An Expendable Squadron : The Story of 217 Squadron, Coastal Command, 1939-1945

258 Pages·2014·11.679 MB·English

by  Nesbit, Roy Conyers

An Expendable
Squadron
Roy Conyers Nesbit had a long and distinguished career as a leading aviation historian. He served
as an air observer with 217 Squadron in 1941 and 1942 and was chairman of the Beaufort Aircrews
Association. His many books include The Royal Air Force: An Illustrated History From 1918, RAF
in Camera, The Battle of Britain, The Battle For Europe, Arctic Airmen, Eyes of the RAF, The
Battle of the Atlantic, Ultra Versus U-Boats, Reported Missing, The Battle for Burma and The
Strike Wings. Roy Nesbit died in 2014, while this book was in production.
An Expendable
Squadron
The Story of 217 Squadron,
Coastal Command, 1939–1945
Roy Conyers Nesbit
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
Pen & Sword Aviation
an imprint of
Pen & Sword Books Ltd
47 Church Street
Barnsley
South Yorkshire
S70 2AS
Copyright © Roy Conyers Nesbit 2014
ISBN 978 1 47382 328 0
The right of Roy Conyers Nesbit to be identified as the Author
of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British
Library
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
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including photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission from the Publisher in
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Contents
Acknowledgements vi
Chapter 1 The Problems of Training 1
Chapter 2 South-Western Approaches 19
Chapter 3 Operational Beginnings 53
Chapter 4 The German Battlecruisers 74
Chapter 5 Bombing, Mining, Patrolling and on Standby 93
Chapter 6 French Ports Under Occupation 121
Chapter 7 New Beauforts and New Stations 148
Chapter 8 The Last Three Years 178
Appendices
A Junkers Ju 88 at RAF Chivenor 210
B Kenneth Campbell’s Victoria Cross 213
C Beaufort Aircrews Association 216
D Air-Laid Mines and U-boats: Coastal Waters of
Western France 222
E Air-Laid Mines and Enemy Surface Vessels: Coastal
Waters of Western France 225
F St Eval Church 227
G Memorial at Westminster Abbey 233
H Roll of Honour No 217 Squadron 235
Bibliography 245
Index 246
Acknowledgements
I
am extremely grateful to those who have helped and encouraged me with
detailed research into British and French records and books, including the
discovery of relevant photographs. They are: Tim Carroll; Mrs Annette
Crossley; Roger Hayward; Dr Jacques Ilias; Dr René Jaloustre; Mme Genevieve
Moulard; Air Cdre Graham R. Pitchfork.
My thanks are also due to those who provided photographs for the book.
They are: Aeroplane Monthly; Archives de Bordeaux; Archives Départmentales
de la Charente Maritime; Archives Municipale de Brest; Archiv Petrick; Arthur
Aldridge; Sidney Bemrose; Bundesarchiv Koblenz; A. Richard Chapman;
Stanley Clayton; Mrs Peggy Connell-McDowell; the late Jefferson H. Cresswell;
the late Chris Davies; the late G. Alan Etheridge; the late Jack Gibson; Mrs E.
Godfrey; Charles Hamlin; the late Günther Heinrich; the late Norman Hearn-
Phillips; Zdenek Hurt; the late John E. Porter; Mark Postlethwaite; Jean-Louis
Roba; the late Arthur H. Simmonds; St Eval Chruch; Mrs Nina Stimson; the
late Francis A.B. Tams; the late Georges Van Acker; the late Eddie G. Whiston;
Michael Whiston.
Finally, I should like to thank Mrs Jane Cowderoy for having the patience to
check each chapter of my book, together with the captions of photographs, and
to correct errors, inducing those caused by my poor typing ability.
Chapter 1
The Problems of Training
A
t 11.00 hours on Saturday 3 September 1939 many families in the UK
were gathered around their wireless sets. They were listening to the
gloomy voice of their Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, announcing
that no reply had been received from Herr Hitler to his ultimatum delivered
three days before and that ‘in consequence, this country is at war with Germany’.
The air raid sirens wailed immediately after he finished, in what was
obviously a demonstration, followed by the ‘all clear’. Although not unexpected,
this announcement must have been received with dismay by those with direct
experience of the carnage of The Great War (as the First World War was known
in those days). For some of the younger generation, however, it provided a
welcome opportunity.
At this time, I was a few weeks beyond my eighteenth birthday, living with
my parents and three brothers in a suburban house in Woodford Green, Essex.
This was on the northern fringe of Epping Forest and only a short train ride to
the City of London, where our father held a position in the Bank of England.
We lived comfortably as a middle-class family. The secure position of our father
had insulated us from inter-war unemployment and the Great Depression of the
early 1930s. Moreover, all four boys had gained scholarships to schools which
brought them up to Matriculation standard.
My employment was that of a junior clerk in Lloyds Bank, Fenchurch Street
in London. In many respects this was an enviable occupation of the time, being
secure, reasonably well paid and with good prospects. However, the work seemed
so dreary and monotonous that I longed for something more adventurous. I
had read copiously about the exploits of pilots in the Great War and studied
books about the modern RAF. I had looked enviously at the fighter aircraft in
the airfield of North Weald, near Epping, and had recently applied to join the
RAF Volunteer Reserve (RAFVR), under the impression that this would be a
part-time occupation – although no reply had been received.
It had been obvious for months that war was inevitable, despite the occasion
in September 1938 when Chamberlain returned from a conference with Hitler
2 An Expendable Squadron
in Munich, waving a piece of paper which he said assured us of ‘peace in our
time’. Since then, German had invaded Czechoslovakia and now had invaded
Poland. It was time for me to act.
As soon as the sirens sounded the all-clear I telephoned a former school-friend
who lived nearby. We had already discussed our course of action and duly cycled
about five miles to Romford, where we knew that a recruitment centre was open
on Sundays. At the beginning of the war, the age of conscription was twenty
years – although it was soon reduced to eighteen. Conscripted entrants could be
drafted into any branch of the armed services but those who volunteered could
apply for whatever branch they chose. Thus we signed forms for training as
pilots in the RAFVR.
On the next morning, I reported my action to the sub-manager at Lloyds Bank.
He seemed displeased, presumably thinking I should have asked his permission
beforehand and that he might have to find a replacement at short notice, but this
did not worry me for I was looking forward to a great adventure. I did not have
to wait long, for to my delight I received an official letter on the next day, telling
me to report to RAF Uxbridge in Middlesex for an examination.
On arrival, I was first given an intensive medical examination. This had been
anticipated and I had previously purchased from HM Stationery Office a copy
of Air Publication 130 entitled The Medical Examination for Fitness for Flying
and had practised all the relevant exercises. For instance, I could hold my breath
for 90 seconds and carry out the necessary number of press-ups on the floor.
I was a somewhat skinny youth but quite strong for my size and weight, with
plenty of stamina and good eyesight.
The staff could find nothing wrong with me and I was passed on for interview.
My scholastic record had been somewhat patchy, with a mixture of distinctions,
credits, passes and one failure (in Latin). However, while at Lloyds Bank I had
passed some of the subjects in Part I of the Associated Institute of Bankers
examinations, by studying in the evenings and at weekends. We could sit for
these subjects piecemeal over several years. When all those in Parts 1 and 2 had
been passed, our names would include the magic letters AIB, thus providing
entry to managerial positions. This minor achievement seemed to interest the
RAF interviewer, as well as my father’s position in the Bank of England. It is
possible that they had an influence on my wartime RAFVR service, for I was
frequently picked out for extra administrative duties.
After the interview I was sworn in at the lowest rank in the RAF, Aircraftman
Second Class, being designated in the category of Aircrew (Under Training).
The Problems of Training 3
Several of the other applicants were rejected for minor disabilities, such as colour
blindness, and some were so dejected that they had tears in their eyes. Together
with other successful entrants, I was sent to a hut for the night preparatory
to ‘kitting out’. There was little to do except eat a rather unappetising meal
and listen to bawdy RAF songs sung by airmen in nearby huts, memorising the
words for future use.
On the following day, I received a series of injections and was then provided
with kit which included an ancient uniform which buttoned up to the neck,
instead of the modern version with lapels which was worn with a shirt and black
tie. To my surprise, I was then told to go home and await further orders.
I expected my mother to be proud when she saw me in uniform but instead she
looked shocked. It took me some time to realise that she must have been thinking
of her two brothers, one of whom had lost a leg on the Western Front and the
other who suffered permanently from what was known as ‘shell shock’ in those
days, as well as my father’s elder brother who had been killed in the Second
Battle of Ypres. Moreover, my elder brother had enlisted in the Territorial Army
(TA) some months before and had already been called up. My two younger
brothers, who were twins, were below military age but would become eligible in
a couple of years.
Of course, I immediately notified Lloyds Bank of my RAF enlistment. The
authorities were gratifyingly patriotic, for they continued to credit my bank
account with my salary, less the small payment I received as an Aircraftman
Second Class. I was duty-bound to notify them of any increase in my rank and
pay, and did so meticulously when these events happened.
For fourteen long weeks I fretted at home, reading anything that concerned
flying training but bewildered by the ‘Phoney War’ that persisted between
the Anglo-French and German forces on the Western Front. Finally, I was
ordered to report back to RAF Uxbridge on New Year’s Day 1940, and went
off enthusiastically to war in my ancient uniform, carrying an Airman’s Diary
for 1940 and a ‘Stop-a-Shot’ steel mirror in my left breast pocket, both of these
articles having been given to me by my father, who was a veteran of the Great
War.
At Uxbridge I joined a group of other recruits and found that we were all
promoted to the rank of Leading Aircraftman, equivalent to Lance-Corporal
in the British army. It was interesting to find that some of these recruits
were not resident in the UK but had travelled from different parts of the
Commonwealth and then volunteered. There was even one who lived in South