In Memory Philip Albert Arnold - Wo2 Air Gunner, Position Rear Gunner, 192 Squadron
Dear Janine,
Thank you for offering to include a piece about my father. He would be very happy, though I can hear him saying ‘Don’t bother, lots of people did far more’.
I’m pretty certain he mentioned a guy called Vic Vinnell and Jack Fisher too. I think it may have been regarding a sortie from Norwich when they hitched a lift from a farmer who had what we now know as ‘Tourettes’. He said they wished they had walked as the driver was swearing, swerving around and involuntarily throwing his arm out the window. Does that ring any bells …?
Philip Albert Arnold was born on 4th April 1920 in Northampton.
RAF EARLY YEARS
Our family had a shoe factory in Northampton but Father was bored and couldn’t settle in. He was fascinated by flying since being taken for a flight when a boy by, I think, Sir Henry Seagrave when he used to fly at Air Shows.
He joined up at 18 in 1938. After basic training he was given a choice of stations to be posted to. Father saw Cranwell and selected that, mistaking it for CRANFIELD which was only a few miles from home.
It was a bit of shock to experience the discipline and structure at Cranwell and he was glad when posted to Upavon where things calmed down. He was selected for pilot training and was doing well until he pranged a Harvard on landing. It flipped right over, caught fire, and he was lucky to get out alive and unscarred. The RAF took a dim view of such things so he was transferred to Air Gunner Radio Operator training.
Off to Hemswell. During this period he flew in Hawker Harts, Whitleys, Hampdens and the like. Like so many he was sparky, resulting in periods on guard duty.
One wintry night patrolling the perimeter he heard a noise. They had been briefed the IRA might be planning sabotage, (even back then!) so Father gave the challenge three times. The third time he fired at the direction of the noise. A fearful bellow came back with a loud thump.
The alarms sounded. The Station turned out to find … Dad had shot a farmer’s cow! The CO had to pay the farmer, though Dad did hear steak was on the menu in the Officers Mess that week and a Flight Lt. slapped him on the back and thanked him.
WAR BEGINS
War broke out, so Father’s misdemeanours were overlooked as more pressing matters needed attention. He only flew missions involving leaflet dropping etc. on Hampdens before he was posted to Trincomalee in Celon (Sri Lanka) flying a variety of seaplanes and Fairey Swordfish. Their mission was to monitor the Imperial Japanese Fleet and if war broke out, sink them! One has to admire the optimism of those times. He loved the Fairey Swordfish.
Most of the aircraft were obsolete even by the standards of the time. Life was good though - swimming, sailing, exploring the area, going out in between flights. But then the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour and life became more serious. Flights were more regular, and Father said if they had ever spotted a Zero they knew they would never make it back as the Zero would have soon closed and shot them down.
They now also had a Supermarine Walrus on QRA which is a bit of an oxymoron, manned and moored a few hundred yards off shore. The occasional Catalina was a treat. When the seaplanes were taken out or returned to the sea for maintenance they used some of the locals to wade in and help guide it and retrieve chocks etc. Someone always had to be on duty with a Thompson Sub machine gun at such times because the Salt Water Crocodiles and Sharks had acquired a taste for Tamil (the locals) and a burst from
a Thompson usually scared them away. I say usually as Father said ‘they did lose a few’. It’s almost unbelievable to imagine such goings on now.
One morning while the Station was at breakfast, they spotted some aircraft at high altitude heading their way. One of the new guys said ‘Oh look, it’s like tinsel falling out of the planes’. An old sweat said: ‘that’s not Tinsel. They are f*****g bombs! Run!!!’ The Japanese had decided to join them for breakfast. Zeros flashed in, strafing, and Father said if they had their undercarriage down they would have touched they were that low.
All the defences sprang into action. Father ran for cover, but only got a few paces before a Zero’s machine guns found him. Father thinks they were Armour piercing as they went straight through his lower legs and ankles, the scars fascinated me as a child. He was helped by some Marines and Ghurkas who were stationed with them. Expecting an invasion they all fled to the Jungle.
They came across a Japanese pilot whose plane had been shot down and he’d parachuted out. He approached them. Just as he went to raise his hands in surrender, the Royal Marine Sergeant-in-charge screamed ‘hit the deck!’ and opened up with his Thompson machine gun. The Japanese had been known to place hand grenades under their armpits which fell away when they raised the arms taking everyone with them.
The base was plastered but no invasion came and after a few days they were ordered to return. Father was admitted to the hospital where he was pleased to be told he would make a full recovery, only to be struck down with Malaria following his time in the Jungle. After he had recovered from his wounds and Malaria he was posted back to England.
BACK TO ENGLAND
Father spent a few months on light duties, riding between Bomber airfields in Lincolnshire with orders and maps etc. The Bomber offensive was now in full swing and Father was sent for Air Gunner Training, again learning how to operate the new turrets, flying various types: Wellingtons, Stirlings & Lancasters for H.C.U. Then O.C.U. and to Foulsham 192 Squadron. Rear Gunner Halifax Mk 3.
192 and Foulsham was Father’s favourite posting. A mixture of the scariest moments, sadness at losing friends, fun, friendship and escapades. He met a friend from Northampton, Colin, who was also an Air Gunner on 192. Father was a pianist and Colin played the clarinet and said Father was always in demand to play.
Father remembered the villagers and ground crews waving them off on take-off. The long cold flight to the target, the awesome sight of the various coloured target indicators hanging in the sky like giant chandeliers. Flying back at low level in the first light of dawn passing German castles. Along rivers, having to be 100% alert. As you know, 192 flew Special Ops and would draw fighters away from the main force, gathering intel, sending out confusing RT; so they flew all over.
Apparently one Air Gunner on 192 was succumbing to combat stress, and the crew was getting twitchy. Father knew the guy well. One day he said he just couldn’t do it so Father volunteered (unofficially he took his place to save him facing a charge of L.M.F. (Lack of Moral Fibre). This happened a few times so he actually flew more missions than his Log books show. The guy eventually succumbed and was whisked away sharpish, never to be heard of again. Tragic!
A few aircraft had the machine guns in the rear and upper turrets replaced with cannon to give them increased range, because Night Fighters knew they could sit just out of range of the Halifax’s 303 guns and open up with their cannon, knowing the Halifax’s guns couldn’t hit them. The plan was to give the Halifaxs a better chance of survival, shake the Night Fighters up and hopefully give the main Force bombers a bit more chance.
On the first mission with the new cannon fitted they were bounced over the sea before they had tested their guns. Father pulled the toggles to cock the guns, waited until the Fighter was in range and pulled the trigger. Instead of the turret shaking and filling with cordite fumes there was, in Father’s words, just a sickening ‘thump’ … and silence. In the excitement he had forgotten the new cannon needed two pulls, one to load a round, a second to cock the breach.
Father screamed ‘corkscrew port go!’ pulled the toggles a second time and opened up as the aircraft lurched into the acrobatic escape manoeuvre. He was pretty shaken but certain his rounds hit, and in seconds it was over. He said the intercom was very quiet for the rest of the flight, though it was just a joke in the pub the following night.
The most feared Night Fighter was the ME 110 with upward firing armament. As you probably know, they would creep up from below and behind and open up, raking the underside of the aircraft. Father had a memorable meeting with a FW190, which he said was grim. The FW (he always renamed it to something similar!) just appeared out of nowhere and opened up. Father said it was out of his range and in any case he didn’t want to mix it with one of those FWs.
It stayed with them through two corkscrews, scoring hits with father firing back. They escaped, just. Over the sea, the skipper gave the ‘BAIL OUT!’ twice. Everyone was praying he didn’t give the order a third time, which meant ‘the Jig was up’ in his words.
Another close shave was when Father was in the mid upper turret for some reason. He was scanning forward. The plane shook as though some giant had grabbed it and four Flack shells burst one after the other just along the leading edge of the starboard wing. How the plane survived, and the crew he never could understand. It should have torn the wing off.
SCARECROWS AND FOO FIGHTERS
Crews were told before they went operational that Germans would fire into the sky special shells that would explode and then look just like a burning bomber. They were told ‘so don’t worry chaps if you think the Germans are shooting planes down. It’s just a ruse to sap your morale.’ Father said they looked so realistic. They were! It wasn’t until some years later that it was uncovered the Germans never did that. In truth, the scarecrows were actually real bombers on fire. Foo Fighters? He said he saw many strange
aircraft at night. He never figured out what they were. Maybe jets, maybe UFOs. He never came to a conclusion.
THE HUMANITY IN WAR
Now while the next piece would have been frowned upon, I include it to show that, in spite of the death and horror, some humanity and humour remained amongst the crews. No doubt there are lots of similar untold stories.
Early one morning when they were returning low level, they spotted a transport column waking up. The crew were in good spirits. It had been an easy night. Someone suggested to take the tops off some of their thermos flasks and throw them out. Father said he could still remember the look of panic on the German’s faces as the flasks whistled down. He said the skipper even waggled the wings as they flew away.
Another instance was flying back to Base over the North Sea. They spotted a German intruder/Night Fighter flying towards them away from England. The skipper gave an order ‘Guns! Keep your eyes open’. All the turrets swung their guns to show they had spotted him.
They flew closer, all on edge. The German aircraft made no attempt to change course or engage. They both continued on their course. They passed within a few feet and the German pilot saluted them as they passed. Father said such things were not that uncommon, but never reported and kept to conversations within crews because, if it got out, they could be on a charge. A few hours earlier they were trying to kill each other, now they were all tired and just wanted to survive and get home.
Some of the characters Father remembered were Mitchell, Worrell, the CO Donaldson, and an Argentinean who would recite in Argentinean a complicated toast that always brought a cheer at the pub. Sorties into Norwich in an overloaded car. Drunken nights and pretty girls.
He was given Leave on one occasion, so rode back to Northampton. On the third or fourth day his mother said he hadn’t any more Ration coupons. Father checked, then checked his Pass. It said he was due back on the 7th. He contacted his Squadron to be told he was listed as AWOL and in deep trouble! He raced back, presented himself and showed his Leave slip. Apparently the Adj’s ‘2’ looked like a ‘7’. Donaldson accepted this explanation and all was well, until he went to the Mess.
Father’s aircraft had to fly a mission. As father was not there, a scratch Rear Gunner was used. The aircraft failed to return. Now one of the crew, Radio Op I think he said; managed to escape and told Father what happened.
Apparently they got bounced by a Night Fighter. The Rear Gunner never saw it. Some of the cannon shells tore right through the fuselage into the pilot’s armour plated seat and the Radio Op said Mitchell (the Pilot; I think father said he was Australian) was just torn to pieces. The plane was in flames and went into a dive, another one of the crew tried desperately to get control to give the crew a chance to bail out. The Radio Op said that was the last thing he saw as he bailed out - Mitchell dead, with the crew member fighting to gain control.
Father said more than once he was sure if he had been there he would have spotted the Fighter and I think felt guilty. He kept the Leave slip somehow and I can say I thought it looked like a 7.
He recalled when a Squadron of Fortresses were diverted to their Base as the Fort’s home Base had been bombed while they were away. The Americans apparently would land line astern, one after the other, so aircraft would be touching down while others were still landing. The whole Station had turned out to watch this amazing spectacle. Unfortunately the second or third Fort’s undercarriage collapsed after a few yards, probably battle damaged, and started slithering and bouncing, catching fire in the process.
Two or three others behind were now on the runway and crashed into it. Another fully committed, tried to abort his landing but failed and that too crashed. Father said it was one of the most horrific sights he ever witnessed.
WAR’S END
When hostilities ended his crew took Ground Crew on flights over Germany to show them how their efforts had contributed to the war effort and as a thank you to them from the crews.
He said he couldn’t believe the damage, but even then never fully appreciated it. It hit home when they took some civilians/scientists to Germany for something or other and they were allowed to go off Station with an Army patrol. They were given a lecture about fraternising, don’t touch anything in case it was booby trapped etc. During the walk he saw a young girl about eighteen, her clothes not much more than rags, sitting on a pile of rubble in front of a small fire of sticks crying, holding her hand out for some food. He told me he thought ‘what have we done to each other?!?’.
He was always extremely proud of his Service, never felt guilty about what they were asked to do, even Dresden … because it was war. Us or them! The Nazis had committed terrible atrocities and had to be beaten.
In his twilight years he maintained those views, met some of the German Night Fighter crews who had been the enemy and they shook hands, swapped stories, laughed together with that respect that old adversaries have for each other. He never told me everything he saw or did, I suspect some was so awful he wanted to forget. He would sometimes go very quiet after telling a story. I knew then something had pricked his conscience.
AFTER THE WAR
Father decided to stay on. Flying was now much reduced. He was asked if wanted to go to RAF Bawdsey because of his 192/100 Group background. He did, but missed the flying and only stayed on for a couple of years. Then he left but remained in the Reserve. He flew Tiger Moths from Sywell and Canberra’s from Wyton and Upavon, I think. He was always a ‘Live One’ and when he was courting my mother, who was a nurse at the General Hospital in Northampton; told her to be on the roof with her pals at a certain time
and he would give them an Air Show. He did … looping the loop once, twice, three times. He said near the bottom of the loop, it suddenly went very dark. Then he saw the inside of the electricity power stations cooling tower. They never flew inside it, but it was a close run thing apparently. They beat a hasty retreat back to Sywell before anyone could get their number.
Every one of the Bomber Boys were heroes. They did what was asked of them. Took no pleasure from the human cost they inflicted. Most never even saw it as it was a target 12000ft below. Just fires, coloured target markers, and flak.
From three years old, he took me to Air Shows Farnborough being the first. Every year till he died we went to a few every year. He always looked for 192 badges on people. I took him to Elvington where I’d arranged a secret private tour and lunch for him and days out at Cosford, etc. and operational RAF stations where they always made a fuss of him. We both tried to find if any Reunions were on. We met a few ex 192 over the years and he would have been thrilled at the 100 Group Association.
TRIBUTE
Throughout the years, Farnborough Air Show was the highlight. At that and other Air Shows we dreamed of having our own Jet, Provost or a Vampire Trainer as they are side by side seating and relatively low tech; and of flying into Farnborough. Alas he passed on in 2003 before we did it. Last year I fulfilled our joint ambition. I flew into, took part in, and flew out of Farnborough Air Show in a Jet Provost I own a share in. On the flight back to RAF Leeming I circled low over my parents’ house and waggled the wings. Whenever we fly near or over disused WW2 airfields we always take a peak and waggle the wings or roll.
For You Dad and all the Bomber Boys!
Philip Arnold
Joined RAF 1938
Rank Wo2 Airgunner
Position Rear Gunner
Last posting WW2 RAF Foulsham 192 Squadron 100 Group.
Post WW2 RAF Bawdsey RADAR / Intel.
RAF Reserve until 1957 flying Tiger Moths and Canberras
Married Pamela Jean Fitzhugh of Piddington Northamptonshire November 1952.
Airman, Pianist, Magician, Demon Motorcyclist, ‘Boys Own’ hero.
This article is from the Summer 2013 issue of Confound and Destroy
