he ‘accidentally’ spilled ink over the Corporal’s list of names. To make amends, he offered to read out the names for re-typing, naturally starting with Lt. D. W Grinnell—Milne.
His posting was to the famed 56 Sqn. Flying an S.E. 5a, which he named ‘Schweinhund’, he achieved 5 victories, the award of a DFC and promotion to Squadron C.O. before the armistice on 11 November.
After the war he stayed in the RAF until 1926 becoming Assistant Air Attaché in Paris. He rejoined in WWII and flew Wellingtons on several bombing operations in Libya, before being invalided out of the service. He returned home and worked for the BBC until 1946. |
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Arthur Stanley Gould Lee made repeated attempts to join the RFC from the beginning of the war in 1914. A series of rejections and injuries delayed his entry and it wasn’t until May 1917 that he joined 46 Sqn in France. Flying the ‘sweet and amenable’ Sopwith Pup he learned his craft as a scout pilot. His book gives clear descriptions of how they developed their skills and the problems which had to be overcome. An essential piece of cockpit equipment was a hammer.
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The Pup was becoming increasingly obsolescent – several of their encounters were with von Richthofen’s ‘circus.’ Offensive patrols were flown at greater altitude – often as high as 20,000 ft – where the Pup retained a manoeuvrability advantage. Later the squadron re-equipped with Camels and became involved in trench-strafing, a perilous occupation. Lee was shot down by ground fire three times.
His time in France came to an end because of appendicitis. By then he had spent over 200 hours over enemy lines and shot down 11 aircraft, being awarded an MC.
He stayed in the RAF, serving in the Middle East in WWII and retired in1946 as an Air Vice Marshal.
His time in France came to an end because of appendicitis. By then he had spent over 200 hours over enemy lines and shot down 11 aircraft, being awarded an MC.
He stayed in the RAF, serving in the Middle East in WWII and retired in1946 as an Air Vice Marshal.
Pierre Clostermann, the son of a French diplomat, was born in Brazil. After he gained his pilot’s licence he went to Los Angeles to study aeronautical engineering. He was there in 1939 when war broke out and immediately volunteered to join the French Air Force. But they turned him down and eventually, in 1942 he joined the Free French Air Force in Britain.
After training at Cranwell he was posted as a Sergeant Pilot to the newly-formed Groupe de Chasse n° 3/2 ‘Alsace’- 341 Squadron of the RAF - flying Spitfires XIs at Biggin Hill. Throughout his service he kept a journal of his life, principally for his parents in case he did not survive the war. This meticulous record became the basis for his book ‘The Big Show’ which is acknowledged to be one of the finest chronicles of a WWII fighter pilot’s experiences. Clostermann is an accomplished writer and his prose paints a vivid picture.
In September 1943 he transferred to 602 Sqn and attacking ground targets in Spitfire VDs (clipped, cropped and clapped) he experienced the dangers of flak.
‘We charged, skimming the ground at ten or twelve feet. Even before we were in position the flak got our range. Their precision was diabolical. Five posts immediately caught me in their cross fire. With hammering heart I tried to put out their aim, kicking hard on the rudder bar to make my machine skid. I got three direct hits which went slap through the wing without exploding.
There was no question of attacking. All I could hope for was to save my own skin. Every flak post in the area was alerted by now. Dazzled by the showers of tracer, I crouched down and instinctively moved my head about, as if to avoid the bullets. Taking my life in my hands I got right down on the deck, feinting violently to left and right. Too late I saw the obstacle – a row of poplars along a canal. I banked instinctively, putting on full left rudder. With a terrifying crash which reverberated through the fuselage and a jolt which nearly wrenched the stick out of my hands, my starboard wing caught the tree-tops. Only the momentum of the four tons of my aircraft, hurtling at 340 mph, prevented me from crashing into the raised towpath on the opposite bank.’
‘My heart failed me then. Losing my head I pulled the stick back, seeking the refuge of the clouds rolling dark and grey 2,500 feet above. I lost the protection of the ground and during the few seconds that my climb lasted I was hit five times – a shell exploding in my left aileron, three bullets in my elevator and another through the one of the blades of my propellor.’
602 was sent on ‘rest’ to Orkney where they had the use of two Spitfire VIIs – extended wings, pressurised cockpits and Merlins with 2-stage superchargers. Clostermann describes the interception and shooting down of a PR Me 109G at 41,000 feet (See 'Spitfire over Scapa' in this Article section for the full details). Back at Detling, in Kent, the squadron was re-equipped with bomb-carrying Spitfire XIs to attack the ‘No-ball’ V1 sites in northern France.
As D-Day approached Gp Capt Jamie Rankin was summoned to the Allied Expeditionary Air Forces HQ at Uxbridge. He took Clostermann with him because ‘his French uniform would add a bit of local colour’. They became involved in assessing the strength of the Luftwaffe expected to oppose the landings. There followed a fascinating analysis of German production figures and the losses claimed by the RAF and the USAAC. Because of what he learned during his fortnight at Uxbridge, Clostermann was banned from flying over France until 5 pm on D-Day. However, later he was one of the first RAF pilots to land on a French landing strip. He regretted wearing his best blue for the occasion because it became covered by the all-pervading dust on the temporary strip.
In July, Clostermann was withdrawn from operations and posted to French Air Force HQ. He found this period ‘painful’ and pulled every string to get back to the ‘clean, frank, open atmosphere of the RAF’. He went through a rapid conversion of an hour and a half on a Typhoon and three brief trips in the formidable Tempest and was posted to 122 Wing. Only experienced pilots with an operational tour behind them were accepted. In the previous two months, they had lost flight commanders at the rate of three a fortnight.
‘Good luck, Closter old boy. Bags of promotion in 122 Wing’.
‘Good luck, Closter old boy. Bags of promotion in 122 Wing’.
He joined 274 Sqn at Volkel in Holland. ‘The CO was wounded by flak this morning and the senior flight commander left yesterday on leave. You’ll be in charge till he comes back’. Their opponents were the latest Me 109s and the ‘long-nose’ Focke-Wulf Ta152s with, for good measure, the uncatchable Me 262 jet fighters. The only hope of success against the jets was at their airfield when they slowed for landing. But the approaches were guarded by flak lanes - as many as 160 quadruple 20mm cannon mountings. When they lost three Tempests in a week they gave up the quest.
Attacking trains was another priority. Those which moved by day were equipped with flak wagons. In a productive week they destroyed 52 locomotives and 24 planes but at the cost of 17 pilots. As the net tightened around Germany the Tempests were used more and more in ground attacks. They discovered many ‘airfields’ which were just straight stretches of autobahn with the aircraft hidden in surrounding woods. But the flak was ever present.
In the last days of the war many Germans were trying to escape to the north from the Baltic ports and airfields. Clostermann, by now having achieved the predicted promotion and acting as wing commander, led 24 Tempests to attack the reported 100+ transport planes at an air-naval base. In atrocious weather they found themselves greatly outnumbered by the defending fighters. He detached seven sections to hold off the fighters and led his own section to attack the base. He shot down two Dornier 24 flying boats trying to take off then turned his attention to the transports on the airfield. After the operation he returned with just thirteen Tempests. A few days later the war ended.
The following week a big fly-past was arranged over Bremerhaven. There was tangled confusion and another aircraft collided with Clostermann’s Tempest– at less than 1,000 feet. For the first time he had to bale out, his parachute opening just before his feet hit the ground.
Attacking trains was another priority. Those which moved by day were equipped with flak wagons. In a productive week they destroyed 52 locomotives and 24 planes but at the cost of 17 pilots. As the net tightened around Germany the Tempests were used more and more in ground attacks. They discovered many ‘airfields’ which were just straight stretches of autobahn with the aircraft hidden in surrounding woods. But the flak was ever present.
In the last days of the war many Germans were trying to escape to the north from the Baltic ports and airfields. Clostermann, by now having achieved the predicted promotion and acting as wing commander, led 24 Tempests to attack the reported 100+ transport planes at an air-naval base. In atrocious weather they found themselves greatly outnumbered by the defending fighters. He detached seven sections to hold off the fighters and led his own section to attack the base. He shot down two Dornier 24 flying boats trying to take off then turned his attention to the transports on the airfield. After the operation he returned with just thirteen Tempests. A few days later the war ended.
The following week a big fly-past was arranged over Bremerhaven. There was tangled confusion and another aircraft collided with Clostermann’s Tempest– at less than 1,000 feet. For the first time he had to bale out, his parachute opening just before his feet hit the ground.
He resigned from the service and in 1946 was elected to the Chamber of Deputies in the French Parliament where he served for 20 years. In 1956-57 he re-joined the French Air Force and served – on ground attack missions – in the Algerian war.
In 1982, during the Falklands war, he did attract some controversy. The Sun newspaper printed some disparaging comments about Argentine pilots (greasers, tango-dancers, etc.). He thought this unfair since he knew and had met several Argentinians who had been trained in France by his own son. He wrote to them to assure them that anyone who had experienced warfare would admire their courage. This was somehow picked up by Scale Aircraft Modelling and interpreted as anti-British. It led to an analysis of his service and claims. This picture added to the confusion because his markings followed the practice of the French Air Force where a shared victory is claimed by both pilots and aircraft destroyed on the ground can also be claimed (they are the white outlines). He is officially credited (French style) with 19 victories, 14 shared, 5 probables and 8 damaged. Also he claimed 225 vehicles, 5 tanks and 2 E-boats.
Clostermann died in 2006, aged 85. The Big Show has been translated into 50 languages and has sold over 3 million copies. If you haven’t already read it, you could be the 3,000,001st reader for less than an Amazonian pound.
In 1982, during the Falklands war, he did attract some controversy. The Sun newspaper printed some disparaging comments about Argentine pilots (greasers, tango-dancers, etc.). He thought this unfair since he knew and had met several Argentinians who had been trained in France by his own son. He wrote to them to assure them that anyone who had experienced warfare would admire their courage. This was somehow picked up by Scale Aircraft Modelling and interpreted as anti-British. It led to an analysis of his service and claims. This picture added to the confusion because his markings followed the practice of the French Air Force where a shared victory is claimed by both pilots and aircraft destroyed on the ground can also be claimed (they are the white outlines). He is officially credited (French style) with 19 victories, 14 shared, 5 probables and 8 damaged. Also he claimed 225 vehicles, 5 tanks and 2 E-boats.
Clostermann died in 2006, aged 85. The Big Show has been translated into 50 languages and has sold over 3 million copies. If you haven’t already read it, you could be the 3,000,001st reader for less than an Amazonian pound.