Scan barcode
komet2020's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
Shortly before the TV series Masters of the Air about the bomber war as waged by the Eighth Air Force of the U.S. Army Air Force (USAAF) premiered, I took to reading this book by one of Britain's most distinguished WWII bomber pilots in RAF Bomber Command: Leonard Cheshire.
Originally published in 1943, Bomber Pilot is the author's reflections on his experiences of being part of a bomber crew flying Whitleys (twin engine bombers) on missions over Germany during 1940-41. What surprised me in reading about the RAF nighttime bombing campaign at that stage of the war was the low altitudes at which many of the bomber units carried out the bombing of military targets. For instance, it wasn't unusual to bomb at altitudes ranging from 7,000 to 10,000 feet.
Cheshire also shares with the reader the close relationships forged among the crews. To survive a combat tour depended on teamwork -- every member of a bomber crew knowing his job and having implicit confidence in each other to work well together seamlessly --- as well as luck. A couple of times, Cheshire had close calls. One was over Cologne in which the Whitley he was flying was struck by anti-aircraft fire and caught fire which temporarily blinded the wireless operator. Luckily, the crew was able to douse the flames and set the Whitley aright after it had tumbled through the sky. Eventually, they returned safely to England.
The second close call came over Magdeburg in Eastern Germany:
"On E.T.A. [estimated time of arrival], we felt certain of our position and therefore decided to come down and look for clearer air. The guns opened up, and, in spite of the cloud, were exceptionally accurate. I feathered all four airscrews [of the Halifax bomber he was flying], switched the motors off, and turned through 180 [degrees]. It was a curios sensation watching a row of dead props over Germany, but none the less it fooled the defences completely; they continued firing way behind us along our previous course and then finally stopped altogether. At 9,000 feet, for safety's sake, I tried to restart one engine, just to see if everything was in order, but everything was not in order: it refused to pick up. I called Paddy back from the fuselage and we got to work. Feathering knobs, starter buttons, magneto switches, throttles and airscrew pitch controls, all at the the same time. It must have been a funny sight watching us, but nothing very much happened. The engines turned over slowly and even fired for a brief moment, but that was all. At 7,000 feet the starboard outer started and of course the ack-ack opened up immediately. What we really wanted was the inboards, because they worked the generators, and the batteries could not last much longer under this strain. At 5,000 feet the starboard inner started: both on the same side; with bombs we could not maintain height. One of the port engines kept bursting into life and then stopping again. At 4,000 feet we jettisoned the bombs.
"What with the roar of shells and the crackling of the intercom and looking round at everything, trying to make out which engine really was running, it was difficult to know what was happening, but at least the bombs fell in the middle of Magdeburg's defences. Shortly afterwards a heavy burst hit us underneath the port wing and threw us into a spin or a dive - I could not make out which. The instruments must have hit the stops, for they went out of action completely, except for the altimeters, which still showed a rapid rate of descent. The controls locked hard over in the starboard position and nothing that I could do would move them. The instruments showed no signs of recovering and amid all the ack-ack we were still going down: we could not be more than 2,000 feet from the ground.
" 'The aircraft's no longer under control; you'll have to jump ... Jump!'
"But nobody moved from their seat. Crock, though we did not know it then, was standing in the fuselage without a helmet and oblivious of what was going on.
"Come on, Ches, you can do better than that. Come on, sir, we trust you. Pull us out of it: you've come out of worse holes than this. Come on, sir.
" 'Yes, Jock, I think I can.'
"I realized then what had happened. The shell-burst had thrown us on our side, and simultaneously both port motors had started, forcing us further and further over. I throttled them back quickly, and we returned to normal. As we broke cloud, six fighters in close formation flashed by, but they did not attack."
I'm so glad the management of the cinema (where I had gone to see a movie today) had found this book after I had so foolishly left it there. It was the second time in less than a month that I had lost this book. I went back to the cinema to reclaim it. Now that I've read this wartime memoir, I won't let it out of my sight. Bomber Pilot is a book that faithfully conveys the precarious life of an airman on active service in wartime Britain.
Originally published in 1943, Bomber Pilot is the author's reflections on his experiences of being part of a bomber crew flying Whitleys (twin engine bombers) on missions over Germany during 1940-41. What surprised me in reading about the RAF nighttime bombing campaign at that stage of the war was the low altitudes at which many of the bomber units carried out the bombing of military targets. For instance, it wasn't unusual to bomb at altitudes ranging from 7,000 to 10,000 feet.
Cheshire also shares with the reader the close relationships forged among the crews. To survive a combat tour depended on teamwork -- every member of a bomber crew knowing his job and having implicit confidence in each other to work well together seamlessly --- as well as luck. A couple of times, Cheshire had close calls. One was over Cologne in which the Whitley he was flying was struck by anti-aircraft fire and caught fire which temporarily blinded the wireless operator. Luckily, the crew was able to douse the flames and set the Whitley aright after it had tumbled through the sky. Eventually, they returned safely to England.
The second close call came over Magdeburg in Eastern Germany:
"On E.T.A. [estimated time of arrival], we felt certain of our position and therefore decided to come down and look for clearer air. The guns opened up, and, in spite of the cloud, were exceptionally accurate. I feathered all four airscrews [of the Halifax bomber he was flying], switched the motors off, and turned through 180 [degrees]. It was a curios sensation watching a row of dead props over Germany, but none the less it fooled the defences completely; they continued firing way behind us along our previous course and then finally stopped altogether. At 9,000 feet, for safety's sake, I tried to restart one engine, just to see if everything was in order, but everything was not in order: it refused to pick up. I called Paddy back from the fuselage and we got to work. Feathering knobs, starter buttons, magneto switches, throttles and airscrew pitch controls, all at the the same time. It must have been a funny sight watching us, but nothing very much happened. The engines turned over slowly and even fired for a brief moment, but that was all. At 7,000 feet the starboard outer started and of course the ack-ack opened up immediately. What we really wanted was the inboards, because they worked the generators, and the batteries could not last much longer under this strain. At 5,000 feet the starboard inner started: both on the same side; with bombs we could not maintain height. One of the port engines kept bursting into life and then stopping again. At 4,000 feet we jettisoned the bombs.
"What with the roar of shells and the crackling of the intercom and looking round at everything, trying to make out which engine really was running, it was difficult to know what was happening, but at least the bombs fell in the middle of Magdeburg's defences. Shortly afterwards a heavy burst hit us underneath the port wing and threw us into a spin or a dive - I could not make out which. The instruments must have hit the stops, for they went out of action completely, except for the altimeters, which still showed a rapid rate of descent. The controls locked hard over in the starboard position and nothing that I could do would move them. The instruments showed no signs of recovering and amid all the ack-ack we were still going down: we could not be more than 2,000 feet from the ground.
" 'The aircraft's no longer under control; you'll have to jump ... Jump!'
"But nobody moved from their seat. Crock, though we did not know it then, was standing in the fuselage without a helmet and oblivious of what was going on.
"Come on, Ches, you can do better than that. Come on, sir, we trust you. Pull us out of it: you've come out of worse holes than this. Come on, sir.
" 'Yes, Jock, I think I can.'
"I realized then what had happened. The shell-burst had thrown us on our side, and simultaneously both port motors had started, forcing us further and further over. I throttled them back quickly, and we returned to normal. As we broke cloud, six fighters in close formation flashed by, but they did not attack."
I'm so glad the management of the cinema (where I had gone to see a movie today) had found this book after I had so foolishly left it there. It was the second time in less than a month that I had lost this book. I went back to the cinema to reclaim it. Now that I've read this wartime memoir, I won't let it out of my sight. Bomber Pilot is a book that faithfully conveys the precarious life of an airman on active service in wartime Britain.
More...