In their own words...

[bezshumniy]

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Br...-air_collision

[olife]

Originally Posted by bezshumniy

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Br...-air_collision

my god!!!!!waoooo!!it what i call THE CHANCE!!!!
nice post my friend ,thx to share!!

[Gilly]

Originally Posted by bezshumniy

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Br...-air_collision

That's proper mental! Jesus they had balls back then.

[bobbysocks]

that's some damn good flying! hats off to that man.

[McQ59]

Originally Posted by bezshumniy

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Br...-air_collision

I bow my head. Deap. A real risk to take to save a few pounds.

[bobbysocks]

Bridge Farm, Bradfield in the heart of rural north Norfolk, was the home of William and Matilda Gibbons, and their son Jack. Farming was pretty tough in the thirties and forties, no cars, tractors or combine harvesters; no telephone or electricity in the house.

October 8th 1943 had been just another day, and as is the habit of the farming community, they retired early. On the many RAF airfields across East Anglia it was a different story. Hundreds of airmen were preparing for take-off. Their bombers were fully laden with a deadly load of assorted bombs to be delivered to the heart of the Third Reich. That night the main force was to visit Hanover, with a diversionary force to head for Bremen.

The crew of Halifax HR777 TL-Y of 35 squadron, members of the crack Pathfinder Force based at RAF Graveley in Hunts., were to mark the target at Bremen. They took off at 22.46 hours and headed off to join the formation.

What happened after this is best described by Derrick Coleman, then a nineteen year old air bomber and radar operator.

‘.......... Ross Whitfield had gone to an Australian Squadron and his place as rear-gunner had been taken by a Canadian, Sgt.’Benny’ Bent. About 50 miles from the target I had left the H2S and moved into the nose of the Halifax in preparation for a visual bombing-run using the Mk XIV bombsite. There was no moon, no cloud and visibility was good in a bright starlight sky. I quote now from the official combat report which I obtained from the RAF Museum, Hendon.

‘... the rear gunner (Sgt Bent) saw a Ju 88 at 250yds on the fine port quarter slightly up and closing in fast. Sgt Bent told his Captain (Fg Off Muller) to ‘corkscrew port’. The E/A (enemy aircraft) opened fire at 200 yards with cannon firing a very dull trace, hitting the Halifax and setting the port outer engine on fire. The rear gunner returned the fire with two short bursts, aiming point blank and hitting the fighter, causing it to pull up sharply. The Halifax was now in a spin and the Ju 88 appeared to Sgt Bent to be hanging on it's props on the starboard beam. He gave it another very short burst, observing strikes and saw it fall away, apparently out of control.

By now the bomber was falling fast in a spin with flames pouring from the port outer engine. The pilot regained control after losing 8000 feet in height, but as the port outer engine was u/s and the port inner engine appeared to have been damaged, the aileron and elevator controls also damaged, besides the turret being u/s and other damage to the aircraft, the bombs were jettisoned and course set for base.’’

I was terrified during the spin as I was pinned to the floor of the bomb-aimer’s position, could not move and thought this was the end. Although the report states the bombs were jettisoned, I recall attempting a bombing run on a solitary searchlight which was seeking us. The searchlight went out! Max Muller did a magnificent job in getting the aircraft back to England, gradually losing height all the way and using full right rudder to keep the aircraft straight. My brief attempt to help by tying my inter-com lead round the rudder bar and pulling was very ineffective.

We crossed the English coast in daylight attempting to reach RAF Coltishall, but crashed a few miles short; just not enough power to hedge hop in. In the Halifax the bomb-aimer occupied the co-pilot’s position for take-off and landing. I recall quite vividly while in this position the ‘hedge hopping’ as the pilot struggled to keep the aircraft above ground. The aircraft passed between two trees which hit the wings. It was a complete write off; although the nose and part of the fuselage remained reasonably intact at least one of the engines had been torn away and was on fire. All the crew escaped injury except for Tommy Ellwood, the flight engineer who had taken up his crash position behind the main spar and sustained a bad cut over one eye which required stitching. There was a touch of humour at the end. Blazing petrol had, unknown to him, landed on the back of ‘Benny’ Bent’s flying clothing, but ‘Hoop’ Arnott, the mid- upper gunner had seen this happen so jumped on ‘Benny’ (who must have wondered what was happening) to roll him over, so putting the flames out. A rather nervous couple living in a nearby cottage (sic) initially thought we were Germans, but when they realised we were RAF we were invited inside and given cups of tea until transport arrived. Fl t Sgt Emery was the navigator, and Pilot Off ‘Mac’ Maskell the Wop. There was no doubt in the minds of all crew that we owed our lives to the amazing ability and strength of the pilot, Max Muller.''

In a written account of the same incident by the Flight Engineer, Tom Ellwood, given to Max Muller’s son, Derrick’s recollections are confirmed. It includes the following extracts:

‘ ...........by this time the Halifax was also in a dive and I was knocked off my feet. As I fell I struck my head on the main spar, cutting my face badly but found I was unable to get up because the ‘G’ forces were so great. The Halifax was obviously spinning out of control. To my great relief the plane eventually came out of it's spin. I found Max grimly but firmly in control of a very damaged Halifax. He alone had used his great physical strength to pull that plane out!’

‘....the turret and hydraulic system was damaged, and petrol had been lost from two or three tanks .........the bomb door ...refused to close, adding drag.’ ‘ Max asked us all for our views and opinions on the unpleasant alternatives facing us - bale out now and risk being a POW, fly on and risk a possible ditching/drowning in the North Sea or try and limp home. After a brief discussion it was decided to fly on..........’

‘Our ‘Mayday’ was picked up as we approached our coast and we were directed to Coltishall. The dim lights from the airfield were a welcome sight...the port wheel failed to lock......By this time we were flying on one engine.........The Halifax came down with a heavy jolt, it wavered and crashed finally grinding to a halt. It seems we had hit a tree which, fortuitously, had slewed us around and diverted our progress away from a farm house......eagerly scrambled out as the Halifax was now on fire, to be confronted by two figures behind a wall who were relieved when they realised that we were not Germans.’

‘They helped us back to their farm and provided us with strong hot tea and sandwiches. Never had a cup of tea tasted so wonderful, nor has the feeling of being amongst friends felt so good, as we all sat in the warmth of that farm house.’

[bobbysocks]

Bill Overstreet 357 FG

Not long after this, I had a freak accident. I think it was a mission to southern France. While over enemy territory, a burst of flak cut my oxygen line. Since I was at about 25,000 feet, I soon passed out. The next thing I knew, I was in a spin, engine dead since the fuel tank it was set on was dry. Somehow, I recovered from the spin, changed fuel setting, got the engine started, and dodged the trees that were in front of me. Then, I looked at my watch. Ninety minutes were not in my memory. I had no idea where I was, but remembered where I had been headed so I reversed it. I was able to find the coast of France and headed for Leiston. By this time, I was low on fuel, so I landed at the Fourth Group base. The officer I talked with was Captain Mead, who had lived a couple of blocks from my home in Clifton Forge, Virginia. To top it off, the mechanic who repaired my plane was “Hot Cha” Tucker, a former schoolmate, also from Clifton Forge. I still have a picture of Tucker and me with a P-47. Many weeks later, this story got a lot of publicity – Lowell Thomas on radio, newspapers and TIME magazine. So, that is my claim to fame. I hope I did a little bit that was productive.

During this period, I was flying more with Andy Anderson, while Peters and Pascoe were flying more with Jim Browning. My crew chief was “Red” Dodsworth with “Whitey” McKain as his assistant. Whitey was soon promoted. Whitey and I became good friends in spite of one incident. One snowy day, the visibility was so limited that Whitey was riding my wing to the runway. At the runway, I motioned Whitey to get off, but he thought I wanted him to come to the cockpit. I was watching Andy and he gave it the gun to take off, so I did the same. Poor Whitey was blown off the wing, but was wrapped up so well he wasn’t hurt. I was very glad of that. I never knew of this until, many years later. Whitey was riding with me and told me he had promised himself never to ride with me again. He did ride with me to Oshkosh several times and we had a ball.

Another mission that didn’t turn out as expected was one when I had a sinus infection. When we chased the German fighters out of position to attack the bombers, if most of them had dived away from us, we would sometimes chase them down. This time, I was chasing a 109 in a power dive from about 30,000 feet. Suddenly, my eyes were swollen shut. I was able to keep flying by feel (the pressure on the controls). I called for help and “Daddy Rabbit” Peters said he could see me. He got on my wing, took me back to the base and talked me through a straight-in approach and landing. It was days before doctors could relieve the pressure, and I could see again.

On April 11, 1944, I was flying with Andy, Kayser and Simpson. While we were escorting the bombers, a large group of 109s started to attack the bombers head-on. Andy led us into the fight, trying to break up their formation and keep them from getting to the bombers. Maybe they didn’t like being shot at, but they scattered all over. When most of them had dived away, Andy led us down after three 109s. At about 5,000 feet, Kayser got in position and clobbered one of them. It broke apart and Kay had to dodge the debris. At about 3,500 feet, Simpson closed on another 109 and got two good bursts to the nose section. He rolled over and went straight in. I was busy with another 109 who tried to get behind Simpson. Andy was turning with another 109 in a tight turn. Andy couldn’t hold a lead inside his turn, so he reversed his turn and came in almost head-on. As the 109 broke apart, the pilot bailed out. That took care of the 109s, but Andy spotted a HE111K flying close to the ground. Andy hit him good but directed all of us to make a pass. We all got hits and Andy came back, hitting it from nose to tail. The HE111K tried to crash-land, hit a pole tearing off the left wing, then started burning. As it slid along, the crew jumped out and I believe they were all track stars. They were in a hurry. Andy insisted on sharing the claim, although he easily could have claimed it. He would rather give us some experience and training.

During May, 1944, Colonel Graham ordered side arms to be carried at all times. There was an alert about German paratroopers. On May 12, I destroyed a JU52 on the ground. Andy got another 109 in the air. With Pierce and Michaely, we also destroyed a locomotive, rail cars and some barges.

D-Day through October, 31, 1944

June 6 was the invasion. We took off about 2 a.m. in horrible weather. We had to climb about 20,000 feet to get out of the overcast. It was beautiful when I got on top. The moon was bright, and as planes would break out of the overcast, they were in different attitudes from the long climb on instruments. We never did find our assigned flights, just formed up in flights of four. We went to France to make sure that no German fighters could bother the invasion, and to prevent reinforcements from being brought up. After six hours, we came back to the base for fuel. The Group flew eight missions on the day of the invasion. Smaller flights had different objectives.

The next day, Andy, Simpson, Skara and I strafed trains, trucks and military vehicles. On June 10, the Group claimed trains, rail shacks, boxcars, trucks, lorries and barges. June 29 was a good day. I got behind a FW190 and when I started getting hits, he flipped over and bailed out. I used only 40 rounds the whole day. General Kepner issued another commendation for the 357th and the 361st Groups. We destroyed 48 enemy aircraft without losing a single bomber.

On July 29, I chased a 109 to the deck and had a wing in the grass when he blew up. He must have been trying to get to his base because we were close to a German airfield. My wingman, Harold Hand, and I made a pass and destroyed another 109 and damaged a DO217. I went back and got another 109 but I found that I was alone. I asked Hand where he was and he replied, “I am giving you top cover.” Smart fellow.

On August 6, we started on our shuttle mission. I was leading a flight with Cleland, Pearson and Fennel. Jack Cleland was a New Zealand RAF pilot who had flown two tours in Spitfires and came to us to get some experience in longer missions. On his two tours in Spitfires, no mission had exceeded two hours. What a mixed flight – Cleland and Pearson. Pearson was an American who had gone to Canada, joined the RCAF, then transferred to the USAAF and the 357th. About 7 hours later and after several dogfights on the way, we landed on a grass field in Russia.

The 357th had sent some mechanics as gunners on the bombers so they could service our planes. The trouble was, the bombers landed at a different field and the mechanics never got to our P-51s. The Russian crews put the wrong octane fuel in some of our P-51s and caused a lot of trouble. I was assigned a cot in a tent that came complete with a blacksnake in the cot. When I saw a P-39 on the field, I asked if I could fly it since I had a lot of time in P-39s. Not a chance. They wouldn’t let me get within a hundred feet of it.

We had one escort mission out of Russia. This gave enough time in Russia to find some beet vodka. We thought it was better than potato vodka and decided we should take some along with us. I offered to leave my ammunition behind to make space for the vodka. That was fine until we ran into some 109s on our way to Italy. Naturally, we went after them, but they ran away. However, we got close to the last one and he rolled over and bailed out. Since I was the closest plane, I could have claimed another 109, but I did not want to claim the only enemy plane destroyed with vodka! Now all I had to worry about was to make a smooth landing in Italy to safeguard my precious cargo. Our mission from Italy was a real thrill. We escorted C-47s to Yugoslavia to pick up downed airmen collected by Tito and brought to a small airfield. The C-47s took turns landing and picking up a load of men, then taking off. The amazing sight was as the fellows jumped into the C-47, they were throwing out their shoes, clothing, etc., for their rescuers. I guess everything was in short supply, and our airmen wanted to help those who had helped them. All that was left of the shuttle mission was the return to England. That took about 8 hours. How do you think Cleland, whose earlier missions had not exceeded two hours, felt by then?

I remember many exciting missions. On one, a 109 blew up when I was too close. Pieces of the 109 came into my cockpit and landed in my lap. I still have that piece of extremely light and strong metal. On another, I saw a 109, in a shallow dive after the pilot bailed out, crashing into the side of a factory. Then the engine itself came out the other side of the building, sliding down the street. On still another mission, a cannon shell came through the side of my canopy. It took the canopy, oxygen mask helmet, gave me a haircut, and a bad burn on my neck. Everyone knows you can’t hit a 90-degree shot very often, so I still wonder who the German was shooting at. At least I knew why my canopy was missing. Kit Carson lost his canopy on a mission and was angry with his crew chief until the crew chief took him over to the plane and showed him the bullet holes that caused the canopy to leave. Kit didn’t know until then that he had been hit.

On September 3, 1944, Ed Hiro and I went to a base where they had a B-24 stripped down but loaded with explosives. A pilot had to take off, then bail out when the radio control from the “Mother Ship” took over. By radio control, the bomber was flown in the sub pens and blown up. The sub pens were under heavy rock formations that had resisted bombing from the air. But when the explosion was inside, under the rock cover, significant damage was achieved. Our job was to make sure no enemy planes bothered the mission. My mission log for this day is marked “SECRET.”

This is when the OSS asked me to fly for them. They were already operating almost a regular airline to the Free French behind enemy lines. We picked up airmen downed behind enemy lines, collected intelligence, and provided supplies to the Free French. Soon I was grounded again, and ordered back to the States. What a Halloween present for my family!

[bobbysocks]

Obit...

Major General John Alison
Major General John Alison, who has died aged 98, was an American fighter "ace" and one of his country's most decorated pilots; he later fought behind enemy lines with the Chindits and is recognised as the father of US Air Force special operations.

A combat veteran with seven enemy aircraft to his credit, Alison was appointed at the end of 1943 to join his friend, Lt Col Philip Cochran, to form the 1st Air Commando Group, a secret and highly innovative flying unit.

Alison's composite wing of fighters, bombers, transports, gliders, and helicopters was assembled to support Major General Orde Wingate, the unorthodox British commander of the Chindits long-range penetration force, who planned to land a force of 9,000 men almost 200 miles behind Japanese lines in Burma.

Alison trained his air transport and glider-towing force in preparation for this mission, codenamed Operation Thursday, and the assault took place on the night of March 5 1944. Men and mules were carried in Waco gliders towed in pairs behind C-47 transport aircraft. Alison had only flown a glider on two previous occasions, and never at night, but was determined to participate in the landing of Wingate's force.

He piloted one of the gliders in the first wave, taking 15 men of the assault team. After casting off from the tug aircraft, he brought his glider down safely on the rough "Broadway" landing ground before grabbing his rifle and a sack of grenades and leaping out to join battle with the enemy.

After three weeks in the jungle he was recalled. To get back he flew a damaged C-47 transport aircraft from a jungle airstrip, despite never having flown the type before. On arriving over his destination airfield he had to ask for instructions on how to lower the undercarriage and landing flaps. For his services in support of Operation Thursday, King George VI awarded Alison the DSO.

Alison was immediately summoned to Washington to report to General "Hap" Arnold, Chief of the USAAF, and General Eisenhower, to debrief them on the success of the air commandos; he was then instructed to form four more groups. In the event, only two were formed, and Alison was sent to command the 3rd Air Commando Group in the Pacific, where he participated in the landing on the Philippines and in the air operations at Okinawa.

John Richardson Alison was born in Micanopy, Florida, on November 21 1912. He graduated from the University of Florida with an Engineering degree and joined the US Army Air Corps in 1936.

Before the United States entered the Second World War he served as assistant military attaché in England and helped RAF pilots convert to the P-40 Kittyhawk fighter provided under the Lend-Lease scheme. Not content with a training role, he soon became involved in operational tasks when he recognised that the RAF had much to teach him and his colleagues. In October 1941 he travelled to Moscow to train Russian pilots to fly the aircraft provided under the sensitive US-Soviet Lend-Lease programme. After ten months his repeated requests for a transfer to a fighting unit bore fruit.

In June 1942 he reported to the China-Burma-India (CBI) theatre to join Major General Claire Chennault's 14th Air Force as the deputy commander of the newly formed 75th Fighter Squadron. On July 30 1942, operating from Hengyang in China, he was credited with the first night kills in the theatre. For his experimental night interception work, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. In early 1943 he demonstrated his aggressiveness when he took off during an attack on his own airfield. He engaged three Zero fighters and probably shot one down. He then vectored arriving reinforcements to the battle, after which he made a stern attack on another enemy fighter at close range, shooting it down. His aircraft was damaged and he was forced to make an emergency landing in a river bed. His gallantry and fighting spirit earned him the Silver Star. Ending his tour as commander of the 75th Fighter Squadron, Alison left as an ace with seven confirmed victories and several further probable kills.

After a brief spell in the USA, Alison travelled to Burma in late 1943 to take up his post with No 1 Air Commando.

He resigned from the USAAF in 1946 as a colonel, having added the Distinguished Service Medal to his earlier gallantry awards. He was recognised by his peers as an outstanding pilot. One commanding officer commented: "John Alison has the greatest pure flying skill of any pilot in the theatre – a touch on the controls that knew no equal. His talents were matched only by his eagerness for combat."

After the war Alison held key positions in government and industry, serving as the youngest-ever Assistant Secretary of Commerce for Aeronautics, and sat on the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics and the Civil Aviation Administration. He resigned as Assistant Secretary in March 1949 to become president of the Transit Van Corporation.

In 1950 Alison re-enlisted in the USAF and served in Korea, retiring in 1955 as a major general in the USAF Reserve. He was a senior vice president of the Northrop Corporation until 1984 and was secretary-treasurer of the Air Force Memorial Foundation. He was also a former president of the Air Force Association, an independent non-profit organisation that promotes aerospace education.

A slight figure, Alison was quietly spoken and extremely modest. Greatly admired for his diplomatic skills and his courage in combat, the Air Force Association designated him its "All-American Airman" and named its highest award for industrial leadership, established in 1992, in his honour.

John Alison died on June 6. He is survived by Kathleen, his wife for 60 years, and their two sons.

[bobbysocks]

Geoff Bryson Fisken, DFC, the Commonwealth's most decorated pilot in the south Pacific in World War 11, died peacefully in Rotorua at the weekend. He was 96.

Flying Officer Fisken was a masterful pilot, registering 11 kills.

He started his war years in Masterton, his celebrity, modestly held, while piloting the P-40 Wairarapa Wild Cat.

Such was his fame that on request he regularly visited the United States for reunions. He did not merely rub shoulders with the celebrated actor Eddie Albert, who also flew in the Pacific, and Admiral Nimitz; they rubbed shoulders with him.

Flint-eyed but with the hint of a larrikin, Geoff Fiskin was hewn from the rugged Wairarapa coastline. As a boy he mustered on the unforgiving tussocky terrain, where a muster of one paddock took up to eight to 10 days.

Because he was in a 'service' industry critical to the economy of the war effort, Mr Fisken's bid to enlist was rejected.
Eventually, he persuaded his employer he would be more useful in the air (he made his own glider aged 11 and learned to fly by 14 ) than on the land. To the amazement of his employer, the precocious Fisken once mustered the craggy Wairarapa hills from an aircraft.

Bluff and squarely built, F/O Fisken had a deadly eye in combat flying Buffaloes and Catalinas.

Anxious for active service, like many of his time Mr Fisken was frustrated at the 30-hours a month flying time imposed on NZ pilots.

Eventually attached to 243 Squadron, RAF, squadrons were at times shredded after each scramble, Mr Fisken saw combat in Malaysia (where he contracted dengue fever five times) and Guadalcanal.

His physical toughness became legendary.

Once, following a sortie, Mr Fisken's mechanic fainted when he alighted from his aircraft with a shrapnel protruding from his hip.

''I didn't know it was there,'' Mr Fisken related to the Rotorua Review in 2000 in a rarely accorded interview.

''It felt sore, with blood all down my leg. I tried to pull it out with a pair of pliers at the hospital but it was still too sore. They cut it out and put on some sulthalimide, strapped it up and I was able to fly again in three or four days.''

At most times, allied aircraft were outnumbered roughly 16 to one, Mr Fisken said.

''It was nothing to see 200 or 300 Japanese aircraft in the sky,'' he recalled.

''Anybody in Malaya who tried to dogfight was just a bloody fool.

''It was supposed to be all right in England where there were dogfights all the time, but in Malaya you were dead in five minutes. The Japanese could out-manoeuvre you quite easily with their Zeros.''

Zeros were attacked diving from on high, then flying in an arch from below for a second short in a three- or five-second burst providing the requisite height had been reached. Allied planes would then head for ground when it was realised the Zeroes would not follow.

''Some said the propellers came off the Zeros (at certain velocities) but I don't whether that's true. Whatever the reason, they would never follow you down. But if they were strafing low and saw somebody coming in to land they'd have a go at you _ it was common.''

As his fame grew with his mounting tally, Mr Fisken was sought out by the celebrated Admiral Nimitz at Guadalcanal. Usually, he did not leave his ship but made a concession on learning Fisken was town.

''They gave me five cases of Canadian Club whisky, in little bottles, so I put them in tents for the boys.''

It was American Independence day and Fisken had shot down three enemy aircraft.

The Americans preferred New Zealand pilots as escort cover.

Once covering the cumbersome Catalinas, which were used on rescue missions, Mr Fisken found the flight took them to within 120-130km off the Japanese-occupied land. Relations between the two allies worsened when the New Zealanders found the Americans were farewelling the natives on the island.

''We could have been killed,'' Mr Fisken said. ''The Cats flew only 50 feet above the water and we were less then 500 feet, so we would not have had a show. I asked the Americans if they would pay the bill for our dirty underwear!''

Mr Fisken lived in Rotorua for 31 years. He and his wife Rhoda, who died 14 years ago, had six children, five boys and a girl.

After he sold his Masterton farm, he worked as a manager for TemCo, representing the then Egg Marketing Board. He had also lived in Tauranga and for a short time farmed in Te Puke, retiring in 1976.

Born in Gisborne, Geoff Fisken served from 1941 to 1943, medically discharged but not before he received his DFC in September 1943.

While Mr Fisken said his number of kills was 11, the number can differ between 10 and 13 confirmed victories against probable kills.

He was, however, throughout his life regarded as the highest scoring British Commonwealth pilot in the Pacific.





The notion of "best fighter of WWII" came up again recently on rec.aviation.military. The Buffalo was nominated because it created one ace for every 13 airframes. To which somebody replied: "But weren't they all Finns?" The answer:
"Not all.... Three British Empire pilots became aces flying the Buff. Geoffrey Fisken (a New Zealander with No. 243 Squadron) had six victories in the Brewster, and two others had five."

Well, I checked Christopher Shores, and sure enough in Aces High he credits Fisken with a Ki-27 "Nate" on 12 Jan 1942; three A6M Zeroes on 14 Jan, 21 Jan, and 1 Feb; and two G3M "Nell" bombers on 17 Jan while flying the Buffalo. Here's what Shores has to say about him

"Geoffrey Fisken was born in Gisborne, New Zealand, on 17 February 1918, and was a shepherd prior to the outbreak of World War II. Enlisting in the RNZAF, he was posted to Singapore on completion of his training, initially to join 205 Squadron, RAF--a flyingboat unit. Instead he was trained by 21 RAAF Squadron to fly one of the newly arrived Brewster Buffalo fighters, and was then posted in March 1941 to 67 Squadron which was just forming; from there he moved to the new 243 Squadron when 67 was sent to Burma. As a slightly more experienced pilot at the outbreak of war, he was one of three men detached to Ipoh on 12 December to fly with 21 RAAF Squadron. Returning to Singapore a few days later, he took part in the defence of that island during January. On 31 January so few aircraft remained available to the unit, that the survivors were amalgamated into 453 (RAAF) Squadron together with their pilots, Fisken included. During his final engagement on 1 February he was shot up by two fighters as he was claiming a third shot down, and was wounded in the arm by a bullet and in the hip by a cannon shell fragment. Evacuated before the fall of the island, he returned to New Zealand where he was commissioned, and was subsequently posted to 14 Squadron, RNZAF, to fly Kittyhawks as a Flying Officer."

In three weeks in the Solomons, Fisken ran up his claims to 11, making him the leading Commonwealth fighter pilot against the Japanese. He was awarded a DFC and invalided out of the air force in 1943, whereupon he went back to farming.

[Gilly]

Spitfire diaries: The strange life in Dublin's PoW camp
An attempt to recover a Spitfire from a peat bog in Donegal will highlight the peculiar story of the men - both British and German - who spent much of World War II in relative comfort in neighbouring prisoner of war camps in Dublin, writes historian Dan Snow.
In Northern Ireland in 1941, a routine Sunday afternoon sortie by a pilot flying one of Britain's Spitfire fighters runs into difficulties.
Returning to base after flying "top-cover" for maritime convoys off the coast of Donegal, the Rolls Royce Merlin engine overheats and fails.
The pilot yells into his radio "I'm going over the side", slides back the bubble canopy, releases his seat straps and launches himself into the air.
The air flow hit this particular pilot like a freight train and tore off his boots. Luckily he was able to deploy his parachute and landed in a peat bog. His aircraft smashed into the bog half a mile away.
It sounds like a typical wartime accident but it was anything but. It was the beginning of one of the strangest incidents of WWII.
The pilot was 23-year-old Roland "Bud" Wolfe, an RAF officer from 133 "Eagle" Squadron, a unit entirely composed of Americans.
Bud himself was from Nebraska, one of a number of Americans who had volunteered to take up Britain's cause. Since the US was not yet at war with Germany when the men volunteered, the American government stripped Wolfe and others of their citizenship. These pilots were a mix of idealists and thrill seekers.
When Wolfe was found by the authorities he realised his, already unusual, situation was much more complicated than he had guessed. He had crashed over the border.
Since the South was neutral it had been decided that all servicemen of any belligerent nation that ended up on Irish soil through navigational error, shipwreck or other accident would be interned for the duration of the war.
Wolfe found himself heading not back to his airbase, RAF Eglinton, now Derry International Airport, in Northern Ireland just 13 miles away, but to Curragh Camp, County Kildare, 175 miles to the south.
Here, a huddle of corrugated iron huts housed 40 other RAF pilots and crewmen who had accidentally come down in neutral territory. They were effectively prisoners of war.
It was an odd existence. The guards had blank rounds in their rifles, visitors were permitted (one officer shipped his wife over), and the internees were allowed to come and go. Fishing excursions, fox hunting, golf and trips to the pub in the town of Naas helped pass the time.
But what was really odd was the proximity of the Germans.
It was not just the British and their allies who got lost above and around Ireland. German sailors from destroyed U-boats and Luftwaffe aircrew also found themselves interned. The juxtaposition of the two sides made for surreal drama.
Sport was a notable feature. In one football match the Germans beat the British 8-3. There were also boxing contests.
It appears that the rivalry on the pitch followed the teams into the pub afterwards as well. They would drink at different bars, and the British once complained vigorously when the Luftwaffe internees turned up to a dance they had organised.
Anything further from front-line service is hard to imagine.
It may seem to us like a welcome chance to sit out the war with honour intact, plenty of distractions and no danger, but for Wolfe it was an unacceptable interruption to his flying activities.
On 13 December 1941 he walked straight out of camp and after a meal in a hotel, which he did not pay for, he headed into nearby Dublin and caught the train the next day to Belfast. Within hours he was back at RAF Eglinton where he had taken off two weeks earlier in his defective Spitfire.
He could not have expected what was to happen next. The British government decided that, in this dark hour, it would be unwise to upset a neutral nation.
The decision was made to send Wolfe back to The Curragh and internment. Back in the camp, Wolfe made the best of it, joining the fox-hunting with relish.
He did try to escape again but this time he was caught. Finally in 1943, with the US in the war, and the tide slowly turning, The Curragh was closed and the internees returned. Wolfe joined the US Army Air Force and served once again on the front line.
So great was his love of flying that he also served in Korea and even Vietnam. He eventually died in 1994.
But Wolfe's epic story did not end with his death. Thanks to the highly unusual, soft nature of the terrain in the peat bog where his Spitfire crashed, a team of archaeologists is attempting to dig up his aircraft.
This week I will accompany them with a BBC television crew and record what we hope will be substantial pieces of wreckage emerging from the bog. The bog defeated the attempt in 1941 to gather up the wreckage, so there should be plenty of Spitfire down there, but it may well defeat us.
The digger has to sit on bog mats, big railway sleepers, to spread its 20-ton weight. But even they may not be enough to stop it sinking in. There is also a danger that the hole will simply fill with water or the sides cave in.
It is one of the most difficult excavations that an experienced team have ever faced. Whatever happens, I will be updating Twitter minute-by-minute as the excavation takes place.
Hopefully we will find the physical evidence that will shine a light on the events of that November night 70 years ago and also provide us with a connection to one of the most bizarre moments of the war


by Dan Snow, BBC website 28th June