[bobbysocks]

Three Squadron flew the last Kittyhawk operation of 1942 on 30 December, and it is reported in "Fighters Over The Desert" (by Shores and Ring) as follows:

"At 1350 hours seven aircraft of this unit patrolled over Bir el Zidan, refuelling at Alem el Gzina so that they were able to remain in the area until 1730 hours. During the afternoon, fifteen Bf 109's of 11 JG77 attacked, but the Australians were able to claim victories without losses, F/Lt Watt, F/Lt Bordman and Sgt Righetti each shooting down one fighter. Watts claiming a second probably destroyed. Oblt. Burchard Boker was killed, and Uffz. Gunter Mielenz became a POW."

My diary notes help reconstruct the scene that day:

We had flown to Gzina, a landing ground that had been found by Danny Boardman, and which we knew as "Danny's Acre", refuelled, and took off at about 3.15pm to patrol over our forward troops, who were south west of Buerat. Danny was leading, and the gaggle included Randall Watt, his No.2 Alan Righetti, and David Ritchie with me as his No.2. David had to return early.

Nearing the area, we saw trucks burning, where 109's had apparently been strafing. We were at 10,000ft when Danny reported 12 aircraft at 2 o'clock on the same level and ordered us to climb. Six 109's came out of the sun, two were behind us, and seven more were above. They attacked from all directions and split us up completely.

I was attacked by two of them, and in taking evasive action, spun from 8,000 to 1,500 ft; thought I’d "had it", not from the spin which I controlled OK, but from the 109's. Fortunately for some reason, they didn't follow me down.

I climbed back and was attacked by two more 109's who did very poor "head ons", which allowed me to get a quick shot at one, with no result. Pulled away and climbed up to 5,000ft where I saw a 109 sitting about 1,000ft above me. We watched each other for a while, and he was so intent on trying to get into position to lodge an attack, that he didn't see Watty who came in behind him. The next moment I saw the 109 simply disintegrate and catch fire, (on our return to base I was able to confirm this for him). Watty got so excited that he called to me to "come on up Russ and we'll get some more". I climbed as quickly as I could, but didn't get anywhere near him, because he had seen 4 more 109's west of him, engaged them and got a probable.

I was on my own now, saw another aircraft east of me, thought it may have been a 109, but it turned out to be Danny Boardman, and we came back to base together.

In his excellent book "Desert Warriors", Russell Brown includes reports from Danny, Watt and Alan Righetti. Each of those three destroyed a 109.

And so ended 1942.

January of 1943 was to be a time of conflicting emotions for us. On the morning of the 14th, we were excited because mail had come in, but the day was to end on a very distressing note: we were to have five aircraft shot down.

Our first job was to be top cover to 260 squadron, who was to strafe, but they couldn't find the target, so we returned to base. Late in the morning, 12 Kittys led by Bob Gibbes were to be close escort to Bostons, who were to bomb Bir Dufan airfield. 450 squadron was to be medium cover, 250 as top, and 260 had a roving commission; 48 Kittyhawks was thought to be impregnable.

However, a fair force of 109's from the ace Staffel 1/JG 77, led by Major Muncheberg (who just 8 days later was to shoot down Alan Righetti, who became a POW, and also do a fair bit of damage to my own aircraft). There were also some Macchi 202's in the enemy force. The 109's attacked and the result for 3 Squadron was five aircraft lost. Les Weatherburn became a POW, Norm Caldwell was found in a hospital as the Allies advanced, Bob Gibbes aircraft was hit, he belly landed and later returned to base. Sadly Bill Diehm and Allan Tonkin (on his first operation) were killed. 450 also lost two pilots.

In the afternoon conditions were very poor with sandstorms around, and only seven of us got off. Garth Clabburn was leading but was forced to return with engine problems, and Rex Bayly took over. We were to do a dive bombing job, and also act as top cover to 450 Squadron. Six 109's attacked us and I was lucky to be able to avoid one who was right on my tail. I saw a 109 closing in on Nev Austin's aircraft, and was making my way over to try and help, but before I could get there Nev was shot down. Rex Bayly had also seen Nev in trouble, was closer than me and able to get behind the 109 and shoot him down. When we left the area there were two fires on the ground. Ted Hankey was missing for a while, but it turned out he had put down at another landing ground. Rex Bayly’s account of this encounter is also reported in Russell Brown's book. While Gibby was missing, Randall Watt took over. On the 27th, Randall was the fourth pilot from the operations of the14th, to be killed. He was also one of four sons, all of whom who were lost to a mother, during the war.

Major Muncheberg was probably the top German pilot of this time, and at the time of his death was credited with 135 victories. He had done most of his fighting in the European theatre of war, and his score there was 124, plus 11 in North Africa. His death occurred in a bizarre manner, and is recorded in "Fighters Over Tunisia":

"Around 0930 on the 23rd March 1943, Major Muncheberg of Stab/JG 77 took off from La Fauconnerie with his wingman, Lt. Strasen, and headed for the Mareth area to see "if there was anything to shoot down". Strasen saw below some Spitfires of the 52nd Fighter Group near Sened, and both dived to attack, Muncheberg attacking Captain Theodore Sweetland, whose aircraft began to pour smoke as it was hit in the engine. Muncheberg's speed was so great that he got too near to his 135th victim, and what happened next is not very clear. Strasen reported that Sweetland's aircraft exploded and that debris fell on Muncheberg's wings, one of which snapped off. Captain Hugh L. Williamson reported however, that Sweetland deliberately rammed the Messerschmidt with his burning Spitfire. Whatever the truth was, both aircraft fell to the ground in flames; at this moment Strasen shot down Williamson, who baled out, all three aircraft crashing near kilometre stone No.82 on the Gabes-Gafsa road, the wreckage of the Messerschmidt flanked by that of the two Spitfires. So died one of the Luftwaffe's most outstanding fighter pilots and leader."

MOMENTS TO REMEMBER ... by BRUCE BURCHFIELD.



Momentous, indeed incredible, the might of Rommel's Army, which had almost cracked the gate to Egypt, the Suez and the Far East, was now, in August 1943, hell bent to get to Messina in the NE tip of Sicily and evacuate across the Straits of Messina to Regio on the Italian mainland.

We for our part, had to inflict as much damage as we could in daylight hours. In the closing days of August the narrow Straits of Messina and the air space above was an incredible sight. It was estimated that there was more AA fire concentrated in this tiny area than in the Ruhr valley.

88mm, 40mm and 20mm guns were spewing out metal, RN cruisers at a respectable distance were softening up the Regio area; Spitfires, Kittyhawks, Boston bombers and German FW190 s and JU88 s were in the melee.

We flew into this madness, dive bombing port installations and quite frankly we were very relieved to break away and head for home. Regrettably His Majesty's Kittyhawk CV-L was modestly holed.

Italy capitulated on 3/9/43, her navy went to Malta, her Axis partner Germany dug in and fought a tenacious retreat throughout Italy over many months.

On a more personal experience, my diary records 10th January 1944: our six aircraft were strafing German motor transport - I was 3rd down this valley, had some success and weaving along the valley. I passed over two armoured cars off the road and on a slope. Climbing away, bingo ... holes in starboard wing, two more through engine and plenty of wind behind my head - a shell had taken my radio right out - about 18" to the rear.

The motor was spluttering, engine gauges crazy, black smoke in abundance and I was too low to bail our. Undid my harness - mouth very dry and the landscape most inhospitable to crash land. Rocked the aircraft, jiggled the throttle and mixture controls - motor picked up in spasmodic bursts and air speed recorded a very slow 120 mph. Weaved along a valley to the Adriatic coast near city of Pescara and noticed that my landing flaps had dropped to about 30 degrees - no hydraulics.

The AA batteries on the coast gave me a warm welcome - a ponderous smoking aircraft but perhaps my laboured progress upset them for the "black stuff" was bursting well ahead. More splutters so down to water level to ditch - motor picked up - by this time I was on friendly waters and could see our coastal landing strip ahead. Coaxed the air craft to about 800ft, still barely airborne - a horrible smell of burning.

The duty pilot in the strip could see me - fired a green flare - a great sight. Stuffed the nose down and came into friendly territory, landed with a thump - too fast for landing flaps would not lower fully and at about 40mph the fire in the engine manifested itself.

I had switched off everything. pointed the plane to a sand dune on the beach and went out of the cockpit onto the wing and bingo, on to "terra firma" a great feeling. A momentous happening - maybe; but there are many other air crew who would have been less fortunate and I salute them.

Incidentally the aircraft was a Warhawk powered by a Packard manufactured "Rolls Royce" Merlin. There was a fist size hole in the super charger housing which exuded fuel mixture into the exhaust stack. Whilst the aircraft was moving at some speed the fire could not take control because of slip stream. One engine mounting and one ignition bank had been shot away as well ... but I will always have a soft spot for Packard Merlins.

Did a fighter pilot's Instructors' course at Point Cook and was posted to Mildura as an Instructor. It was here that I heard of the end of the war and in the celebrations that followed many of us paused to recall the mates that did not make it and also pay tribute to the efficiency of our ground staff both at home and abroad.

J.C.Waters tells the story of "BLACKIE and BLONDIE" in his book:

"VALIANT YOUTH"



This is a story of the remarkable parallels in the fighting life of "Blackie" - Wing Commander Alan Charles Rawlinson, D.F.C. and Bar, and of "Blondie" - Squadron Leader John Rowley Perrin, D.F.C.

They joined the R.A.A.F on the same day; they were cadet sergeants together; they were posted to the same squadron and were in the same flight; they left the Middle East, each with a bag of eight enemy planes destroyed; each shot down three on two occasions; they were flight commanders together; they were shot down within a week of each other in the same spot in the desert, and rescued by the same General. Back home they were together leading companion squadrons on the Advanced Air-line in New Guinea.

Rawlinson was 19 and Perrin 21 when they joined the R.A.A.F. on July 15 1938. That was Perrin's birthday. Both were clerks in Melbourne offices. They met that day for the first time. Both were State High School boys. Rawlinson, East Melbourne Harrier Club champion in 1935-36, dark, with high cheek-bones and the quick, flashing eyes of a Bedouin; Perrin, snowy-headed, light blue eyes in a smiling, hot-blooded, Huckleberry Finn face. They became Good Companions. It was not long before they were dubbed the Flying Twins, one called Blackie, the other Blondie.

They were together when they first drew enemy blood. It was over Bardia when the Italian armies were being routed by Wavell in the first big push of '41. They were leading sections when eight of their machines came up against 10 enemy bombers and 45 enemy fighters. Eight against 55. Giving away heavy odds - as they had to in those days - held no terrors for the Australians. Blondie, with "Woof" Arthur, belted a fighter into the sea, and Blackie, fighting from 17,000 feet down to 10,000, got a probable.

Not long after that, Blackie, through no fault of his own, broke away from the parallel line. Blondie was away collecting Hurricanes. Blackie, in a Gladiator, was forced out of a fight with Italians. His engine cut out and he force-landed in the desert. He got the engine going again and staggered off with dozens of shrapnel holes in wings and fuselage. A mile from the drome the engine gave up. He landed and walked in.

One day in February '41, Blondie went off leading three of the new Hurricanes. They were south of Benghazi. Wavell's army had travelled over 400 miles in 56 days. Blondie spotted nine German Stukas dive-bombing and strafing Australian troops. He could not see any fighter escort.

"Too good to miss," he said.

He dived to the attack, shot down a Stuka. Suddenly, out of the blue, swooped 15 Messerschmitt twin-engine fighters. It was the first time they had appeared in the desert. A few seconds, and Blondie was alone - one against 15.

Probably there was a smile on his stubborn lips. In the colourful jargon of the air, he "got stuck into them." He shot down one. Then a cannon shell burst in his petrol tank. Slightly wounded, soaked in petrol, and with the Hurricane afire, he turned furiously as a wasp on his assailant, pressed the button, and shot him down in flames. He tried to get still another German before he crash-landed. The Germans followed him down to strafe him. He dodged over the sand like a hare at a Plumpton and was picked up by Major-General Stan Savige of the 6th Australian Division.

In that fight Blondie won his D.F.C.

Seven days later, Blackie was doing a reconnaissance over the same area. He crash-landed in a mine-field and was picked up by the same general and staff. In April he caught up with Blondie's score. Eight Hurricanes took on 18 Stukas and Messerschmitts. They knocked out nine of them. Blackie bagged three Stukas one after the other. Two days later Blondie forged ahead again. A flight of eight mixed it with 15 of the enemy. They shot down eight. Blondie bagged three Stukas, too. One after the other, just like that.

After that they moved to Syria for the war against the Vichy French. They changed from Hurricanes to Tomahawks. Blackie became O.C. C Flight and Blondie O.C. B Flight. Peter Jeffrey, D.S.O., D.F.C., who had destroyed four German planes in single-handed combat, one in the air, three on the ground, was squadron C.O. He was their original instructor at Point Cook.

Over in Syria Blondie quickly added a Vichy French to his tally. It was in a fight over the oil pipe-line at Palmyra. Two days later Blackie's flight met up with six Vichy French light bombers over the same zone. The six were shot down in flames and Blackie got his second three in a row. For his leadership and courage in that operation, on top of his desert record, he won his D.F.C.

The partnership was broken then. The days of fighting against heavy odds and strafing in companionship ended. Blackie, with an ammunition train and several staff cars to his credit, Blondie wearing the scalps of despatch riders at his belt. Each had his own speciality when not in combat or beating up aerodromes, trains, and enemy dumps.

Blondie came home. Blackie, appointed C.O. of the famous No. 3 Squadron, went back to the desert. There, very soon, 22 Tomahawks were jumped by 25 Messerschmitt 109s, the new crack German fighter. The fight lasted for 65 minutes, one of the longest desert air battles on record. It was fairly even going, with the scale just slightly in our favour. Six Messerschmitts were destroyed. We lost five. Blackie added to his score one in flames, one probable, one damaged.

His last desert scrap was on November 30, a year after the first. Twenty-two Tomahawks took on a German-Italian circus of 60 to 70. The battle swirled from 10,000 feet down to ground level. When it ended 12 more enemy planes had been destroyed and the squadron's total pushed to 106. When Blackie left to join Blondie in Australia's fight against the Japanese, the aggregate was 135. Fifty had been shot down in ten weeks.

That is how Blackie won his Bar.