SALUTE TO YOUNG PILOTS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23719, 27 July 1940, Page 7 (Supplement)

SALUTE TO YOUNG PILOTS

THE British face, and have heen facing, a battle into which their Air Force has unhesitatingly plunged at great odds. They, have been bringing down Ger- . man 'planes at the rate of at least three to one. Of all the heroes of this war perhaps' stands out quite, so much as the boys who fly the British 'planes—not only the fighters, but the bombers, which night after night deep into German territory. What type of man —or rather boy —is the young British pilot? A Sunny Afternoon The sun lay hot on the advanced Air Force base. One could hardly -see tho 22 fighting 'planes disposed around the field, a filling station for many machines on their way across the Channel. Perhaps because there are so few fine days, there is nothing quite so lovely, quite so peaceful, as a sunny English afternoon. Luncheon was over in the mess. In deck-chairs lounged young pilots drinking their coffee. Across the drive a group of non-com-missioned officers laughed and joked, waiting to go out to the 'planes. About the hangar mechanics Worked over bullet, and shell-torn 'planes, tho propellers bent fantastically where they had hit the ground in crash landings. One of these 'planeg was bloodstained. That was why it was behind the hangar. It isn't good to leave your dead where the living can see them. A squadron leader was groomed as though he was ready to take his best girl out to lunch. Not a single hair : was out of' place. His nails looked as if they had just been manicured. His uniform fitted perfectly. Twenty Minutes To Go As newspaper men gathered around him, pencils pointed and notebooks poised, he seemed to wonder what in the world it was all about. So did the elderly ground officers who looked on in obvious disapproval. Indeed, it seemed somewhat indecent to question this slim, self-possessed young man with the level, unwinking eyes who answered questions so quietly. He had only 20 minutes, and then he was taking his squadron over enemy country. Yet it was his group of 12 'planes which, two daj's previously, got 37 Germans between tea and dinner without a single loss. His flight-lieutenant had brought down eight.

be sure there aro at least 30 of them," they said.

1 hen they waved good-bye and went off to their 'planes. Once aloft they circled for height, then headed high into the distance. We lay on the grass and waited. When the group came back several were missing. "Rumple-headed Boy" We did not question them then. Wo sat respectfully at a distance, drank our tea and watched them drinking theirs. Then we started back to London in the huge cars provided by the Air Force. As we drove toward the city, the long afternoon light gave the fields a new glory. While we sat back in the big cars, the squadron leader was again taking his Defiants out to give battle. This time, we learned later, "Cookie" did not come backIt will be a long time before any correspondents of that party get the rumple-headed boy off their minds. It is almost impossible to pick a type of modern British pilots. They differ as all men differ, but there are certain characteristics common to them all whether they are regulars or members of the auxiliary squadrons which in peacetime flew in week-end manoeuvres and now have been made full-time members of the air establishment. Incidentally, the latter have been making a name for themselves.

First, they are thin. Second, they are apt to be comparatively small—especially fighter pilots. There is no

"Would you like to talk to him? Oh, Cookie, come here a moment, will you?""

Cookie, a head and shoulders taller than his squadron leader, was already in shapeless flying clothes, revolver strapped around his waist. A laugh welled in his eyes, as infectious as that which came from his throat, as he described the Germans' surprise when they discovered that the new Boulton-Paul Defiants could' shoot from any angle.

Neither pilot thought much of the Germans. "If they attack us you can

"Boys Who Fly British 'Planes I Are Outstanding Heroes of War" AN AMERICAN'S STRIKING TRIBUTE By ROBERT P. POST, London Correspondent of The New York Times

room for a big man in tho cramped cockpit of a Hurricane or Spitfire. They give the impression of tremendous physical fitness. While waiting to take off they are apt to go to the airport courts for a game of squash tenuis. These boys are far different from the hard-drinking aviator popularly considered as typical after tho last war. They don't stay up all night on their infrequent leaves. The da3 r s when an aviator took off lialf-drunk. with a bottle of champagne in the cockpit, are definitely over. There is no room for the bottle, to begin with. And in a modern 'plane there is no chance for any pilot who has not got his nerves under perfect control. Each as a Unit Aerial tactics to-day differ widely from those of the time when Bishop, Ball and other famous World War fliers operated. Those airmen were primarily individuals. Once they left the ground they were pretty much on their own. To-day even a fighter squadron operatos as a unit. Each pilot is in touch with his squadron leader or flight lieutenant by radio. Should he show signs of deviating, he is quickly called to order. I The squadron attacks as a unit. The squadron leader in turn is in touch with the home base and operates according to orders. He makes frequent reports to his superiors. The earphones and mouthpiece which are part of every pilot's headgear, insure that the old days of individualism are almost gone. Above all, the impression these pilots leave is one of youth. They seem so pathetically young and fine to take off into a blue summer sky and never return. One expects young men to die blindly as part of great armies. But that these highly trained and highly skilled youths should leave their peaces ful deck chairs and fly out to death on a sunny afternoon brings the waste of war close home. The Lucky Ones These fliers are accepted only between the ages of 18 and 28. And the best pilots are the younger rather than the older ones. The captain of a Sunderland flying-boat with a crow of seven or eight under nim, is probably under 24. Only a lucky lot become pilots. These men receive intensive training in flying and groundwork and enough drill to make them military. Finally, tho best of them get their wings. In conversation with these pilots one thing stands out. That is their completely impersonal attitude toward the enemy. Talking to them is like hearing a gunner tell of a day's success in the duck blind. They never refer to "him";

it is always to "it," or more usually to "them.'.' One famous pilot refuses to look at 'planes he has shut down. "I have to attack these 'planes," he said, "It is my job and our forces depend to a certain extent on the way I do it. But I would rather think of them as 'planes." v Fight for Life Away in the sky with only the impersonal radio giving you orders, with only j-ourself to talk with, the war takes on a different aspect from the hand-to-hand conflict which soldiers know. You leave your quiet lunch for a patrol. Then you fight for your life against tremendous jodds. If you are lucky you may kill an indeterminate number of the enemy. If you are unlucky you are killed yourself. But within two hours, if all goes well, you are back home—you haven't fuel for more than that. Then you are probably off again. The speed with which this modern war in the air is fought makes for tremendous nerve strain. The only way a man can stand it is by training himself to watch it, impersonally, do tho job he is trained to do and shoot down German 'planes with tho same coolnep and un-self-consciousness with which in peacetime he aimed his camera-gun at another 'plane of his own squadron. Only one thing—the offensive spirit which these boys possess in the highest degree —is as important as technique. The two really are complementary. One is useless without the other. Severe Tests It is not a particularly long course of training, but it should be remembered that all the boys have to pass the severest sort of physical and mental tests before they are accepted for training, and must have passed the equivalent of exams, for entrance to a university. There is no prouder moment in tho life of the young pilot than the day when those wings aro pinned above his left breast pocket. At present they aro a full licence for flight and fight until you're red-eyed, weary and strained; they 'are tantamount, if you are a young Briton, to a certificate of willingness to fling yourself and your 'plane —in some cases your crew—full into the face of an enemy who outnumbers you incredibly. The Elizabethan ancestors of these boys took on in a different medium the far greater fleets of Spain, relying solely on the strength and speed of their sailing ships and on their own strong hearts. The parallel is inescapable to-day.