ON THE WAR PATH WITH 421
Archie Robertson was the youngest of four brothers from the village of Bainsville, Ontario near the Quebec border who saw service in the Second World War. The two oldest, Albert and William joined the Canadian Army, while Archie and his other brother Alex joined the Royal Canadian Air Force.
Following his enlistment in September 1941, Archie Robertson trained at Trenton, Ontario to become an airframe mechanic, a rigger in the parlance of the day. He remained here with No. 1 Flying Instruction School until December of 1943, when he was posted to overseas duty.
He joined the all-Canadian 127 Wing of the RAF’s 2nd Tactical Air Force in February of 1944, servicing the Spitfire aircraft of 421 “Red Indian” Squadron at RAF Stations Kenley and Tangmere before crossing the English Channel six days after the D-Day Invasion of Normandy.
He kept a brief diary of his time beginning with the crossing of the Channel until war’s end and after the war put together a brief 16-page memoir of a mechanic’s life in a fighting unit moving constantly with the frontlines. Grammar and spelling aside [for the most part corrected], it is an open window on a part of the war we rarely talk about.
I love these amateur, hand-made memoirs of men whose stories are not often told — the riggers, fitters, armourers, drivers and cooks that faced many of the same deprivations, dangerous crossings, shellings, endless hours and losses of comrades yet who are often forced off stage by the storytellers who prefer to recount the glories and terrors of combat flying with only an offhanded pat on the back for the skills and professionalism of the enlisted men who made it all possible and who cared deeply about “their” aircraft and pilots.
Today, it is insensitive and tone deaf in Canada for non-indigenous people to call anything “Red Indian”, but in the dangerous skies of continental Europe in the Second World War, the pilots and mechanics of the Royal Canadian Air Force’s 421 Squadron were proud to be named after and associated with the legendary warriors of Canada’s first nations. The official heraldic badge of 421 features to this day an Indian warrior in full Plains Indian war bonnet over a pair of crossed tomahawks (In saltire). It was a fitting symbol to call forth courage, Canada, individualism, tribal bonds and instil fear in the enemy. It was not seen by them as racist or comical, but rather a totem of their power and reflection of who they were — Canadian warriors. The squadron’s unique Latin motto “Bellicum Cecinere” translated officially poetically as “They have sounded the war trumpet” or more simply and aptly as “War Cry”. Robertson writes that the squadron motto was “On the Warpath”, but perhaps that’s what they thought it meant back then. I make no political corrections of Archie Robertson’s “The Days and Travels of the Red Indian Squadron”, merely grammatical ones.
Archie Angus Robertson died in 2006 at the age of 86. He was still living in the Bainsville area. His short memoir was suggested to us by Winston Smith.
Dave O’Malley
The Days and Travels of the Red Indian Squadron
Sub-titled : “Now It Can Be Told.” By Archie Robertson
“The dawn of June 12, 1944 was not yet breaking when we were awakened. It was 3 A.M. and today was our D-Day. After a hasty breakfast which we couldn't see, we walked about two miles to where our transit camp was and motored through the south of England until we reached South Hampton, the port from which we embarked. Reached the port about 3 PM and had a quite fair time playing with the kids in the streets and giving or receiving souvenirs from the people. They were really swell and to tell you the truth, we were keyed up when we went there, but the few hours we spent there before we left put us at ease.
I rolled our truck onto an American L.C.T (Landing Craft Tanks) and we were all set to leave England until the end of the war would bring us back. I thought we would put out at night, but we stayed put until 9 A.M., June 13 when up came the anchor and we were away to a flying start. Started out with two more ships and about every 15 minutes we would meet a few more until the time when we were near the shores of France. I looked about me and as far as the eye could see there were ships, more ships and still more ships, until you just couldn't believe your own eyes. The crossing was uneventful, it was a little rough but the meals were sensational.
For breakfast we had sausages, potatoes, coffee and white bread. For supper we had chicken-a-La-King and I'm not fooling-- canned peaches for dessert again with white bread. You might note I'm mentioning white bread, but read on my dear fellow and you'll see the reason why. We disembarked at Arromanches at 10:15 P.M. on June 13 under a smoke screen. I'll never forget that night as long as I live. We weren't on the beach for more than 10 minutes when Jerry Kites came over and all hell broke loose. One AAA gun opened up right beside our truck and I thought, well, we tried anyway, let's go home, but they said we'd get used to it so I just tucked my head under blanket and started praying. Old Jerry was doing pretty good, he hit two ships and I did see our gunners get a couple of them. We camped on the beach until next morning and this great display of fireworks was going all night. We came through it in fair shape and at 6:00 A.M. June 14, set out for our camp which was at Crépon between Bayeaux and Caan. The drome [abbreviation for aerodrome-Ed] was nothing to write home about, it looked like the Sahara Desert — dust and sand all over the place. We unloaded our trucks and got a place to pitch our tents and we started to practice that old slogan "A Canuck goes to the Continent"'.
Author Archie Robertson (right) with his brother Alex of Bainsville, Ontario on the north shore of the St. Lawrence upstream from Montreal. Four of the six Robertson brothers were in the service of Canada in the Second World War. The two oldest — Albert and William — joined the Army while Archie (the youngest) and Alex were both airframe mechanics in the RCAF. Photo: Archie Robertson Collection
In the previous paragraph, the author Alex Robertson, is referencing the education manual/French-English phrasebook “A Canuck Goes to the Continent — Volume 1” which taught colloquial French and German to Canadian servicemen and women. Every Canadian soldier who stormed the beaches on D-Day or who came ashore in the weeks after carried a copy. The French component was written and compiled in Vancouver by Isabelle Burnada. First published in 1941, Canadian troops had already used it in North Africa and the Congo. Photo: Juno Beach Centre
B2, the first forward aerodrome used by 421 Squadron on the continent, was at Bazenville, Normandy. “It looked like the Sahara Desert — dust and sand all over the place” according to the author. Here, a 421 Squadron Spitfire pilot prepares for a sortie over enemy lines just a few miles away. B2 was constructed by Royal Engineers who started the night of the 6th of June. Bazenville would have been completed as the first Allied landing ground in Normandy on 9 June, but a B-24 Liberator crash landed at the uncompleted airfield that morning and ripped up a lot of the steel mesh used for runways and ramps. Instead it was completed two days later, on 11 June, and serviced the first 36 aircraft (Spitfires) of No. 127 Wing RCAF that same day. 421 Squadron, a 127 Group unit, would arrive three days later. Photo: Imperial War Museum
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That night was a carbon copy of night number one, only a little worse, so that made it two nights in a row without sleep. In the morning we were still all there and we had to go about the business of laying out a dispersal for our kites which were coming in that afternoon. We had to lay out our camouflage in case old Jerry dropped flares at night so he wouldn't be able to see our kites. We were a squadron of Spitfires — the 421 Red Indian Squadron — and our motto was "On the War Path". When we first came to the continent I was servicing the kite “H” for Harry and Flight Lieutenant Paterson was my pilot. My fitter was a grand chap named Evy Spence who stayed with me till after the war. One fellow had to be around the kite all the time, so we drew up a timetable and in that way managed to get in a few hours shuteye during the day as we couldn't sleep at night.
On the Warpath Continued after Sidebar….
Sidebar: John Norman Paterson and His Spitfire
Like most airframe fitters in the war, Robertson was often assigned one particular Spitfire, which he came to think of as “his”. The was Spitfire AU-H (AU was 421 Squadron’s RAF letter code, and H was the aircraft letter code assigned by the squadron. According to Archie Robertson, the man who flew “his” airplane most of all in the early weeks of the Normandy campaign and who he thought of as “his” pilot was John Norman Paterson of Fort William, Ontario (at the western end of Lake superior (Today it is known as Thunder Bay)). Paterson was the scion of a wealthy and connected family from the Lakehead — with a massive grain elevator and grain shipping business.
After the war, likely longing for the chance to fly his beloved Spit again, Paterson acquired a former Dutch and Belgian Air Force Spitfire (RAF Serial no. NH188) which had been damaged and restored it to flying condition. He then donated it to the Canada Aviation and Space Museum where it rests to this day wearing the markings of Archie Robertson’s beloved AU-H. The real AU-H was very likely Spitfire MJ820, which, according to the 421 Squadron Operations Record Book, Paterson flew most frequently. On August 18, 1944, Spitfire MY820, flown by Flying Officer Leyland on its third sortie of the day, crashed on landing and was destroyed. Leyland survived.
A photo of Flight Lieutenant John N. Paterson sitting in his and the author’s Spitfire during operations after D-Day. Note the three victory markings on the fuselage. Photo via Northeast Ontario Air Search and Rescue
421 Squadron pilots pose together with their Wing Commander Johnnie Johnson, DFC and Bar (centre with patterned ascot) and Squadron commander Squadron Leader Buck McNair, DFC and 2 Bars (in white silk scarf). John Paterson sits in front row at far right. This was taken in August of 1943. Photo: Len Thorne via Spitfire — The Canadians by Robert Bracken
A poor photo from a photocopy of the author Archie Robertson (right) with friends next to a 421 Squadron Spitfire, which could very well be “H” for Harry (the letter H is possibly read on the fuselage ahead of the fuselage band). It is not known who the others were but the man in the middle is likely Flight Lieutenant John N. Paterson. Photo: Archie Robertson Collection
A spectacular shot of Paterson flying Spitfire CF-NUS on its first flight in the winter of 1961/62 over Fort William. The Spitfire was medium blue all over with white lightning bolt and black Photo via Fly North, the newsletter of The Northwestern Ontario Aviation Heritage Centre. From collection of Jim Lyzun Collection via Joe Osmulski
John Paterson at the controls of his newly-restored Supermarine Spitfire at Lakehead Airport in the summer 1962. Note the 421 Squadron warrior emblem on the cowling. Paterson was the scion of a wealthy shipping family from the Lake Superior port. Photo: Allan Peden. Meteorological Technician at Lakehead Airport at the time.
Another angle on Spitfire CF-NUS, possibly the first privately owned Spitfire in Canada. John Paterson is at the controls as it warms up in June, 1962. Photo: Allan Peden. Meteorological Technician at Lakehead Airport at the time.
A British modeller by the pseudonym of “lancfan” with a flair for the rare posted an Airfix kit he repurposed to create a likeness of Paterson’s Spitfire.. More views here
John Paterson chats with some friends after his flight while adoring boys look on. Photo: Allan Peden. Meteorological Technician at Lakehead Airport at the time.
The 421 Squadron clipped-wing Spitfire of the Canada Aviation and Space Museum was donated to the collection by former 421 Squadron pilot John Paterson. The Spitfire was similar to one he had flown during the Second World War in the RCAF and, at a time when the preservation of historic aircraft was still uncommon, he restored and refurbished it to flying condition and had it painted in the markings which “his” Spitfire carried in 421 Squadron. After completion of the restoration, it first flew in the winter of 1961/62 and remained at the Lakehead (Thunder Bay) until 1964 when Paterson gifted it to the Canadian Aviation Museum in Ottawa. Here we see the “author’s pilot” John Paterson flying it in 1964 with civil registration CF-NUS over Lake Superior near today’s Thunder Bay. Photo Wiki Commons.
CF-NUS on the grass at RCAF Station Rockcliffe in 1964, shortly after Paterson flew it from Thunder Bay to Ottawa for permanent display. It can be seen in the Second World War display of the current Canada Aviation and Space Museum still at Rockcliffe. The only thing that is different today from this photo is the removal of the civil registration on the tail. Photo: The Caz Caswell Collection
End of Side Bar
On the Warpath Continued
The drome was about three to four miles from the front line and you could hear the navy shells going over on the way to the target. Our kites got in about 4 P.M. and at 5 P.M. were ready to meet the enemy anytime from thereon in. They had to circle the field about three to four times before they gained altitude as it was only about a minute before they were over enemy territory and flak almighty. We could see it going up and dotting the sky with black puffs. Next day the balance of our ground crew flew in and we really got mobile. Our normal working day went something like this: If you were on duty crew (every third day), you got up at 3 A.M., de-camouflaged the kites, ran them up and gassed them. At about 4 A.M., the pilots would be out and at 4:30 P.M. the flying circus was away again. At 8:00 A.M. the other two crews would take over so we'd go for breakfast and be off until 7:30 P.M.. From then on you worked steady until midnight as that is when it got dark on the beaches of Normandy.
At the time that 421 Squadron first landed in Normandy, it was commanded by the much-loved Wing Commander Walter Allen Grenfell “Wally” Conrad.
Our food consisted of stew and hardtack — for breakfast stew only, for dinner and for a change, stew and hardtack for supper. The mess hall was in a cow field, the sky was your roof, rain or shine, and your tables were the green grass of the fields. Real operational — everything ready for a fast getaway just in case. The food situation lasted for 48 days and then one evening I heard the boys had just come back from the mess and they were giving everybody a half slice of white bread. For a moment I thought the war was over, but I was running to the mess just as fast as anybody. It really tasted like fruit cake and from then on we had a little change in the food for the better.
In addition to messing “al fresco, 421 Squadron and other 127 wing airmen conducted religious services in the open air. Here, Squadron Leader Reverend H Crawford Scott, an RCAF Protestant chaplain, conducts an informal service in an orchard on the edge of B2/Bazenville, Normandy, attended by ground crew. In the background a Supermarine Spitfire Mark IX (AU-H) of No. 421 Squadron RCAF undergoes maintenance. AU-H is the Spitfire maintained by Archie Robertson and flown many times by Flight Lieutenant J. N. Paterson. Photo: Imperial War Museum
The [local] people weren't too friendly in fact, maybe they weren't so happy because a major war wasn't fought in Normandy since the 15th Century and food being plentiful in that part of the country they didn't quite realize why we should barge in and start breaking up their farm houses and over-run their fields. But that was isolation: the real France gave us an ovation that will never be surpassed in history.
One day, about four Jerry kites came over the field and one of the dogfights was really outstanding. One of our Spits got on an M.E. 109 and the fun started. The Hun tried a turn and the Spit stayed right with him. He gave him a short burst but the Jerry was still trying to get away and he couldn't. Another short burst and down he came in flames right on our field, we really had ringside seats. The pilot bailed out, he was a Romanian. He didn't know why we were fighting the Germans. He thought we should get together and fight the Russians. Meanwhile the war news always interested us very much. We'd hear over the air that we had gained a few yards and everybody was happy.
A Supermarine Spitfire of No. 127 (Canadian) Wing takes off on a dusk patrol from B2/Bazenville, Normandy, while a Spitfire Mark IX of No. 403 Squadron RCAF waits at readiness. Photo: Imperial War Museum
One day, the Germans recaptured a town and the boys didn't know what to do with themselves. That's the way the first while went back and forth. We were still sleeping in slit trenches as the nights were pretty grim. Between artillery and Ack-Ack fire it was impossible to sleep until you practically fell from exhaustion. We did make a resolution though — that being when the Allies took Caen we were going back to sleeping in tents, come hell or high water and we stuck to our promise although some nights it was really an effort. The night they bombed Caen was a sight to see. They told us that 750 [aircraft] were going to bomb about 10 P.M. and we were to supply top cover. About 9:45 P.M. they started to come and you could see them make a run at the target under intense flack and we saw a few blow up in the air. On their return home they came right over our drome and another couple that had been hit came down, although their crews bailed out.
Next day we heard that the Canadians had captured Caen or what was left of it. The fighting was still pretty heavy in our sector but the Yanks were just about ready to break loose. One day Prime Minister Churchill came to visit us and he really gave us a gem talk. He said that we should be proud to come from the great Dominion of Canada and told us not to be too disappointed that we hadn't done too well up to date (July 18). He blamed part of it on the bad weather we had in the late part of June which didn't help landing supplies any. But he did say, "We are straining at the leash and once we start rolling there will be no stopping us". (They did too as we went about 400 miles).
Winston Churchill crosses “Winston Bridge” on the way into Caen to tour the damage following its capture by the British and Canadians at great cost. While at the front on July 18, he visited B2 airfield at Bazenville to give the men of 127 Wing a pep talk. Photo: Imperial War Museum
Just a little while later the Canadians started a move on Falaise. The Yanks were going great guns and this was supposed to be it. We worked like slaves getting everything in top shape. We were going to encircle the German 7th Army and while they were milling in the centre, all the Air Force were to give them everything they had. Incidentally, we only had H. E. (High Explosive) and A.P. (Armour Piercing) shells in our guns. That battle of Falaise was 127 Wing's finest hour. I forget the exact figures but we smashed more German tanks, cars, etc., than what we thought we had. Rommel got it in that too. I hope one of our kites got him then our work was not in vain. We got mentioned in despatches and all the Bigwigs sent telegrams almighty saying how proud they were of the Wings' achievements. We were very thrilled; everybody was predicting the war would be over in September. More money was lost on bets than I can count but we had really done something and our morale was at its highest peak. The German Army was on the run and we didn't give them a chance to stop. For 20 hours a day we sprayed them with lead from the air until they finally were out of air range and we had to move.
The author writes in the previous paragraph that “Rommel got it in that too. I hope one of our kites got him then our work was not in vain.”. A Canadian Spitfire pilot by the name of Charley Fox was one of many different pilots who were credited with or claimed to be the one who attacked Rommel’s staff car on a road in Normandy and injuring the general so gravely that he was sent home to Germany. Regardless of the veracity of any claim, Charley’s service during the war and particularly in his later years was extraordinary. He became the Honorary Colonel of 412 Squadron and worked tirelessly on behalf of veterans and to keep their memories alive. Photo: RCAF
We were following the British 2nd Army. At first it was intended for us to look after the Canadian I st Army and for 84 Group [Hawker Typhoons of 123, 136 and 146 Wings; Mustangs of 133 (Polish) Wing and Spitfires of 131, 132, 134, 135 and 145 Wings-Ed] to look after the 2nd Army but when the invasion started we and the 2nd Army were ready while the others were still organizing, so you have a Canadian wing giving air cover to an English Army and vice versa. First move on the continent was to a place called Nonancourt about 50 miles from Paris. We left Crépon about I :00 P.M., August 28, 1944 and arrived at our destination at 11:00 P.M. same day. We must have taken the same route the Germans had on their retreat as there were smashed cars and tanks all along the roads. The first town we hit was called Fleury and the streets were just livid with people who gave us wine and fruit: we in return gave them cigarettes, chocolates and whatever else we could spare. We did scrounge about three tins of hard tack before we left so we were passing them out to the kids on the road. In some of the towns the people were waving and cheering and it was a real Roman holiday. I can just imagine the reception the troops must have got before us on the spearhead of tanks, they must have been swamped. When we got to Nonancourt it was raining and dark so we had to flake out under the trucks and wait until morning to pitch our tents. Morning came as it usually does and it was still raining but up went the tents and we made some wooden sacks which was a darn sight better than sleeping on the ground.
We used to get a lot of the natives around the field talking to us. They traded us eggs and vegetables for cigarettes and soap so we ate pretty well in the short time we were there. After three days and strange as it may seem; we became non-operational as the Army had outdistanced us and we had a short period of relaxation and our first contact of the people of Paris, "Gay Paree". A city that everybody has heard and dreamt about and there we were walking down the Champs Elisées people wanting to shake hands with us, patting us on the back and altogether making us feel as if we were red hot, nothing like us. It was very embarrassing but also very flattering no matter which way you look at it. We saw the Arc de Triomphe and was atop the Eiffel Tower, beautiful women by the car load and we had a real field day. Sometimes we hitched in and other times if one was lucky he had a chance to get on the liberty rum which was very good. We were beginning to taste the fruits of our victory even though it was the Army that was chasing the retreating Germans, we did our share in starting them running. When we first got to Paris, it definitely wasn't a city of plenty, food was very scarce and for a cigarette you could name your own price. There was some liquor though and we tried to consume as much as possible in the shortest time. There were still a few snipers around as one night two of our chaps were strolling around in the dust when one of the boys wanted to light a cigarette; he struck a match when "ping" a bullet had whizzed right by him. They hit the deck and a Gendarme came around and told them to get off the street and never to show a light in the street at night. The buildings are very beautiful, all white and clean looking. We hated to leave there but the war is still on so we must get back on the trail. We left Nonancourt for one of our longest travels, a two day journey that was to take us into Belgium. We left at 6:00A.M. 22nd of September and it was quite a journey. We crossed the Seine River at Mantes and that city was really pulverized, the people didn't seem to mind, they were cheering us on and on as we went until we came to Vitry at 2 P.M. where we camped for the day. We strolled around Vitry in the evening and spoke to the natives who were very happy to see us. We had made our beds under a nice starry sky and when we awoke during the night it was pouring cats and dogs. I for one got a doozer of a soaking out of the effort and about 6:00A.M. in the pouring rain we made our way forward through those great Canadian battlefields of yesterday.
Who can forget the names of Vimy, Arras, Cambrai where the Canadians have written their names with blood and which nobody around those parts have ever forgotten? On our way to the new drome we had to pass through Brussels and we would all have liked to have stopped off and make the rounds. Little did we know that in a months time we would be in there like Beavers. We finally reached our destination, Beauvechain [designated B68 Advanced Landing Ground with the name Le Culot - Ed] about 1:00 P.M. September 23rd and settled in our new environment. The drome was in awful shape, big holes all over the field but Canada must carry on the best we could. After about a week some of the boys went into Brussels for a holiday and had quite a fair time. A Canada badge on the continent is your pass to fame and in Belgium you could do whatever you wanted to and everything was all right. On October 1st we, the advance party, set out to Holland. They had dropped those men at Arnhem and we were to give them air support. Little did we know then what was in store for us but we sure learned in a hurry. We left Beauvechain at 7:00 A.M. and what a ride that was. We really went into enemy territory and for the first time we saw front line troops in action. We were coming along the road and on either side the Hun was still there. If you looked into the bushes you could see the troops crouching and waiting for something to happen. I saw one Yank and he was really heeled. He had a knife in his boots, a 45 colt around his waist and a Tommy gun in his hands. He hadn't shaved for about a week and he really looked tough. I wish I could see him back in his home town - I'll bet he was a nice clean kid who went to the corner drug store with his girl friend and bought her a soda, but there he was in the mud and grime of Holland waiting to kill or be killed all because one man wanted to rule the world. A little further on, you came to signs which read "keep going": another said" No stopping under any circumstances". The Germans were shelling the road to try to stop supplies from going up and to stop was not the correct answer, as I was driving a bowzer with 1,000 gallons of petrol. The convoy that came after us were shelled but luckily nobody was hurt and we arrived at Grave [B-82, southwest of Nijmegen, was known to the Dutch as Airfield Keent—Ed] at 2:00 P.M. same day. Our drome was a sprawling field with a dyke all around it. At first we pitched our tents near a stream but soon moved them as it was too wet and it was a good thing as a week after that it overflowed and we would have been flooded out.
American C-47 Skytrain aircraft loading up at B-82 Grave for operation Market Garden. The author arrived at Grave a week after the operation took place. The shadow of the photographer’s L-19 can be seen at bottom. The airstrip, in the old forelands of the Maas at Keent, was made by the Germans as an emergency landing field but never used by them. However, on 26 September 1944, 209 C47 Dakotas of 52nd Wing Troop Carrier Command landed at Keent with troops and supplies for the Americans and the 2nd British Army. Despite the marshy and soggy ground, the strip continued to be used by fighter squadrons of 2nd Tactical Airforce. Photo: ForgottenAirfields.com
That evening a Jerry kite came over and dropped a few bombs but missed the field. He gave us an indication of what was to come, so out with the pick and shovel to dig slit trenches. The front line went something like this: to the north the British Second Army was about 8 miles ahead at Nijmegen. To the west a Polish Division of the Canadian First Army was about 3 miles away and to the east the Yanks were holding a few thousand yards away. We were close enough to hear the machine gun fire and that is close. This was the operation to end the war - we were to capture Arnhem, get onto the north German plain and turn the defences of the Rhine but we didn't succeed so that was hard luck. The first night we were there, they cut the road behind us and we were really isolated. I can imagine Daniel in the lions' den as we were in about the same predicament. Next afternoon we all dug slit trenches next to our kites and not any too soon. Our kites were away when we dug them and when they came back I was on a mainplane refuelling when you could hear the whistle of bombs coming down. I heard the first one land and before the second one landed I made a beautiful one-and-a-half off the kite into the slit trench right on top of Rubanez. A few of our other boys were not so fortunate as one was killed and seventeen wounded in that operation. They were using those M.E. 262 jet Jobs and you couldn't hear them coming, you had to trust your luck and keep on praying.
An amusing incident happened one night. They woke us up at about 2:00 A.M. and told us that enemy paratroopers had landed about three miles away. We heard machine gun fire and all the trimmings so we thought this is it - we will have to make a defence of the field. Imagine us cripples that didn't know the first thing about hand-to-hand fighting. They never came, however, and in the morning we heard the full story. A Polish Patrol had run into a British Patrol and they really had a go: they were going at it full tilt when someone realized there had been a mistake made and they called it all off. Meanwhile, the War was still going on and the Luftwaffe was showing a little more fight. There were dogfights over the field every now and then, and it was pretty hard to get an accurate description of what really goes on. One day we saw a Spit dive in amongst a few Fw 190s and two Jerrys were shot down: unfortunately, he got his too, so we just about broke even on that deal. Our boys were knocking down the odd few with an average about five to one of ours which isn't bad going in anybody's league.
A recce photo of B82 at Keent/Grave surrounded by a dike at bottom and left. Photo: Wikipedia
Our operations were curtailed to a certain extent because it rained practically every day and as we were using grass runways it was soggy and unserviceable most of the time. Meanwhile, every day we were bombed and we lost quite a few of our men. We were getting pretty twitchy and every time we heard anything that resembled a whistling sound, we would all hit the deck. One day their bombing really hit a high mark: the kites of 426 squadron had just come back from a sweep and the boys were refuelling, changing oxygen, etc., when a Jerry bomb hit a kite dead on and we lost quite a few boys besides many aircraft. I'll never forget one Saturday afternoon we were sitting in our tents when one of the boys suggested we go to the Canadian Legion for our beer ration, so I tagged along with the rest of them. We got our beer ration and on the way back we heard that lovely sound so everybody hit the deck and I really mean "HIT THE DECK". The bombs landed about fifty yards from us and you could hear the shrapnel whistling over our prone bodies. That was too close for comfort and the first thing I said when we got up was "If they had killed me, I would never have forgiven you". That drew a big laugh but a few of the boys would never laugh again. We finally got to the tents where everybody was trying to tell his version of it when I'll be darned if the same thing didn't happen again, and dear old H. got it that time. It seemed as if he was following us as our tent was full of holes. The only thing that saved us was we had dug a square hole and put our tent over top so that way we were safe unless from a direct hit.
Spitfires under attack at B-82 Grave/Keent in 1944. Photo: LiberationRoute.com
The mess hall was sure something to write home about. We had to walk through mud up to your knees until you got there. For food we got bully beef with rice for dessert most of the time. That was the most miserable place we had been yet and we were very anxious to leave for more reasons than one. Some of the boys had gone to Brussels on leave and when Saturday night came, another bunch was all ready to go when the rumour started that we were going to move. We all hoped is was true and were waiting until seven o'clock when our engineering officer was supposed to give us the 'gin or shot' as he always said. Yep, it was true — we're moving to Melsbroek just outside of Brussels [today it is the site of the Brussels Airport-Ed] and pandemonium reigned. Anybody looking on would have thought the war was over and we were ready to go back to Canada, the way everybody laughed and yelled. We loaded our trucks in the dark faster than we had ever loaded them in the daytime and were all ready to leave in the morning. We left Grave at 8:00A.M. October 25 and after a very uneventful journey we arrived in Brussels at 2:00 P.M. the same day.
Vertical photographic reconnaissance aerial showing the airfield of Melsbroek, Belgium, following a daylight attack by aircraft of Bomber Command on 15 August 1944. Craters from bombs cover most of the airfield, which was one of nine attacked in preparation for a renewed night offensive against Germany. Within a few weeks it would be captured by the Allies and used as a major base for the RAF’s 2nd Tactical Air Force. Photo: Imperial War Museum
In order to prepare Melsbroek to receive forward units of the 2nd TAF, the bulldozers and graders of No. 5205 Plant Squadron RAF busied themselves undoing the damage that the 2nd TAF had done to the field when it was in German hands. Photo: Imperial War Museum
The hangars at Meslbroek were elaborately camouflage to appear as civilian row houses and shops. The disguise included mansard roofs, windows and chimneys and likely looked pretty real from the air. One wonders if attacking pilots ever asked the question: “What is a row of houses and shops doing at an airfield?” We can still read the German No Smoking sign on the hangar’s back wall. Photo: Imperial War Museum
At this time I would like to explain how we moved. An advance party leaves with their trucks and half the equipment for the new drome. The remainder stay behind with the kites until the advance party gets the new drome ready for the kites to come in. When that is done the kites take off on a trip and instead of coming back they go to the new drome. We are operational all the time that way so we don't loose a trick. On a convoy, the food is very scarce: they ease you one sandwich at breakfast and that is supposed to do you until you hit your destination: only thing that does see us through is that most of the fellows in the truck always bring something that they have received from home.
In Brussels we had a funny arrangement - our drome was at Melsbroek but we were billeted in Machelen about four miles away. It used to be a bicycle factory but we had taken it over. Without a word of a lie, that was the coldest building in the world. The roof was all glass, a cement floor and brick walls. We were sleeping on double-decker sacks and besides our five blankets we used our great coats and ground sheets and we were still freezing. Sometimes we would get up in the morning and if there was any water in your cup it would be frozen solid. We had to dress to go to bed so that is one reason we didn't sleep there very often. We'd go into Brussels and get a room for the night and after a while, most of us had good connections in town or in Machelen so the only time we slept in the ice box was when we were on duty.
The drome was pretty fair but terribly overcrowded. We had Mitchells, Mosquitoes, Dakotas, Forts, Libs and practically every Allied kite made. They had to queue up for landing and take off. We have seen a Dakota wait as long as half an hour for takeoff. It is understood, therefore, why it wasn't very practical for a Spit wing as we have, to be able to take off roughly in one minute. One of our kites (E) went for a Burton [gone missing or crashed — a wartime RAF expression —Ed] and really smashed up. The pilot walked out of it as if nothing happened. We couldn't understand it because the plane was a total wreck, more like a concertina that an aircraft. The bigwigs were looking for a new drome and they found one at Evère on the other side of Brussels. It didn't take us very long to move and in a day had taken over our new drome. It was every bit as good as Melsbroek as far as we were concerned and in many aspects better since we were alone on the drome and could carry on with the business on hand.
At first we were on the grass part of the drome, but owing to the fact that snow and rain were making the ground too soggy, we moved to a hangar where they had asphalt tarmac. The war had got into the holding stage for the winter when Von Rundstedt [Field Marshal in command of German forces on Western front-Ed] broke through right on our front. There was panic almighty and we had to go to and from work with our rifles. The weather was very bad — fog and rain — so we didn't get off the deck for days. Around Christmas we converted from Spitfire IXbs to Spitfire XVIbs and the consensus of opinion by the pilots was that is wasn't much of an improvement. The boys were split up in two crews, one for Christmas and one for New Year's. I was off the Christmas and spent it with the people in Brussels, Mr. & Mrs. Tedesco. After, I wished that I had taken New Year’s.
On 3 September 1944 Haren-Evère area was liberated, and only three days later the first RAF squadrons landed. It was designated as Advanced Landing Ground B-56 Evère. As the Germans had left in a hurry, the twin airfields needed very little repair work. Between September 1944 and October 1945, the British further expanded the runways, taxiways and aprons. When World War II ended the two airfields continued to be used by the military. It took until March 1946 before the airfields were fully released for civilian use..
421 Squadron Spitfires at B-56 airfield at Evère, Belgium prepare for a winter operation as an RAF Transport Command Hudson touches down on the cleared runway. Photo: Imperial War Museum
127 Wing Spitfires at B-56 Evère, Belgium get ready for an early morning sortie in winter conditions. Fitters like the author made sure they were ready under any conditions. Photo: LAC
The Belgiques don't do anything in halves, they go flat out. The cafés opened at 6:00 P.M. on the 23rd of December and went all night and day until the evening of the 26th. They never seemed to get tired. Most of us were getting a little fatigued but the Belgians were just taking it in stride. For New Year's the same thing happened —everybody was going flat out two days before and two days afterwards. We had a hangout called The Continental and most of the boys were there to celebrate the year 1945 — Victory year in Europe and I hoped Asia also.
Operation Bödenplatte
I was one of the lucky ones to be on duty New Year's Day, the blackest and yet the most victorious day for some of the Air Forces. It was a beautiful day and as usual we had our kites ready to take off. At first light, pilots there were also ready but the order came through not to take off as the runway was too icy. Around 8:30 A.M. a slew of kites came towards the drome. As usual, everybody starts saying what he thinks they are: one says they are Mustangs, another says Thunderbolts, the third said they were Hurricanes, when our C.O. cried out "Duck for cover, they're Jerrys!".
It never entered anybody's mind that the Hun might put up fifty kites; a few minutes later the show started and they strafed us from all angles. 416 squadron was caught on the perimeter going out on the runway and they didn't have a chance. 403 squadron got four kites in the air. One was shot down on takeoff while another got three Jerrys and the D.F.C. for his troubles [This was pilot Officer Steven Butte. He survived the war and died in 2010-Ed]. Really was a marvellous piece of work to get off the deck against fifteen to one, but he did it and that shows the stuff Canadians are made of. However, it was an all Jerry show and he really gave us Hell.
403 Squadron Spitfire pilot Pilot Officer Steve Butte of British Columbia, shot down three German fighter aircraft (Two Bf 109s and one Fw 190) on New Year’s Day during the Luftwaffe’s Bôdenplatte attack. This photo was taken later as we can see his Distinguished Flying Cross ribbon. Later in his life, Butte would serve as Honorary Colonel of 403 Squadron, then a helicopter training unit commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Dean Black. Photo via https://rcaf403squadron.wordpress.com
About 50 kites were knocked out on the ground and a few of our boys had got it. Considering the scale of the attack, very few were killed for most of the boys had ample cover. The war must be won so we didn't let this minor setback worry us. The field was cleared immediately and although none of the squadrons had enough kites, we were out for revenge and started right in flying. 126 Wing’s airfield was more fortunate. Most of their kites were flying when the Hun showed up and they knocked down 26. We were finally pushed down to second place after leading the race for Hun aircraft showdown since 2nd Tactical Air Force was formed. Next morning, we started in doing runway readiness. Six kites were always on the runway with their pilots strapped in ready to go, just in case the Hun thought he could pull a repeat performance, but he never showed up.
The aftermath of the Operation Bödenplatte attack at Melsbroek on January 1st, 1945. Bödenplatte called for a surprise attack against 16 Allied air bases in Belgium, the Netherlands and France, resulting in the destruction or crippling of as many aircraft, hangars and airstrips as possible. Photo: Imperial War Museum
From belgians-remember-them.eu : Operation Bodenplatte, the German aerial attack of 1 January 1945, hit Melsbroek hard. According to Emil Clade (leading III./JG 27), the AAA positions were not manned, and aircraft were bunched together or in lines, which made perfect targets. The attack caused considerable damage among the units based there and was a great success. The Recce Wings had lost two entire squadrons worth of machines. No. 69 Squadron RAF lost 11 Vickers Wellingtons and two damaged. Possibly all No. 140 Squadron RAF′s Mosquitoes were lost. At least five Spitfires from No. 16 Squadron RAF were destroyed. No. 271 Squadron RAF lost at least seven Harrow transports "out of action". A further 15 other aircraft were destroyed. 139 Wing reported five B-25s destroyed and five damaged. Some 15 to 20 USAAF bombers were also destroyed. Another source states that 13 Wellingtons were destroyed, as were five Mosquitoes, four Auster and five Avro Ansons from the Tactical Air Forces 2nd Communications Squadron. Three Spitfires were also lost and two damaged. At least one RAF Transport Command Douglas Dakota was destroyed.
Meanwhile, our social life in Brussels was progressing by leaps and bounds. Everybody had made friends and there were very few [local] families that didn't have a 127 man visit them at one time or other. The 421 squadron hangout was the Continental and you could see most of the boys downing the odd Cognac with beer as a chaser. They had a pretty good orchestra — every man was a star soloist on his special instrument and the leader could sure beat out the boogie on the piano. Many were the nights and francs spent there and we were very sorry when the time finally came for us to leave dear old Brussels. Must not leave Brussels without mentioning a word about their famous Manneken-Pis. I heard so much about it that one day I got Mrs. Tedesco to take me to see it. When I got there, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I expected to see a nice park with a big statue in the centre, but instead, it was on an insignificant corner on a dingy street and was only about two feet high. I would have missed it entirely if someone hadn't been with me. I had a good laugh out of it anyway and bought some souvenirs of it.
Brussels’ Manneken-Pis fountain, depicting a life-sized child taking a piss into a fountain is a tourist favourite to this day.
Around the first of January, the weather was very bad so we weren't doing much flying. Von Rundstedt had been pushed back to his starting point and was still retreating. The Yanks were going to open their offensive at any time when I finally got my first leave on the continent to [go to] England. I spent most of my leave in Glasgow but down to London I went for a few days. In London, the rockets [V-1 and V-2 German weapons] were holding sway so I heard a few drop but that didn't interest me very much after seeing them take off. The most beautiful dance hall anyone would want to see is [in?] Covent Garden and it rivals any we had seen in the western hemisphere. Leave was all too short and back to dear old Brussels. It sure was a bad trip back as we hit a storm on the Channel so had to stay on it for three days and three nights. Shortly after I got back we were ready to leave Brussels. After five months we were leaving. Most of the boys knew Brussels as well as their own home towns and it felt as if we were leaving them when we left.
At 8:00 A.M. March 3, 1945, we departed and arrived at our destination at a place called Peer at noon, the same day, a very short and pleasant trip. The drome had been built for medium bombers and we were using it temporarily until they came. It was a field with American wire runways and it was good. The weather was breaking and the war was going good so we were all in the groove again, after so many months of stalemate. Our airfield was also coming to the top of the ladder again and everybody was comparatively happy. We were buying eggs and chickens off the farmers and were fattening up for the last campaign — the invasion of the Rhineland. The Allies had cleared the Jerrys from the west bank of the river, a few days previous, and were getting ready to deal the final blow.
On Friday March 23, we were told that the big show would start at 10:00 A.M., Saturday and there was feverish activity going on to get everything in shape to support the paratroops that were to be dropped. Saturday morning was an ideal day. Warm, not too breezy and perfectly clear. [This was the opening of Operation Plunder, the Allied crossing of the Rhine - Ed]. At 9:00 A.M., the first bunch were sighted about five miles away and from there on the sky was filled with Dakotas, Commandos, Sterlings, Halifaxes and Libs. It's pretty hard to put down on paper that glorious parade of aircraft — some were towing gliders, while others were carrying men. [As part of Operation Plunder, American, British and Canadian troops carried out Operation Varsity, an airborne drop around Wesel, Germany- Ed]. It was the mightiest air armada anyone had ever seen and I might go so far as to say anyone will ever see. From 9:00 A.M., until the Libs with their supplies flew over at 1:40 P.M., the sky was filled with kites going and coming. We didn't know which way to look first as they were coming in all directions and after the first hour there was as many kites going as coming and it was a real sight to see. A few of the Dakotas were shot up and made emergency landings on our field. By nightfall we had about ten strewn all over the place but considering the magnitude of the attack, the casualties to kites were amazingly few. We asked a few of the pilots what is was like over there and they said everything was going fine but they wouldn't commit themselves any further.
American WACO gliders en route to Wessel as part of Operation Varsity. Photo: warfarehistorynetwork.com
The news that night was great and we had really smashed the German's supposedly invincible Rhine River line. From then on it was hard to follow the armies. First the British Second Army would dash about 60 miles in a few hours, then Patton's American Third Army would carry the ball for a little while and so it went every day, a different army going flat out for Berlin. I say different army only to show that everybody had a hand in the common cause — 'THE COMPLETE AND UTTER DEFEAT OF GERMANY." They were doing the same thing as the first sweep through France and they were outdistancing us again but 127 Flying Circus was not to be outdone and away we went on another move.
We left Peer at 3:00 P.M. March 31, and after a few hours ride reached our destination: Eindhoven in Holland. A very short stay for us but the dromes in Germany weren't cleared of rubble as yet and that was the best we could do. However, sixty miles helped some and we were doing a lot of bombing to help the British Second Army on the road to Bremen and Hamburg. We had been to Eindhoven before and the place held little interest for most of us. The weather was very good so we were doing plenty of flying. Day in and day out more of our targets for tonight were being taken such as Osnabrück, Mannerheim, Karlsruhe, Münster and many more too numerous to mention. We were also freeing many of our prisoners of war who were extremely happy. We were glad they were free but our time for rejoicing hadn't arrived as yet.
Officially the war was still on; unofficially we thought it would end anytime, but the official verdict is the one that counts so into Germany we must go and get the Hun in his own lair. Our move into Germany was planned very well. We were moving to a place called Diepholz about 260 miles away and we had to do it without losing any operational time. We, the advanced party, went to Goch and serviced the kites while the rear party went straight through to Diepholz. We had a very interesting trip, those two moves.
We crossed the border of Germany and couldn't see the difference between that and any other country. We crossed the Rhine at Wessel and it's quite the river. Then we rolled through perfect flat country and saw all our gliders all over the place. Some were in pretty bad condition but there were a lot in just as good a condition as the day they were made. They were all about ten miles in or further and they must have done pretty good work until the rest of the gang caught up with them. We didn't go through any big cities. We were supposed to go through Osnabrück but were bypassed at the last minute. All the villages hadn't escaped damage and the war was in every German home where it ought to be. We stayed at a place called Rheine, a half-way walk to our destination. The authorities didn't think is was very safe to go further without an armoured column going with us from Rheine to Diepholz.
Hundreds of WACO gliders litter the landscape near Wessel.. Photo: warfarehistorynetwork.com
Left Rheine bright and early on the 13th and after an uneventful journey, we reached Diepholz at 2:00 P.M. We moved into billets that were red hot and weren't doing too badly. We had just got our trucks unloaded when in came our kites, not giving us a chance to get a breather. The pilots were very anxious to take off from this drome as it was the most advanced [Allied] air field in Germany at this time and at one spot only eight miles from the front lines. In one spot there was a front line of our own as a reported 300 Germans were holding out in a forest about a mile away from the drome. Our kites would strafe the woods from time to time and we would watch the fun. We were sure glad we were on the right side. The advanced party would always rib the rear about getting some over-the-Rhine-time in but we could always come back with how about getting some German-time in but it was all in the nature of good fun. We had to have something to amuse ourselves with this frat ban on [ban on fraternizing with the locals-Ed].
Clipped-wing Supermarine Spitfire LF Mark IXEs, of 'B' Flight, No 443 Squadron RCAF, parked in a dispersal surfaced with pierced steel planks (PSP), at B114/Diepholz, Germany. Photo: Imperial War Museum
By this time the war was rapidly drawing to a close and we were trying to finish it as soon as possible. We had a resort where some of the boys had a 48-hour pass from time to time and they would do a little “fratting” on the sly. Our station was used as the Depot for flying [Allied] prisoners-of-war back to England and some of those boys really had a tough time of it. They all agreed the Germans were all bad and often tried to steal their Red Cross parcels. They would get them back by bribing the guards with cigarettes. We were just settled down there when another move came up and were away again.
Left Diepholz at 1 :00 P.M. April 28th and landed at our last wartime drome at 7:00 P.M. in the evening. The place was called Reinsehlen and I can't figure out to this day why. There wasn't anything by that name near it, the nearest village being called Schneverdingen. It was only a big field and we moved into tents for the first time since we had left Grave in October, 1944. It was nice living in the open again and everybody liked it. That night we heard that Himmler wanted to surrender to the British and Americans only, but we naturally turned it down as it was surrender to the big three or in a little while he would have nothing to surrender. The Second Army had captured Bremen and were on the road to Hamburg. Patton's Third Army was in Czechoslovakia, Hodge's First Army was across the Elbe River and the Russians were battling for Berlin when May 1st rolled around and we were definitely on the last lap.
Contrary to the author’s belief that there was no place named Reinsehlen near the B-154 airfield, there was and still is a small village by that name nearby. Today, the larger B-154 is no longer a functioning airfield, but half a mile to the west lies Segelfluggelände Höpen (the Höpen Glider Field). Photo: wikipedia
That day a German kite flew over the drome with a couple of mechanics in it as pilots. They were flying around in circles when a Spit took after them so they decided to come in and give themselves up. They said they were trying to reach home but had got lost. That night we heard great news — the Germans in Italy had surrendered to Field Marshall Alexander and we were closing in faster than we imagined. The grapevine was working overtime and everything was in a turmoil. Wagers almighty on when the war will end, that's all we were dreaming, thinking and talking about. History is to be made shortly and old 127 is in on the kill, and rightly so, we were the first operational wing on the continent and were using the slogan, "We started it and finished it". May 4th was another day and we were bombing the Kiel harbour with our Spits all day. In the evening we were sitting in our tents making a brew and chewing the fat when all hell broke loose. Ack, Ack guns were booming, flares went shooting up all over the place. Yes, it finally happened, the war was over, on our sector all the German troops in the north including Denmark and Norway had surrendered to Field Marshall Montgomery, commander of 21st Group. We went berserk and really got plastered. We were up practically all night. Bonfires were going all over the field, the guns still kept up their booming, flares and rockets were still going everywhere when we finally turned in — happy in the thought that we had lived to see the fulfillment of our Great Crusade.
Archie Angus Robertson