In their own words...

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World War II fighter pilot is reunited with the Spitfire he was shot down in 65 years ago

A fighter pilot shot down over France more than 65 years ago has been re-united with the Spitfire that almost became his tomb.

Piotr Kuryllowicz was serving with the RAF in 1943 when he bailed out of his blazing Spitfire Mk IX over the Somme after an attack by a Luftwaffe fighter.

The plane, which plummeted 20,000 feet into the ground, lay buried six metres deep until it was recovered in 2005 by French enthusiasts and sent for restoration.

And this week, the 90-year-old who now lives in Canada, took his place back behind the controls for the first time since he was shot down.

Remembering the last time he flew the plane with No. 315 and No317 Squadrons, he said: ‘We were always having lectures, every week it would be something different. In one they told us if you are more than 250 feet away from the enemy, don't bother firing because you will only dent the aircraft from that distance.

Well, we were over Somme flying close escort and I looked over my shoulder and could see someone firing at me, I think it was a Focke Wulf or a ME109.

‘I thought they were too far away to do any damage, the next thing I know I could hear someone on the radio saying Kuryllowicz is on fire.’

Mr Kuryllowicz, who received the Polish Cross of Valour for his wartime efforts, was captured by the Germans while the plane lay wrecked in the French fields until 2005.

He remained a POW until the end of the war, interned in the Stalag Luft III prisoner of war camp made famous in The Great Escape and The Wooden Horse.

The plane was recovered by French aviation enthusiast Pierre Ben and a team from Somme Aviation 39-45, who discovered it buried 6 metres below the ground.

Remarkably some of its original skin was intact, including the squadron insignia and markings, which helped them to identify it and trace Mr Kuryllowicz.

At a special ceremony in France in 2006, he saw the wreckage for the first time and was presented with a crowbar that could have saved his life.

Mr Kuryllowicz used the tool, mounted on the inside of the door, to break the jammed lock of the cockpit canopy, before climbing free of the burning plane and parachuting to safety.

‘As I climbed out on to the side of the plane I remember looking at the rivets and thinking how big they looked. It is strange the things that go through your head when something like that happens,’ said Mr Kuryllowicz.

‘I make sure I have a crowbar in every car I drive now.’

Airframe Assemblies has been involved in restoring or repairing around 90 per cent of the 54 Spitfires thought to still be flying.

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a short from one of "the few"

“Our day in a fighter squadron started one hour before dawn and went on to one hour after dusk. This meant that we were on duty from about 3.30 am during the summer and autumn of 1940 and stood down at about 10.30 in the evening. That is of course, when we were not called upon to fly throughout the night, which occasionally happened.”

On the morning of the 15th September 1940, Tom Neil was shaken from his sleep and scrambled with his fellow pilots of 249 Squadron. Leaving the grass airfield at North Weald, the Hurricanes lifted off and began to climb away from the aerodrome.

With tired eyes, the pilots rigorously scanned the arena for the opposing Hun. Flying as Yellow 2, Neil watched as Bf 109s flew over several thousand feet above. Soon after, Ack-ack began to thump into the air at the approaching formation of Dornier 17 bombers. The Squadron turned towards them to attack. Neil positioned himself slightly below and dead astern to the nearest aircraft. With the gun button set to ‘fire’, Neil closed in and sprayed the port side of the Do 17. After putting in a second burst, Neil fell back to maintain his position and watched in amazement as two large objects were flung from the Do 17. In a flash, Neil looked up as the two men passed over his Hurricane with undeveloped parachutes. The crew had bailed out and almost collided with their startled attacker. Suddenly Neil was in the presence of hungry 109’s looking for trouble. After some intense manoeuvrings and fighting, Neil looked around to find he was alone. The action had disappeared as quickly as it had started.

Neil kept his head turning in all directions, knowing full well that there could be hidden bandits skulking in the vast amounts of cumulus cloud. Sure enough, he spotted a Dornier slightly above him. Neil opened up the throttle and set after it. Flying high above the Thames, he quickly caught up with the Do 17, realizing that he wasn’t alone. About 200 yards on Neil’s left was a Spitfire, chasing after the bomber in front. Hurricane and Spitfire flew line abreast and watched as the Hun took cover in the large cotton wool clouds. Quickly re-emerging, it took evasive action and began to dive towards the Estuary. Neil and his companion began astern attacks, taking it in turns to fire short bursts into the Dornier. With smoking engines the aircraft turned eastwards towards the sea. After a final attack, the Hurricane’s guns fell silent. Neil watched the Spitfire deliver the remainder of its ammo and then pull away. The stricken aircraft lost height and grazed over the convoy of ships below. Exhausted, the Dornier’s tail slumped and collided with the North Sea. Leaving the Hun to submerge in the waves, the RAF’s finest veered away.

Flying inland together, the Spitfire pilot gave a wave from the cockpit and pulled away, leaving Neil to head back for North Weald.

[bobbysocks]

The Luftwaffe’s Flying Dutchmen

The following is the translation from French of an article by German historian Hans-Werner Neulen which was published in the February/March 2001 issue of AÉRO JOURNAL magazine, published bi-monthly by Aéro-Éditions of F-32500 Fleurance.

All the countries occupied by the Germans between 1939 and 1945 supplied the Luftwaffe with aircrew contingents, of greater or lesser importance and for the most part these were comprised of volunteers. In proportion to the size of their small nation, the Dutch were probably the most numerous. The following is the history of four such men.

To face the German invasion of the Netherlands on 10th May 1940 the LVA could assemble some three hundred aircraft, of which 25% were combat types (being utilised by Lv regiments 1 & 2) Dutch military aviation offered vigorous resistance to the Luftwaffe. In five days of combat, the Dutch lost 80 aircraft (70% of their front-line strength). The Germans losses totalled 328 machines (1) (including 206 brought down by anti-aircraft guns)

FOREIGN VOLUNTEERS
Five years of occupation followed. During this period a small number of Dutch nationals collaborated with the new masters of the Netherlands. Some fifty thousand Dutch volunteered for Service in either German military (Waffen-SS, Kriegsmarine) or para-military (NSKK, OT, RAD etc) units. Only a minute fraction of these volunteers chose aviation.

A list prepared in 1945 for judicial purposes (Strijders in Duitschen Dienst aan het Oostfront) states – via informants or unit names – the existence of twenty-two Dutch nationals who served as ‘aviators' (2) This list is most likely incomplete, it was prepared in haste shortly after the country was liberated and thus with little retrospection. It is however accepted that about a dozen Dutchmen did serve as active aircrew. This is a large contingent for a western European nation.

It may be said that the citizens of the Netherlands possessed a ‘trump card’ faced with the racial policies of the national-socialists. They were viewed as a Germanic race and so could enrol without problems in units such as the Waffen-SS. The Luftwaffe authorities however, were for their part, more reserved and hardly willing to put their machines in the hands of foreigners. It was too easy for a candidate to desert in possession of a modern aircraft or to reach neutral countries or land behind enemy lines. This intransigent opinion was to be relaxed during the course of the war. The losses of German aviation provide evidence of how it became possible for Estonians Latvians, Russians, Norwegians, Danes, French, Belgians and others to enter the exclusive ranks of German aircrew. They are found in all units, fighter, night-harassment, bomber, etc. Despite understandable desertions at the war’s end, it is nonetheless clear that the greater part of these foreign volunteers died alongside their German colleagues before the final collapse of the IIIrd Reich.

The reasons why foreign volunteers chose to serve in the Luftwaffe are simple to understand; a desire for adventure, idealism, love of flying, fascination with modern technology, political convictions and even as a profession (it may have been seen as training and preparation for a post-war career in civil aviation) Another important element was the fear of ending up as an infantryman on the eastern front. This was the lot of most Estonians, Latvians and the French from Alsace-Lorraine who having been incorporated into the Reich were then automatically enrolled into the Wehrmacht. Fear of foot service in the East was undeniably a factor for prospective foreign aircrew. In view of all this and of the skills and capabilities demanded of aircrew, it is becomes clear why those of a mercenary disposition, attracted to military service merely for the pay, are not found among the ranks of aircrew. This is also true of the four Dutch volunteers whose tales are related below.


KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

WILLEM EDUARD DE GRAAF
De Graaf, an experienced and competent KLM pilot would prove to have more of a chance. He was born on 11th January 1908 in Soekaboemi (Netherlands East Indies) His father originated from the Netherlands, his mother was Indonesian. He joined KLM in 1926 to become an aeronautical engineer. From October 1930 through to the start of 1933 he was in the service of the LVA so as to obtain his military pilot’s brevet (in 1931) and his B brevet (in 1933) As of May 1st 1933 he was appointed a co-pilot on KLM’s European and Asian routes. It is most probable that, during this period, he experienced rebuffs or prejudices due to his appearance and background and these accordingly may have influenced his attitude.



After the invasion of his country De Graaf became an adherent of the NSB and was accepted with no problems. (perhaps understandable in view of the close links between the mother country and her colonies). De Graaf’s choice perhaps can be explained with simple ‘belonging’ psychology: that of being a ‘half-caste’ who was always viewed as an ‘outsider’ by the ‘Dutch’ – then becoming a fully accepted member of the party which collaborated with the Germans.

In 1942 he applied to join the Luftwaffe and was eagerly accepted despite his ancestry not exactly complying with ‘Aryan’ requirements. In April this member of the ‘old brigade’ found himself in the 4th recruit company of Fliegerausbildungsregiment 42 in Salzwedel. But he soon left this ‘boy’s unit ’ to serve as a delivery pilot between an aircraft factory in Leipzig and Rangsdorf airfield. In 1943 he was with the celebrated Versuchsverband des ObdL. This was an elite unit carrying out special missions and dropping agents behind enemy lines. This posting proves in itself the obvious capabilities of the Dutch-Indonesian pilot, and the confidence placed in him by his superiors. On November 3rd 1943 he received a serious leg injury when his B-71 (Czech licence-built Tupolev SB2) DR+PG Werknummer 230 crashed in the northern Crimea. His injuries kept him from the front for some months.

In February 1944 the Versuchsverband des ObdL was incorporated into the equally renowned KG 200 and De Graaf and his comrades performed many more audacious and secret missions as Kommando Maria of I./KG200. Flying diverse aircraft, often captured types, they would ensure agents were dropped close as possible to targets before leaving them. Willem Eduard De Graaf survived to 1945 when he was trained to fly jet fighters. After Germany capitulated he went undercover for a period in Germany itself before reaching South America. At this point all trace of him was lost (7).

JOHANNES ANTONIUS KUHN
Johannes Antonius Kuhn. Born in Amsterdam on 15th November 1908 was destined to survive WW2. Having obtained his pilot’s brevet in 1932, he was applied in 1937 for a six-year posting to the KNIL. He was accepted on August 14th. In the colony the reserve NCO flew Martin 139 bombers, but in 1938 he was repatriated due to health problems related to the tropical climate. En 1939 he re-engaged for service in the ML. He started with the unit I-2 LvR (equipped with Fokker C-V & Koolhoven FK-51) before progressing at the end of 1939 to V-2 LvR (a fighter unit) to re-train as a fighter pilot. At the start of 1940 he was the pilot of a Douglas DB-8A. The Netherlands had 28 of these aircraft. It is amazing that they were in service as fighters as they were designed as two-seat bombers. A shortage of fighter aircraft had forced the Dutch to take this drastic measure. Kuhn’s (nicknamed ‘Bulletje’ by his colleagues on account of his short stature) involvement in the May 1940 actions was to be brief. On the 1oth May his DB-8A N° 392 was shot down near Pijnacker (probably by a Bf 110 of II./ZG1) Kuhn and his radio-operator NCO Staal were able to leave the machine but Kuhn suffered serious injury to a knee as a result of the crash landing. This meant long months of recuperation in hospital which then followed. In 1942 he was regarded as fully recovered and discharged on 15th October, having been declared as unsuitable for flying duties. That same year he applied to join the Luftwaffe. What was his motivation? In 1944 during interrogation by the British he stated that his German fiancée pushed him into making this choice. One suspects that this was purely an excuse.



Anyhow, in view of his prolonged absence from flying, the Luftwaffe were not going to let him escape the need for re-training! From October 1942 through to April 1943 he was at Flieger-Ausbildung-Regiment 63 at Toul (F) before moving on to the Flugzeugführerüberprüfungschule at Prenzlau. Subsequently at the start of January 1944 he moved to Schlachtgeschwader 101 (a ground-attack unit equipped with Fw 190 and some Hs 129s) based at Orly (F) After an interlude training at Quedlinburg, the Dutchman was transferred to Überführungsgruppe West, a ferry unit formed in mid-1943to fly new or repaired aircraft from factories to front-line units.

Überführungsgruppe West comprised 4 Geschwader. Kuhn belonged to the third. It Willie recognised that Kuhn had arrived at a bad moment. In the weeks preceding June 6th 1944 the ferry pilots had to accept the risk of allied intruder fighters spoiling for a fight. Many pilots were shot down due to this cause. When the ferried aircraft finally reached the airfields, they were then likely to become targets for allied bombers. After the invasion on D-Day 6th June, Überführungsgruppe West abandoned their advance bases and retreated to within the Reich borders. The quality of the pilots declined rapidly as a result of losses reaching 35/40%! Kuhn was particularly depressed as, being based at Langendiebach, he regularly had to take-off in He IIIs of TG 30 participating in supply flights for the German pockets of resistance on the Atlantic coast.

He decided to desert. To do so he had to wait for a favourable moment, which presented itself on 30th August 1944. On that day he was flying one of fourteen FW 190A8s being sent to reinforce JG 26 at Brussels-Melbroek. Kuhn was flying Werknummer 171747. Time was getting short. At 11:30 he took off for Belgium. He passed Aachen & Ostend and then headed west. Close to the many ships at sea he crossed the North Sea. So as not to run the risk of being shot down by British flak, he did not head for a known aerodrome, but managed to put his aircraft down in open country near Monkton in Kent. It was a good landing and his aircraft suffered only minor damage. It would receive the serial AM230 and would be displayed to the public many times; at Farnborough in 1945 , then going to the Science Museum in London in 1946. It was later scrapped.

As for Kuhn he remained a POW in Great Britain until 1949. In the 1980s he was given a friendly welcome by Dutch military aviation veterans. His peers managed to sponge over his ‘intermezzo’ in the Luftwaffe.

KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

Notes:
1. Including losses inflicted by British & French fighters....
2. It is likely that some listed as ‘aviators’ were actually Luftwaffe drivers or flak crew.
3. Gunners did not need such long training as pilots or radio operators. Often groundcrew flew as gunners
4. A brief respite. Both were later KIA on 21 February 1945
5. This is as amazing as the case of Fleming Guido Rombouts, who joined the Algemeen SS and transferred straight away to the Luftwaffe. Rombout was succesful in achieving his goal although it seems he did not even at the time possess a civil pilot’s licence. He eventually joined JG 1 and was also killed in combat.
6. Other sources (Prien & Rodeike) state Werk-Nr. 27091 and call him <Fw. Dr Johann Vliegner > – some Dutchman!
7. Perhaps, like many others, he intended becoming a civil airline pilot in S. America

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US pilot who crashed in Britain in 1944 returns to unveil memorial to comrades after plane wreckage is found.

Waiting in the departure lounge at JFK in New York for a flight to London, an announcement came over the public address system. We would be traveling with a very important passenger, it said.

An elderly man was sitting in a wheelchair. This, we were told, was Norman Landberg, who had flown 56 missions over Europe in B-24 Liberators during WWII. He was returning to Britain for the first time since 1945 to be guest of honor at a ceremony to unveil a memorial for two of his comrades, who had died when a plane he was flying had crashed on take-off.

America has a great sense of respect for war veterans and the passengers rose to applaud Mr Landberg as he was wheeled through the gate and down to the plane. I found him sitting in business class, his seat set in the reclining position, being cosseted by two flight attendants, a modest, quiet-spoken man in a tracksuit and trainers, slightly bemused by all the fuss.

During the war, Lt Landberg of 36 Bomber Squadron, as he was then, was stationed in Cheddington Air Base in Ivinghoe, Buckinghamshire. His trip to Britain was not only the first time he had been back to the country since 1945, he told me, but the first time he had been in an aircraft, "I'm a little nervous." He thought for a moment. "Anticipatory."

It was all very different from flying over Germany in a B-24. "What was that like? Oh my God, there was no insulation. It was cold as hell, 50 degrees below. Your wings would be flapping all over the place, rackety as anything. It was terrible."

Mr Landberg's squadron was engaged in special operations, attached to RAF 100 Group. His B-24 did not carry bombs but top secret radar-jamming equipment. His job was to fly lone missions over Germany, without any support from fighters, in advance of the Lancaster bombing raids. Flying below enemy radar, Lt Landberg would circle an area at an altitude of between 50ft and 100ft, transmitting radar signals designed to fool the Germans into scrambling their fighter squadrons in pursuit of a non-existent enemy.

By the time the actual bombers arrived - or so the theory went - the nightfighters would be back on the ground refueling. Mr Landberg's description of this is succinct: "Scary."

He was just 21 at the time, responsible for the lives of his 10-man crew. "That responsibility was not lost on me and that's the reason I'm coming to England." On the night of Nov 15th 1944, Lt Landberg took off on what he expected to be a routine - if such a word can be used - mission.

Shortly after take-off, his aircraft lost power. "All my lights went out. My engineer had a flashlight which he shone in my eyes. I couldn't see the instruments and my left wing caught the ground and I started to tumble."

The plane hit the ground, ploughing across two fields. The aircraft was loaded with 4,000 gallons of fuel and 26,000 rounds of ammunition. It should have exploded but amazingly, it didn't.

However, Lt Landberg's navigator and best friend William Lamson and the left-waist gunner Leonard Smith were killed on impact. The cockpit in which Lt Landberg was sitting was ripped from the fuselage and thrown 300 yards from the wreck. "I just snapped off the safety belt and stepped out onto the ground" he said. "Oh my God, it was something."

The other seven crew members also survived. Lt Landberg had a week of rest in Torquay before rejoining his squadron to fly another 30 missions.

At the end of the war he went back to his home and young wife Elizabeth in Atlantic City. "She was a great girl" he said. "She still is."

He thought of staying on in the Air Force, "but I'd sort of had my fill. Particularly of flying." He went to engineering school and then got into sales. "I was travelling all over the country, you can sell anything and I loved driving a car."

Mr Landberg has been so affected by the crash that he never spoke of it, not even to his wife. It might have passed, forgotten, into history had it not been for Chris Jellis, a 43-year old film prop man who lives in Ivinghoe. Mr Jellis' cousin owns Force End Farm, where Lt Landberg's B-24 crashed in 1944. For years, he had been plowing up bits of the wreckage, including live .50 cal ammunition without knowing what they were from.

In 1993, Mr Jellis himself picked up a piece of metal bearing a manufacturer's plate - Ford Motor Co. Dearborn - and soon became, in his own words, "a bit of an anorak on the B-24." A local historian told him that American bombers had been stationed at Cheddington. Through military records here and in America he determined the squadron and names of the crew of the crashed bomber. Dialing every N Landberg in phone directories in America, he eventually found his Lt Landberg.

I said "Is that Lt Landberg?" Mr Jellis told me. "He said 'No-one's called me that since 1945' "
When I told him I'd been picking up bits of wreckage from his plane for years, he said "Didn't they clear that sucker up?"

Mr Jellis resolved to erect a memorial in honor of the two airmen who had died. Yesterday, Mr Landberg joined the only other surviving member of his crew, the tail-gunner George Eberwine, whom he had not seen since the end of the war, at a ceremony to unveil the marble stone at the site of the crash. The ceremony included a dedication by a USAF chaplain, fly-past and wreath laying.

Mr Landberg later planned to visit the American war cemetery in Cambridge and the Imperial War Museum. As we neared Britain on Thursday, Mr Landberg told me, accepting a drink from a flight attendant, that the flight "was quite something". It might even have cured his aversion for flying. "It was most pleasant." he said, as we taxied to the arrivals gate. "I don't think I'll be quite so nervous flying home."

[bobbysocks]

My turban saved my life after I was shot down in dogfight, reveals Sikh WWII flying ace

A sikh fighter pilot's life was saved by the padding in his turban after he was forced to ditch his plane in a WWII dogfight.

Squadron Leader Mohinder Singh Pujji, one of only a handful of Indian ace flyers in the RAF, crashed into the English Channel after his plane was shot down in a mid-air skirmish.
Advised to plant his stricken Hurricane in the sea because he was unable to swim, the 22-year-old nose-dived into the water.
Rescuers boarded boats to help the young flyer, who crashed landed near the White Cliffs of Dover, and pulled him from the wreckage with bad head injuries.

But Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji, now 91, has told how his specially-adapted headgear, which even had his wings sewn onto it, acted as a cushion for the crash-landing.
He said: 'The padding of my turban saved me, it was full of blood. I was taken to the hospital but after seven days I was back to flying again.'

He added: 'I couldn't swim. I carried on until I saw the white cliffs of Dover and I thought, "I'll make it."
'The aircraft was a total wreck. I was dragged out and I heard voices saying, "He's still alive, he's still alive." Because my eyes were closed I couldn't see.'

Sqdn Ldr Pujji added how his turban was fitted so that the earphones could go over the top and how he carried a spare in his cockpit.
'I had a special strap made to hold my earphones. I used to carry a spare turban with me so I would have one if I got shot down.
'I thought I was a very religious man, I shouldn't take off my turban.'
Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji surrounds himself with wartime memorabilia at his sheltered accommodation block in Gravesend, Kent.

He relived his daring wartime exploits ahead his memoirs published later this year, called For King and Another Country.
He said he signed up for the RAF after responding to an advert declaring 'Pilots needed for Royal Air Force' in an Indian newspaper.

And after learning to fly in 1937 he was one of only eight pilots from the Empire colony deemed good enough for fighter duties.
Arriving in August 1940, at the height of the Battle of the Britain, the young officer then flew countless missions against Hitler's Luftwaffe.

He said: 'Every day was a question of life and death. Every flight we made we weren't sure we were going to come back.
'It's a job which can't easily be described, escorting convoys over the English Channel, going over occupied countries looking out for enemies, escorting bombers and making interceptions.

'In one minute we would have to be strapped in and up in the air ready to meet enemy fighters. This was three to four times a day, throughout six months.'
He had another lucky escape when he was shot down by Rommel's army in the Western Desert in north Africa.

He said: 'I didn't know what to do. I wasn't on fire, I didn't get hurt. I knew if I carried on north I would get to the Mediterranean, but any other direction I knew nothing.
'I gave up and sat on top of my plane and after a while I saw a cloud of dust. I did not mind who it was picking me up, Germany or Britain.
'I started waving my shirt and luckily it was the British.'

Sqdn Leader Pujji, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his bravery, hit the headlines last year after campaigning against the BNP.
He was angered by party leader Nick Griffin's use of the iconic Spitfire to symbolize Britishness.

[bobbysocks]

The Death of George Preddy

CHRISTMAS DAY 1944
By Samuel L. Sox, Jr.


The 9th Air Force, already operating from the continent for months providing close ground support for Allied armor and infantry, found itself much in demand and greatly overworked. The 9th sent an urgent request to the 8th Fighter Command requesting two additional fighter units to come to its aid. On the 23rd of December, Preddy led his 328th Squadron along with the 487th and 486th to a small remote 9th Air Force field located at Asch, Belgium, designated Y-29. The field was so close to the German lines that aircraft in the landing pattern were occasionally fired upon by enemy antiaircraft units.

The 352nd was not accustomed to the tough living conditions it now faced. Living in tents was a far cry from the Nissen huts the pilots occupied at Bodney. Most of the troops thought they would freeze to death the first night. The next day was spent getting the unit settled down and assembled. The ground crews who were transported in C-47s became lost and arrived a day late. The first mission from Y-29 was a milk run, no action. Christmas Day found flyable ceilings and two missions were scheduled that day. Preddy led his unit on the second one, a support mission into Germany with the bombers from the 8th. Lt. Gordon Cartee was Preddy's wing man. Cartee recalls, "After stooling around for a while, due to no action, we were vectored to an area close to Koblenz, Germany, where enemy aircraft had been encountered. Preddy, receiving the call said, "They've started without us, let's join them." Preddy immediately turned in that direction. Just as Mitchell was about to peel off, he looked up and spotted two 109s coming down on him and Lambright. He called to Preddy for assistance, but there was so much chatter on the radio that Preddy never heard him. Mitchell believes to this day that, had Preddy heard his cry for help, he would never have placed himself into the series of events that were to follow.

Cartee continues, "Preddy spotted two 109s and got into a Lufbery with the first one. Neither were gaining much advantage when all of a sudden another 109 cut in front of him. He eased up on his controls just enough, gave it a short burst, blazed it and then resumed his pursuit of the first one. The 109 lost his concentration seeing his buddy flamed and Preddy nailed him. Preddy's score now totaled 27.5 aerial and five ground victories. Moments later, Preddy and Cartee were vectored to an area southeast of Liege where it was reported that enemy aircraft were strafing Allied ground troops.

As they neared Liege, they were joined by a white nosed Mustang from the 479th FS, Lt. James Bouchier, who had become detached from his squadron. From the initial intercept point, approximately 3 to 4 miles SE of Liege, Preddy, now from a height of about 1500 feet, began to accelerate having picked out a long nosed FW-190 in the distance heading Northeast. He radioed “tally ho” to Control and was immediately cleared to make the intercept. There was also some talk between Control and Preddy about intense flak in the area of intercept and it being halted so the attack could be made. Unknown to Preddy, Cartee and Bouchier, was that their line of flight was taking them over the quad 50 cal. AA of “A” Battery of the 430th AA (who was attached to the 258th FABN XIX at that time) positioned on the west side of a large clump of trees 2 miles Southeast of Aachen, Germany. As they neared the AA gun positions, Preddy was hit first by ground fire, followed by Cartee and Bouchier. Cartee saw Cripes A'Mighty begin to lose coolant, the canopy came off and Preddy began a chandelle maneuver to his left. Cartee noticed that a tracer that had entered his cockpit was on the floor moldering. Without getting it out of the way, it could start a fire at his feet. He began trying to kick it around still trailing Preddy. Lt. Bouchier's Mustang also received fire, began smoking and he too broke left, climbing to about 1000' where he realized that he would have to bail out to free himself from his severely damaged P-51. He released his canopy, rolled the '51 over and dropped out safely landing in the British sector 7 to 8 miles North of where he had been hit. Further up Preddy's and Cartee's line of flight, now a couple miles South of Weisweiler, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman ( 258th FABN XIX Corps) were standing at the NE edge of a very large wooded area approximately 2..5 miles SW from the a large church located in the little town of Langerwehe. They were startled by the sound of a sudden burst of quad 50-caliber mounted on a half track from behind and to their left. The burst lasted 3 to 4 seconds. When they looked to their left, just coming into their field of view was Preddy's Mustang, now upside down, approximately 200 to 300 feet altitude and 20 to 30 degrees nose down attitude.

Up in the steeple of the church in Langerwehe, as had been the case on several other occasions, was Sgt. Harold M. Kennedy and his buddy Cpl. Elmer L. Dye (both with the 104th Infantry Division). While the Battle of the Bulge raged just a few miles away, it was relatively static in their sector where the Division had dug in on the chance that the Germans might veer in their direction. Division headquarters had been set up in a large steel foundry just north of Langerwehe. Dye and Kennedy had spent quite a few hours killing time by posting themselves in the church tower with binoculars and watching the considerable air activity along the front.

Cartee recalled having passed over a wooded area and seeing in the distance a large church in their flight path. The woods NW of the church were occupied by elements of 555th AAA (AW) BN which were located on the northern edge of the German penetration. Their weapons were 40 mm anti-aircraft guns and quad .50 cal. machine guns. They were assigned to protect US troops from low flying German aircraft. The ground was frozen, covered with snow and the sky was filled with snow and heavy clouds making it very easy for the German armor to move about. The troops had lined up for a hot Christmas dinner consisting of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie. T/3 Leo J. Thoennes, of "B" Battery, recalls that he had just taken his mess kit of food and walked to the nearby gun section #4. Suddenly, before he could eat his dinner, what was thought to have been a P-47 (a FW-190) and a P-51, came over with their guns firing. The NCO in charge of the battery ordered his guns to return fire.

Kennedy recalled that as the Mustang passed over the church, firing from the 555th batteries became continuous and heavy. Lt. Mitchell, some distance away, recollects seeing multiple tracer rounds that gave every appearance of being "a whole field of golf balls," so intense was the anti-aircraft barrage.

From their vantage point looking NE, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman saw Preddy fall from the Mustang at about 200 feet, his parachute not deployed and Cripes A’Mighty now inverted disappearing behind a tree line where they heard her hit the ground. Cartee glanced over his shoulder to see the Mustang continue it's rotation and violently impact the ground. After things quited down a bit, Lt. Grobman took his jeep and drove over to see what he could find. Later on when he returned, he told Brown and Starzynski that he did not go the crash site but he found where Preddy's body was located, added that the pilot was identified as a Major and his chute wasn't deployed. Brown recalls within minutes of the crash, 2 Me-109s flew over line abreast on the same path as Preddy and no US AA guns fired.

Sgt Kennedy and Cpl Dye went to the crash site of the Mustang noting that the largest portion remaining of the Mustang was the engine. Kennedy recalled seeing a piece of the fuselage on which swastikas had been painted.

Lt. Cartee returned safely to the field at Y-29 and made an uneventful landing.


William, George's brother, was also a P-51 fighter pilot and he too was killed in action over Budejovice Airfield in Czechoslovakia on April 17, 1945.

[bobbysocks]

here's one from the "strange but true" files....


http://www.flixxy.com/world-war-ii-f...ncarnation.htm

[bobbysocks]

the south pacific Jack Cook

After our training mission at Lae, we flew a new B-24 to Biak, a Dutch-held island near the "head" of New Guinea. Biak was a huge supply depot for the Allied Forces. We were there a few days and all cash transactions were in Dutch guilders. We had to exchange our dollars for guilders before making any purchase. While at Biak we received our assignment to the 22nd Bomb Group which was located on Palau Island in the Pelelieu Group.

We departed Biak for Palau on our first solo flight over water. We were given maps of the Pacific Ocean and the radio frequency of a homing beacon located on Palau. I can assure you that nothing focuses your attention more than flying over open water, trying to find a small chain of islands, with a "green" navigator providing directions and a radio homing frequency you hope is valid and operating. As it turned out, the heading provided by my navigator, and the heading provided by the radio beacon (when we got within range) was about a ten-degree variance. My co-pilot, Rick, and I discussed this variance for about two minutes, and elected to go with the radio beacon. Had we stayed with the navigator's heading we would have missed the islands.

After landing at Palau, and reporting to Group Headquarters, we were assigned to the 33rd Squadron. Our squadron commander turned out to be Major Albert Hutchinson who was on his third tour of combat duty. We were shown to our tent quarters and found our way around the area locating such necessities as the mess hall, latrine, operations and other facilities.

From Palau our group was supporting the invasion of the southern Philippine Islands by land forces led by General MacArthur. After the ground forces secured Samar and Leyte in the Southern Philippines, our group moved to Samar. During this time I was flying as a co-pilot as part of the squadron indoctrination process. No pilot was allowed to fly, as first pilot, in combat until he had satisfied the squadron commander as to his abilities. Also, during this time, I learned that my navigator and bombardier had requested they be removed from my crew, alleging I was an unsafe pilot. I likely flew additional missions as co-pilot because of their allegations. When I was released to fly as first pilot, I received a replacement navigator and bombardier. All other crew members remained.

From Samar our group supported the invasion of Luzon and the northern portions of the Philippines. After MacArthur's forces secured Luzon our group moved to Clark Field, about 50 miles north of Manila. We used our B-24s as transport planes and hauled much of our squadron equipment from Samar to Clark field. Heavy gear, such as trucks and jeeps, was hauled by sea transport. Since telephone communications were not in place during the early days of the move, it was standard operating procedure to fly over the squadron tent area at 1000 feet, "razz" the props, and the squadron would send trucks to the airfield to pick up the incoming equipment. On one flight I decided to fly lower than 1000 feet and give my buddies a louder notice of my arrival.

I flew along the edge of the tent area about 10 feet above the ground at top speed (around 200 miles per hour) and made a beautiful left climbing turn. As I climbed to around 1000 feet I looked back over my shoulder and noticed two tents had blown from the prop wash. My momentary joy quickly faded.

I proceeded to the landing field and as I taxied to a stop on the ramp area, Major Hutchinson cam roaring up in a jeep. He was dressed only in his undershorts, tennis shoes, a ball cap, and he was hopping mad. It turned out that one of the tents was Major Hutchinson's, and he was taking a nap as I flew by. He gave me a thorough "chewing out" and told me to report to him in the squadron area. After further lecturing in his tent he gave me additional punishment as Duty Officer for four consecutive days. This meant I had to spend my nights in Squadron Headquarters (awake) monitoring the phones and maintaining contact with Group Headquarters. I also had to fly my regularly-assigned missions. I did not get much sleep during those four days. I did not "buzz" the tent area again.

About fifty years later I found Major Hutchinson's address through a group newsletter, and wrote him. I introduced myself as the one who had "buzzed" the tent area at Clark Field many years ago. He answered that he remembered the incident quite well. Unfortunately, he passed away shortly thereafter from massive cancer. I would have enjoyed visiting with him about some of the antics I and other pilots perpetrated during our tours of duty. He later promoted me to Flight Leader and I had the honor of leading the Squadron and Group on several missions.

Some flying antics by other pilots may be of interest. While the group was stationed at Palau one pilot decided to entertain his buddies by "buzzing" the beach. He flew a few inches too low and cooped some sand into the bomb bay of the B-24. His flight engineer told him about the sand, so he proceeded a short distance off shore and flew low enough to scoop up sea water to flush out the sand. The combination of sand and salt water in the cables and other mechanisms resulted in the airplane being scrapped. Another incident happened after we moved to Clark field. The peasant rice farmers used bamboo trees to mark the boundaries between their rice paddies. Bamboo is a tough, fibrous plant that will not easily break. One afternoon a pilot was having some fun "buzzing" the local rice paddies, when he saw a farmer with his water buffalo plowing the field. He focused on the farmer and forgot to pull up in time to clear the bamboo. When he landed at Clark Field, bamboo was impeded in the nose, wings and engine nacelles. The airplane had to be scrapped.

Each pilot took his turn performing local engineering flights. This happened when a new engine was installed, or other major maintenance was performed, and the airplane was tested before sending it on a mission. It was my turn, this particular day, and as I was being briefed by the line chief, he mentioned that three or four infantry GIs standing nearby wanted an airplane ride. I said, "Sure." Since a new engine has been installed on this plane, I asked the line chief if it would be OK to feather the engine on take-off. He said, "Yes. In fact, it would be a good test of the feathering system."

We feathered the engine at about the time we lifted off and continued the climb on three engines. After a few minutes we started the engine and continued to local flight. We were to fly for about an hour to thoroughly check all the systems. During this time, my co-pilot, Rick Giannarelli, asked how slow a B-24 would fly. I replied I didn't know, but we could find out. We slowed the aircraft, dropped wing flaps and landing gear, and were mushing along in a nose-high attitude. Rick was watching the airspeed and I was waiting for the signs of a stall. All of a sudden the plane fell off in a spin to the left, and we made about one and a half turns, losing about 1500 feet before I could recover. To this day I can't remember how slow we were going. Soon it was time to return tot he field. We landed and taxied to the parking area. After shutting off the engines, I noticed those infantry GIs off to the side, kissing the ground. They obviously had more of an airplane ride than they anticipated. Unusual things can happen when B-24s are flown by fun-seeking pilots in the 20-to-24 age bracket.

Another unusual incident sticks in my memory. It was customary to send a single aircraft to the next day's target area to gather weather information and to harass the enemy. I thought it unusual that this crew wore their combat boots, had their pistols and canteens on their web belts, and were fully dressed in combat fatigues and flight jackets. We usually flew in very casual clothes, such as shorts and tennis shoes. Our concern changed to worry when their plane failed to return from their mission over China. Three weeks later the entire crew returned, and we learned they had bailed out over China to "test" the escape methods established to recover downed American airmen. They each had a barracks bag filled with many Chinese "souvenirs", some looked quite valuable.

During all this "fun" activity, we continued to fly our assigned missions, and each crew flew on a schedule of about every other day. From Clark Field we regularly bombed Formosa and mainland China. On one occasion, I led a squadron detachment to the island of Palawan, in southern Philippines, and from there we bombed Japanese airfields along the west coast of Borneo. We flew four missions on that assignment, and since the missions were about 13 hours long, we had to carry extra fuel in bomb bay tanks and a reduced bomb load. We bombed from low altitude, at 5000 feet, and could feel the concussion from the bombs as they detonated. On one of our Borneo missions, a plane was hit and was unable to return to home base. The pilot made a belly landing on the beach and a Navy Catalina amphibious aircraft picked the crew up. As I recall, the crew did not suffer any serious injuries.

A P-38 fighter outfit was stationed at the airstrip on Palawan, and they used to show off by flying over the runway, in formation, and peeling off to land. As our B-24 squadron returned from our last mission, I had our planes form an "echelon right" formation and approached the runway at an altitude of about 50 feet. As I crossed the threshold, I pulled my plane in a steep climbing left turn, and each plane followed in sequence. The crews on the ground said it was the greatest show they had ever seen. The P-38 pilots were unable to top our little act. Morale and esprit de corps were especially high in our outfit.

Weather systems were a continual factor during our flight operations. Major Hutchinson required each pilot to maintain instrument flight proficiency by scheduling regular training flights in the local area. Captain James F. Rock was our instrument flight instructor, and although he was an excellent instructor, he had an abrasive, superior attitude and was universally disliked by all the pilots. In addition to instrument flight, he would usually include "engine out" practice and other emergency procedures during an instruction period.

His usual format was to start with the "student pilot" making a series of turns at a 30 degree angle of bank. Then the same series at a 45 degree angle of bank, and at a 60 degree angle of bank. In order to maintain constant altitude in a steep turn, the B-24 required a lot of back pressure on the control column. Rock would never allow us to use both hands, and this placed considerable strain on the left arm. He insisted we always keep our right hand on the throttle controls. Our instruction was performed "under the hood", that is, the windows were covered with colored plastic and the students were wearing contrasting glasses that made the windows appear black. We could not see out. Then Capt. Rock would have the student repeat the series of turns with certain flight instruments covered. Soon we would be flying using needle, ball, airspeed, and altimeter. Capt. Rock was seldom pleased with our performance.

On one mission, I was grateful for the instruction received from Capt. Rock. Ours was a single ship mission to perform weather recon, and to bomb Japanese barracks near Canton, China. We encountered a broad weather system off the coast of China and had to penetrate it to get to the target, as well as return. While in the weather system on the return flight, I noticed the vacuum gauge was reading "zero". This meant most of our flight instruments were unreliable. I immediately started flying by "needle, ball, airspeed and altimeter", and we passed safely through the weather front. Due to Capt. Rock's instruction we made a safe landing at Clark Field, rather than becoming another statistic. Thereafter, I was never reluctant to fly training missions with Capt. Rock. My last information concerning Capt. Rock was that he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. I am not sure he still lives.

Another interesting part of combat was formation flying. After take-off we would form on the lead ship and proceed to the target. Our average mission was 10 hours, so this provided a lot of time to sharpen our skills. My co-pilot, Rick, and I established the schedule of flying 30 minute shifts. During our early missions our skill level was not that great and we had to work extra hard to keep a good position, but after several missions we noticed an improvement. After climbing to altitude and establishing cruising speed, the lead aircraft would rarely change power settings. Theoretically, all other aircraft in the formation should be able to do the same. Not so, at least with low-skilled pilots and very cumbersome aircraft. At the end of our early missions, both Rick and I would be soaked with perspiration from the exertion of formation flying.

After several missions, we had each refined our technique to the point where we could fly our shift by making a few minor power adjustments. We soon became expert at the art of formation flying, and would not be "worn out" after a mission.

One more incident regarding formation flying. A new replacement pilot had been assigned to me for this particular mission. He was a captain, I was a first lieutenant, and he had been a B-24 instructor pilot prior to coming overseas. I informed him of my practice of the 30-minute schedule while in formation, and he accepted. After take-off and once we had formed on the lead ship, I gave him the controls. His skill level was the same as I had experienced early in my combat flying. It came time for my 30 minute shift. I quickly stabilized the aircraft as to speed and position, and flew with much less effort than the captain. Then it was his turn again. The same thing happened all over again. He was working extra hard to maintain speed and position. All during the mission he struggled and then watched me smoothly handle the ship. After our landing he stated, "I have instructed for over a year, but I have never seen, or even believed, a B-24 could be flown in that manner." I accepted his compliment.