In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

some short quips from 3 squadron raaf

GROUP CAPTAIN Peter JEFFREY DSO DFC MiD(2)

Twenty-two year old Peter Jeffrey joined the RAAF in 1935, well before the outbreak of war. He was posted, as a Flight Lieutenant to the desert in 1941 with 3 Squadron RAAF as a Flight Commander. In February 1941, as a Squadron Leader, he became Commanding Officer of 3 Squadron.

On 15 April 1941, he shot down one of four JU52's that were landing and then destroyed three more on the ground.

At this time, he was flying Hurricane QS-J. For energetic and capable leadership, he received the DFC in 1941. In June 1941 he shot down a JU88 bearing Italian markings, and two days later a Martin 167 bomber of the Vichy Air Force.

He was later promoted to a Wing Leader uniting 112 Squadron RAF and 3 Squadron into a Wing; he handed over 3 Squadron to Squadron Leader Alan Rawlinson on 10 November 1941. On 22 November 1941, he was shot down but managed to return to base. On the 25 November he shot down a Bf 110 with three other pilots. On the 30 November, he landed his Tomahawk in the desert, discarded his parachute to make more space for Sergeant Tiny Cameron, a downed 3 Squadron pilot and the largest man in the Squadron, and flew safely back to base sitting on Cameron's lap. This happened just a few days before he was awarded the DSO.

WING COMMANDER Andrew (Nicky) BARR OBE MC DFC and Bar

Nicky BARR, a star International Rugby player, was in England when World War II broke out. He returned to Australia, joined the RAAF and graduated as a Pilot Officer in September 1940. In October 1941, he was posted to 3 Squadron in the Middle East and soon displayed his skill in the Tomahawk and Kittyhawk fighters. In his first 35 operational hours, Barr flew 22 missions, engaged in 16 combats and destroyed 8 enemy aircraft.

On 11 January 1942, during an attempt to rescue a fellow pilot he was shot down, which resulted in a 25 mile walk back to base. On 26 June 1942, he was again shot down but this time, captured; and as a consequence, spent a long period in P.O.W. camps as well as enemy hospitals. Whilst enroute to Germany by train, he escaped and joined an allied Special Airborne Services unit in which he operated for eight months.

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT Arthur DAWKINS

Arthur Dawkins served with 3 Squadron for a period of 5 years and flew operations in the desert and Northern Italy. On the 10 March 1943, with other pilots, he strafed an enemy motor column. As Arthur passed over a motor transport that he hit, it exploded with such force that the canvas tarp from the vehicle flew up and wrapped around his wing; he flew back with the tarp draped over his wing tip. On landing the mechanics found that the air intake of his Kittyhawk CV-B No. FL-288 was full of packets of razor blades.

SQUADRON LEADER Reginald N. B. STEVENS DFC and Bar

Bobby Gibbes once described Reg Stevens as a very skilful pilot with bags of guts. Even as a Flight Sergeant, he befriended all the sprog pilots and earned his reputation for operational reliability by his outstanding eyesight. His rapid rise through the ranks from Warrant Officer to Squadron Leader in just two weeks, to take command of the Squadron was unparalleled in the Squadron.

On 3 August 1943, Sergeant Johnny Howell-Price was shot down into the sea off the Sicilian coast near Catania. Reg saw his plight and pin-point dropped his dingy to him, and whilst circling above him, alerted Air Sea Rescue. He stayed above until the Walrus arrived but during the pick-up rescue, a shore battery began shelling the Walrus. Reg went straight in and put the battery out of action but suffered serious aircraft damage in doing so. He crashed landed but stepped out unhurt and rejoined the Squadron that same day. For this action, he was awarded an immediate DFC.

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT John Rowley PERRIN DFC MiD

The second pilot in 3 Squadron to be decorated was Flight Lieutenant John (Jock) Rowley Perrin. Perrin was the leader of a formation of three fighters on patrol near Mersa el Berga when he noticed bombs bursting on the ground, and saw nine Stukas dive-bombing and strafing our troops. He called up the others in his formation, but was apparently misunderstood. At all events, after a careful look round for possible escorting fighters, Perrin dived on the Stukas, accompanied by only one of his companions.

As the pair dived, they were attacked by 15 Messerschmitts which Perrin had not seen, and Perrin's companion was shot down. Perrin bagged one of the Stukas and a Messerschmitt before a cannon-burst in his petrol tank set his aircraft on fire and slightly wounded Perrin.

In spite of fire and wound, Perrin continued to attack the enemy until he had exhausted his ammunition. He then crash-landed in the desert. As he staggered from his burning aircraft, half blinded with oil and blood, he was machine-gunned by the pilots of the Messerschmitts which continually dived at him as he made a desperate dash for the shelter of a tree.

"It was the fastest 100 yards I have ever run," he said jokingly later, "and when I barged into that tree in my haste, I saw stars by the thousand."

The citation to the immediate award of the D.F.C. granted Perrin for this incident stated that his determined leadership and bravery in the face of vastly superior enemy forces, and his bearing after the combat had had a very beneficial effect on the morale of the remainder of the squadron.

Perrin was picked up by a patrol car and taken to Benina aerodrome and a hospital. A little later, during the withdrawal of the British forces across Cyrenaica he was again in action.

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT Cecil (Tiny) CAMERON DFM and Bar

Posted to 3 Squadron R.A.A.F. in May 1941, Sergeant "Tiny" (Cec) Cameron's natural popularity was quickly enhanced by his beloved mascot, a cute monkey called "Buzz" who often flew as an unofficial co-pilot with Tiny.

Shortly after he joined the Squadron, the Syrian campaign developed. Tiny along with other members of the squadron took an active part. In fact, Tiny and his close mate, Derek Scott (Scotty) - another pilot with whom he shared eventual incarceration in Lamsdorf - on the signing of the Armistice in Syria, were sent in to occupy Bierut Aerodrome on behalf of the Squadron.

After completion of hostilities in Syria, the Squadron was transferred to the Libyan Campaign and took an active part in opposing the Luftwaffe, and it was not long before Tiny accounted for his first victim. Shortly after, he became a victim himself and was shot down, but became part of Air Force history when he was picked up by Squadron Leader Peter Jeffrey, who landed beside the crash site, squeezed Tiny into his cockpit and brought him back to the Squadron. This was quite an achievement as Tiny was 6ft 4in (193cm) and it was a single seater aircraft.

About a month later, after scoring 2 more victories, Tiny was again shot down and according to all reports, had crashed with his aircraft and had not survived. Five days later, he returned with an Army unit to his squadron much to everyone's surprise and delight. Tiny went on to claim 4 more victories before he was again shot down on 10 January 1942. He became a prisoner of war. Coincidentally, on this date, he was awarded the D.F.M. for outstanding devotion to duty and for his score of 5 enemy aircraft shot down. He was subsequently transported to Italy where he remained in a P.0.W. camp until the Italians surrendered in 1943 when he was transported to Germany.

He and others were force-marched across Germany and half way back again before being released at Halle on 8 May 1945 when he was told of his retrospective commission as a Flight Lieutenant.

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT Wilfred S. (Woof) ARTHUR DSO DFC MiD

Flight Lieutenant Wilfred Stanley Arthur started 1942 well for 3 Squadron by adding his D.F.C. to its mounting tally. A Queenslander, Arthur was 22 when he gained the award. He joined the Permanent Air Force a day after war was declared, and was posted to the squadron in March 1940 as a Pilot Officer, becoming Flying Officer in the following September, and Flight Lieutenant in October 1941.

His D.F.C. was awarded for great gallantry in operations. On one occasion under difficult weather conditions, he was leading a flight over Bir el Gobi when a large formation of enemy aircraft was encountered. Arthur immediately shot down two Stukas, and was then attacked by enemy fighters. His own engine was hit, but before this had happened, he had shot down one of the enemy fighters. Turning away his damaged aircraft from the fight Arthur shot down an Italian Macchi 200, making his day's total four. He went on to finish the war with 10 victories, 6 + he scored in the Squadron.

SQUADRON LEADER Frank FISCHER DFC.

In June 1941 Frank was shot down near the French air base of Hama. Crash landing his aircraft, he was faced with a 140 mile walk back to base. During this trek he was befriended by a tribe of nomadic Arabs who took him under their protection. Dressed in Arab clothing they guided him back to his base.

In November 1941 Flying Officer FISCHER was returning alone from a patrol, a defect having arisen in the aircraft which caused the windscreen of his aircraft to be completely covered with oil, when he saw a force of 9 Messerschmitt 109 about to machine gun aircraft on one of our forward landing grounds.

Despite the handicap imposed by his lack of vision Flying Officer Fischer engaged and destroyed one of the hostile aircraft and attacked three of the others before he was compelled to abandon his own aircraft.

By his skill and initiative Flying Officer Fischer completely broke up the enemy attack thereby saving the aircraft based on the landing ground.

SQUADRON LEADER Murray Percival NASH, DSO DFC and Bar

"Gasher" Nash was Commanding Officer of the Squadron at three different times during the Italian Campaign. His first hand-over to Rex Bayley was because his tour of duty had expired. Yet he still came back for another tour.

His flying ability was exceptional. On 8 January 1945, his "tree-pruning" during a very low level attack on enemy transport vehicles, resulted in the tip of one of his Mustang's wings being torn off by the tree and, as well, the mainframe was badly dented. Only his superb flying skills kept the aircraft under control and he limped home on a wing and a prayer.

[bobbysocks]

Saburo Sakai was one of Japan’s living legends during WW2 during which he was credited with 64 aircraft destroyed. He survived the entire war, remaining an active front-line pilot to the end in spite of the crippling injuries he sustained when his Zero was almost demolished during a dog-fight over Guadalcanal in August 1942. Paralyzed in both his left leg and arm and permanently blinded in his right eye (and temporarily blinded in his right eye), he nevertheless returned to his Rabaul base and was still able to land his damaged Zero. Many of his air-battles were fought against P40s which many of our ex-3 Squadroners flew after their postings to the New Guinea theatre of war.

The following is an extract from his descriptive autobiography "SAMURAI" (Ballantine Books, New York, copyrighted to Martin Caidin, 1957 with writing assistance by Fred Saito).

Apparently I was never to cease being surprised at what awaited me in each new naval training program. Hardly had I arrived at the new school than I discovered that my prior experiences with naval discipline were minor ones. I was amazed to realize that the disciplinary customs of the Sasebo Naval Base were pleasant interludes in comparison with those of Tsuchiura. Even the Navy Gunners School was hardly more than a kindergarten alongside the Fliers School.

"A fighter pilot must be aggressive and tenacious. Always." This was our initial greeting from the athletic instructor who called together our first wrestling class. "Here at Tsuchiura we are going to instil those characteristics into you, or else you will never become a Navy pilot." He lost no time in showing us his ideas of how we were to become indoctrinated with constant aggressiveness! The instructor at random selected two students from the group and ordered them to wrestle. The victor of this clash was then allowed to leave the wrestling mat

His opponent who had lost the important match had no such luck. He remained on the mat, prepared to take on another pilot trainee. So long as he continued to lose, he remained on that mat, tiring with every bout, slammed about heavily and often sustaining injuries. If necessary, he was forced to wrestle every one of the other sixty-nine students in his class. If, at the end of sixty-nine consecutive wrestling bouts, he was still able to resume standing, he was considered fit-but for only one more day. The following day he again took on the first wrestling opponent and continued until he either emerged a victor or was expelled from the school.

With every pilot trainee determined not to be expelled from the fliers course, the wrestling matches were scenes of fierce competition. Often students were knocked unconscious. This, however, did not excuse them from what was considered an absolute training necessity. They were revived with buckets of water or other means and sent back to the mat.

Following a month's basic ground training, we began our primary flying lessons. Flight lessons were held in the morning, classroom and other courses in the afternoon. Following dinner, we had two hours in which to study our subjects until the lights were turned out.

As the months wore on, our numbers diminished steadily. The training course demanded perfection from the students, and a trainee could be dismissed for even the slightest infraction of rules. Since the naval pilots were considered the elite of the entire Navy, of all the armed forces, there was no room for error. Before our ten-month course was completed, forty-five out of the original seventy students had been expelled from the school. The instructors did not follow the violent physical-discipline system of my former training installations, but their authority to dismiss from the school any student, for any reason, was feared far more than any mere savage beating.

The rigidity of this weeding-out process was forcibly brought home to us on the very eve of our graduation; on that same day, one of the remaining students was expelled. A shore patrol discovered him entering an off-limits bar in the town of Tsuchiura to celebrate his "graduation." He was pre-mature in more respects than one. Upon his return to the billet he was ordered to report at once to his faculty board. By way of apology the student knelt on the floor before his officers, but to no avail.

The faculty board found him guilty of two unpardonable sins. The first, every pilot knew. That was that a combat pilot; shall never, for any reason, drink alcoholic beverages the evening before he flies. As part of the graduation exercises, we were to pass over the field in formation flight the next day. The second of the two crimes was more commonplace, but equally serious. No member of the Navy was ever to disgrace his service by entering any establishment marked "off limits."'

The physical training courses at Tsuchiura were among the severest in Japan. One of the more unpleasant of the obstacle courses was a high iron pole which we were required to climb. At the top of the pole, we were to suspend ourselves by one hand only. Any cadet who failed to support his weight, for less than ten minutes received a swift kick in the rear and was sent scurrying up the pole again. At the end of the course, those students who had avoided expulsion were able to hang by one arm for as long as fifteen to twenty minutes.

Every enlisted man in the Imperial Navy was required to be able to swim. There were a good number of students who came from the mountain regions and had never done any swimming at all. The training solution was simple. The cadets were trussed up with rope around their waists and tossed into the ocean, where they swam or sank. Today, thirty-nine' years old and with pieces of shrapnel still in my body, I can swim fifty meters (162 feet) in thirty-four seconds. At the Fliers School, swimming that distance in less than thirty seconds was commonplace.

Every student was required to swim underwater for at least fifty meters, and to remain below the surface for at least ninety seconds. The average man can, with effort, hold his breath for forty or fifty seconds, but this is considered inadequate for a Japanese pilot. My own record is two minutes and thirty seconds below the surface.

We went through hundreds of diving lessons to improve our sense of balance, and to aid us later when we would be putting fighter planes through all sorts of aerobatic gyrations. There was special reason to pay strict attention to the diving lessons, for once the instructors felt we had received enough assistance from the boards, we were ordered to dive from a high tower to the hard ground! During the drop we somersaulted two or three times in the air, and landed on our feet. Naturally, there were errors-with disastrous results.

Acrobatics formed an important part of our athletic instruction, and every requirement laid down by the instructors was fulfilled or the student was expelled. Walking on our hands was considered merely a primer. We also had to balance ourselves on our heads, at first for five minutes, then ten, until finally many of the students could maintain position for fifteen minutes or more. Eventually I was able to balance on my head for more than twenty minutes, during which time my fellow trainees would light cigarettes for me and place them between my lips.

Naturally, such circus antics were not the only physical requirements of our training. But they did permit us to develop an amazing sense of balance and muscular coordination, traits which were to have lifesaving value in later years.

Every student at Tsuchiura was gifted with extraordinary eyesight; this was, of course, a minimum entry requirement. Every passing moment we spent in developing our peripheral vision, in learning how to recognize distant objects with snap glances-in short, in developing the techniques which would give us advantages over opposing fighter pilots.

One of our favourite tricks was to try to discover the brighter stars during daylight hours. This is no mean feat, and without above-average eyes it is virtually impossible to accomplish. However, our instructors constantly impressed us with the fact that a fighter plane seen from a distance of several thousand yards often is no easier to identify than a star in daylight. And the pilot who first discovers his enemy and manoeuvres into the most advantageous attack position can gain an invincible superiority. Gradually, and with much more practice, we became quite adept at our star-hunting. Then we went further. When we had sighted and fixed the position of a particular star, we jerked our eyes away ninety degrees, and snapped back again to see if we could locate the star immediately. Of such things are fighter pilots made.

I personally cannot too highly commend this particular activity, inane as it may seem to those unfamiliar with the split-second, life-or-death movements of aerial warfare. I know that during my 200 air engagements with enemy planes, except for two minor errors I was never caught in a surprise attack by enemy fighters, nor did I ever lose any of my wingmen to hostile pilots.

In all our spare moments during our training at Tsuchiura we sought constantly to find methods by which we could shorten our reaction time and improve our certainty of movement. A favourite trick of ours was to snatch a fly on the wing within our fists. We must have looked silly, pawing at the air with our hands, but after several months a fly which flew before our faces was almost certain to end up in our hands. The ability to make sudden and exact movements is indispensable within the cramped confines of a fighter-plane cockpit.

These improvements in reaction time came to our aid in a totally unexpected way. Four of us were racing in a car at sixty miles an hour along a narrow road when the driver lost control of the car and hurtled over the edge of an embankment. The four of us, to a man, snapped open the car doors and literally flew from the vehicle. There were some scrapes and bruises, but not a single major injury among us, although the car was thoroughly demolished.