From Colonial Warrior to Western Front Flyer : the Five Wars of Sydney Herbert Bywater Harris

271 Pages·2015·10.65 MB·English

by  McEntee-Taylor

I would like to thank Caroline Maxwell BSc MBA
for all her hard work in preparing the index for the book

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by
Pen & Sword Aviation
an imprint of
Pen & Sword Books Ltd
47 Church Street
Barnsley
South Yorkshire
S70 2AS
Copyright © Carole McEntee-Taylor 2015
ISBN: 978 1 47382 359 4
EPUB ISBN: 978 1 47385 191 7
PRC ISBN: 978 1 47385 198 6
The right of Carole McEntee-Taylor to be identified as the Author of
this Work has been asserted by her 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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Contents
Prologue: France, June 1940
Chapter 1 Gold Fever
Chapter 2 From Liverpool to Skaguay
Chapter 3 The Gold Fields
Chapter 4 The Philippines Insurrection
Chapter 5 The Boxer Rebellion
Chapter 6 Arrival in China
Chapter 7 To Peking
Chapter 8 The Occupation of China
Chapter 9 Back to the Philippines: December 1900–1902
Chapter 10 Back Home
Chapter 11 Royal Flying Corps
Chapter 12 Off to France
Chapter 13 Action in the Sky
Chapter 14 Gun Spotting
Chapter 15 No. 2 School of Aerial Gunnery
Chapter 16 In Charge
Chapter 17 From Aircraft to Trains
Chapter 18 The Spanish Civil War
Chapter 19 Blitzkrieg
Chapter 20 The Long Road to Victory
Chapter 21 Adventures End
Epilogue: The View of a Grandson
Notes
Prologue
France, June 1940
Y
‘ ou’re getting too old for this, Harris old chap’, a wry smile formed on
Sydney Herbert Bywater Harris’ lips as he realised what he’d said.
Sydney never thought he would admit to his advancing age but at 58 he really
was too old to be trying to outrun the German Blitzkrieg as it spread rapidly
across France. With hindsight perhaps he should have been satisfied with the
desk job they’d offered him, but no, he’d had to force his way into the action
even though he really should have known better. On the other hand, he never felt
more alive than when the odds were against him and, even though he was
exhausted, a part of him was quietly exhilarated by the excitement. At the age
when most men would be looking forward to their retirement he’d been given
one last chance for some fun.
‘Come on, Harris, we need to get a move on or they’ll overrun us.’ Sydney
looked at his companions and nodded. The speed with which the Germans had
closed the net was truly frightening. Word had reached them that the majority of
the army had made it off at Dunkirk, but there were thousands, like him,
stranded and making their way to places like Saint-Nazaire in the hope the navy
would be able to rescue them.
It hardly seemed possible that the BEF had collapsed so quickly but now was
probably not the time to think about it. He climbed into the staff car and the
driver eased in the clutch and shot off. They had no idea how close the Germans
were behind them and it wasn’t wise to find out.
After the female ATS staff had gone back to England on 12 June it was fairly
obvious that things were serious. With little else to do they had made plans to
protect the camp. To start with they set up a tank trap on all the nearby roads by
stretching steel wire at a 45-degree angle across them. To protect against
parachutists dropping in they set up a Bren gun in one truck and twenty men in
two other lorries to form a ‘flying column’. But at 1pm on the 15th they were
told they were leaving. French civilians were sent to other parts of the camp so
they couldn’t see what was going on and the men began packing up. The first
convoy left at 6pm that evening.
As they headed towards Saint-Nazaire they passed other remnants of the BEF.
There was little spare room in the car but they still pulled over to pick up a
wounded infantryman who gratefully climbed aboard. There was a frightening
sense of urgency in the air that intensified as they came closer to the town. The
roads were soon crammed with stragglers and their progress slowed to a crawl.
He looked round him with a feeling of disbelief. The sights that met his eyes had
to be seen to be believed and his heart sank as they drove past an anti-aircraft
battery towing two guns behind a tractor, which had obviously been
commandeered from a French farm, and several ragged bands of men marching
determinedly towards what they hoped was escape. Above their heads the skies
were filled with Stukas who constantly menaced the retreating convoy, causing
them to abandon their vehicles with increasing frequency and take cover
wherever they could.
By the time Sydney reached Saint-Nazaire it was dark but even the lack of
light could not hide the chaos that greeted him. On the outskirts of the town there
were several fields full of British vehicles deliberately abandoned and wrecked
by the escaping troops. Because of confusion as to what the Royal Navy could
take, thousands of pounds’ worth of serviceable equipment, guns, vehicles, tanks
and much-needed ammunition would be abandoned in France. Distracted by the
sight of so much destruction the sudden sound of anti-tank guns made him jump,
but it was only soldiers firing rounds into British vehicles as a way of destroying
them.
The town itself was a shambles with broken down and abandoned vehicles
littering the roads. Everywhere he looked there were retreating soldiers and
airmen. He spotted British, French and Polish within minutes of entering the
town. Almost immediately they came to a road block and were told to leave the
car and walk as all cars were being destroyed because they couldn’t be rescued.
All available space on the ships would be for the troops. Above his head he
could hear the familiar sound of Stukas whining as they targeted the men on the
dock and he looked skyward wondering if there were any RAF left in France or
were they all being evacuated like him. A few moments later the reassuring
sound of a patrol of Hurricanes could be heard above and he breathed a sigh of
relief as they eventually chased the Stukas away. The evacuation would never be
successful if they couldn’t control the skies above.
He climbed wearily out of the car, leaving it by the side of the road. The
wounded infantryman leant on his arm and he helped him to the nearest First Aid
Post. As they headed towards the port a group of drunken soldiers swept past
them, the men laughing and shouting aggressively. He was about to intervene
but they looked to be beyond reason and he thought better of it. The port was no
less chaotic with men everywhere and eventually they returned to the town,
settled down in an abandoned warehouse and tried to sleep.
The following morning, 17 June, they made their way down to the port where
thousands of soldiers, airmen and civilians were queuing as they waited for
transport to take them out to HMT Lancastria. Discipline seemed to have broken
down with NCOs and men calling each other by their first names and men
answering back when given orders. An air of every man for himself permeated
the area and when one corporal tried to get Bren gunners to set up ready for the
anticipated air attacks the men refused and threatened to throw him in the
harbour. However, when the Luftwaffe flew over a few moments later every
man who still had a weapon fired it at the German aircraft, although they
appeared to have little effect.
Sydney turned his attention back to HMT Lancastria. From where he was
standing it looked as if the ship was full with thousands of men already on board.
Sighing heavily he resigned himself to having to wait until the next one. Then all
hell broke loose. The banshee wail of the Junkers Ju-88 bombers shattered the
air and his ears rang with the rapid bursts of the ack-ack guns mingling with the
rattle of rifles and steady thudding of the Bren guns. Bombs began dropping
everywhere catapulting debris into the air, demolishing buildings and creating
large craters. Taking cover behind the nearest building, he frantically scanned
the skies hoping to see the RAF, but there was no sign of them. The Junkers had
used the cloud cover to their advantage and had the area to themselves. Despite
the bombs falling all around him he continued to watch the destructive power of
the Junkers, wishing he was up there to do something about them. This thought
had only just gone through his mind when the frenetic rattle of machine guns
caught his attention. In the distance he could see German aircraft machine-
gunning the deck of the Lancastria and men scrambling for cover on the over-
crowded ship. He felt sick as he imagined the carnage and for the first time that
day he was glad he’d not been able to board the ship. Then something else
caught his eye.
A lone Junkers was circling high above the Lancastria. As he watched it
began diving rapidly towards the ship. To start with he thought it was going to
crash onto the deck and he found himself holding his breath. But at the last
moment it pulled up and he breathed a sigh of relief. If it had crashed on the ship
thousands of men would have been killed. And then he saw the bomb. It was
heading straight for the funnel.