Chapter 15

We left Tarakan in the morning in a formation of 12 Spitfires. The weather was good, and from 8000 ft our view of the land was extensive. We had set course for Balikpapan, flying over the mainland of Borneo. As far as could be seen, dense bush and forest covered the ground, but occasional streams wound through looking like serpentine firebreaks. The rivers were muddy, yet quite attractive in their deep green surroundings. The knowledge that a forced landing would be impossible in the jungle, added to the fact that Japanese were there in force, did not serve to make one's mind easy. We flew inland and many thickly covered mountains reared out from the terrain below. When our belly tanks cut after 35 minutes there were some anxious moments before the motor picked up from the main tanks--no doubt a couple of grey hairs appeared. After an hour we passed over the town of Samarinda, which we afterwards found, was well defended with ack ack. Nearing Balikpapan, we turned to the coast, passing over the bombed out strip of Manggar. Forming up in close line astern we made a run over Sepinggang strip. Breaking away in sections we came in and landed on the recently completed, but I might say rather short, strip. We caught a glimpse of a large town south of the strip- Balikpapan. Soon after landing, near the dispersal, I met Dave Lowing who seems to be everywhere I go. We found that very little preparation had been made to receive us. Thus the first meal we ate standing up and in the rain. However one must consider that our forces only had taken the strip barely ten days ago.
In the afternoon the DC3's arrived with our tents which were speedily erected. During the night rain fell heavily. My end of the tent was sagging and collected gallons of water before the corner post gave up the ghost and snapped off. The trapped water still in the pocket of tent fell on my head. Supporting this with one arm and calling out for assistance, I was greeted with laughter and cries of "You'll do me, Atlas". Disposing of the water, I settled down till morning. Next day, needless to say, was spent on tent repairs.
On the 17th we commenced operations. I was on readiness, and six went out on a bash. On returning Brian Gurney undershot and touched down on soft sand, the nose dug into the ground, and the kite swerved around. Brian scrambled out unhurt but shaken, to see the kite go up in flames. On the 19th I went out with Rex Watson, Bob Carmichael and Dal Halliday to strafe Jap positions. This, my first trip, was rather uneventful. Everything seemed hurried and I hardly had time to collect my thoughts after one dive, before I was in a position to commence another. We got some return fire from a hut but no one was hit. I did not have the score all that well, but had the feeling that one learns quickly in these circumstances. Immediately on return Jack, Joe and I went out to the Bay of Balikpapan after barges. Here Jack's keen eyesight was instrumental in sighting 2 camouflaged cargo barges close in to the bank at the bend of a river. We followed him in, and soon one barge was blazing fiercely with oily black smoke belching up. The other settled slowly into the water. Joe and I broke away and went searching at tree top height around the bends of the rivers, following every curve, scanning each bank. Joe pulled up, and went down. His first burst commenced a fire at the stern of a barge and mine started one at the bow. The flames spread rapidly, as the fuel burned, and a wall of flame indicated our success. The squadron scored 12 barges this day, a truly enjoyable day for me. A further trip did not reveal any undiscovered boats. Next day Clive and I went out to spot for two US patrol boats. We saw them at the island, and flew around them at mast height. Then they commenced firing at various parts without much success. Finally they sighted a barge, but all their shells fell short. Clive put bags of rounds into it, and it sank suddenly, leaving an oil slick and a few drums on the surface. We left the boats to their own devices, and sped up river to seek prey. Clive found a small barge and damaged that with his remaining 20-mm cannon. I found a beached barge and proceeded to pound away at it. Unfortunately it was screened from most sides by tall trees, and a close approach was necessary to sight it, and then there was only time for a quick squirt before hurriedly pulling out to avoid the trees. While cruising around at about 50 feet, I saw a huge grey-white shark. It was cruising close to, or on, the surface and the speed with which it progressed proved only too well its enormous power. An involuntary shudder passed over me as I thought of it as a swimming companion. We "shot" up the patrol boats and went home.
The terrain over which we flew was dense green jungle, nowadays referred to as tropical rain forest. The sward of green was cut by the occasional meandering, whitish dirt road, possibly topped with crushed coral. Our tasks were strafing of Japanese troop carriers, whether trucks or cars on the roads or barges on the rivers. It was not the sort of country that provided any areas clear of trees that might be suitable for an emergency landing in case of trouble. It was just as unfriendly as the sea. In the process of strafing, of course, diving to low levels was necessary for effective firing and there was a fine line between being achieving this and hitting the trees. On one occasion I recall recovering from one diving pass, pulling up and looking around for my Number 1 and glancing at the airspeed indicator only to see it registering just above the stall. Only the tremendous power of the Merlin engine at full boost got me out of that one.
The climate in Morotai in the islands known as the Halmaheras and in Borneo (Kalimantan) was oppressive, very hot in the sun and extremely humid. Day after day it was the same and after a while it became just something to put up with each day without grumbling. Light clothing was essential to allow air movement, and hence some cooling. However when flying it was prudent to wear clothing that would be suitable in the event of an emergency landing. This comprised a khaki cotton overall with knee pockets. Feet were shod, not with the showy wool-lined flying boots so beloved of aircrews in Britain, but simply with the RAAF issue boots, comfortable and sturdy. The interior of the aircraft became very hot and was rather uncomfortable until take off, when the slipstream and the height provided a cooling effect. Unfortunately our type of flying did not take us to higher altitudes and consequent cooling. As often is the case in the tropics, evenings brought impressive thunderstorms and heavy rain, but also cooled off the air. We slept on camp stretchers in tents and, by order, underneath mosquito nets. These areas apparently abound with malaria and if you did not protect yourself it was tantamount to "malingering" because infected people would be shipped off to base hospital and away from the war zone.
During our time off we made full use of the small surf nearby, and of the sunny, cloudless days. The suntan came on well. The natives were unimpressive and lazy, so we did not attempt to make conversation with them. This was disappointing because they could have afforded us entertainment had they been more interesting types. Most of our time was spent doing crosswords and writing letters.
On the 22nd Al and I were sitting on readiness when an army report came through reporting enemy motor transport on the Montawir road. So we whizzed up very smartly. Just past our bomb line, we saw several trucks on the move. On hearing us, the trucks hurriedly stopped and spilled Japs in all directions. I followed Al down on a couple which he got as flamers. Then I broke off and had a go at a camouflaged staff car, fired at it and it burned merrily. After this I couldn't find Al so climbed up, eventually saw him still battling away, and several fires indicated his successful efforts. I had a go at another truck and observed strikes on it-then sprayed the bush for luck. Another camouflaged staff car claimed my attention and I damaged it. With Al's 4 flamers it was an impressive score. Some war correspondents were back at camp asking us a few questions about it all. Later there was a broadcast down south concerning the Squadron's work.
On each of the next four nights we had air raids. On the first night about 10 aircraft came over. Jeff King was sent up and shot down 1 Nick. The ack-ack had been active, but when Jeff made contact, they stopped to give him a go. Next day the petrol tank was washed up on the shore. It was a self-sealing type with a heavy lining of rubber like substance. It was pleasant standing out in the cool night air, watching the searchlights playing around in the sky, and the dark red bursts of the 3.7's and Bofors shells exploding. The whine of these shells on their upward journey is not unmusical. We heard some people yelling (with a little tremor in the voice) "put that light out". This was probably the first time that many had been threatened by enemy action, and they were naturally fearful.
On the next two nights there were only 2 and 4 aircraft respectively in the bombing raids. They dropped bombs in the town. I was on readiness at the strip on the mornings of the 26th and the 27th. On the afternoon of the 27th I went down to dispersal to do ack-ack co-op but instead was given a sweep with Blue Colyer and Jeff King up Balikpapan Bay. Blue got 2 barges burned and I got 1 burned and 1 damaged. I very nearly "bodded" myself. In diving too close to a barge to get a good hit, and pulling up very abruptly I was momentarily distracted and found myself right on the point of stall, at very low altitude. A feeling of acceptance of my likely fate swept over me, but I hastily applied the corrective measures necessary, including full power. I was sinking down towards the jungle, but after a short pause, the aircraft shuddered over the tree tops and upward out of trouble. Heavy rain fell on the 28th but I was on readiness all afternoon, and the next day.
John Smith from TSS, in the Army nearby brought a mate over for a yarn. He was Steve Willis of the 2/12. It was good to have a change of companion as we overworked all our usual topics during our readiness periods. On the 30th we drove up to Manggar airstrip to look around. The strip was thoroughly ruined, and was being denuded of coral for roadmaking. In the revetments, of which there were many, were a few Jap kites. We inspected Sonia, Jack, Irving, Tojo and Zeke aircraft types. On the field we saw two Australian tanks fairly well damaged. Querying this we found that in a tunnel up in the hill were several 5-inch naval guns commanding the strip, and they had done the damage. Having time at our disposal, we drove as far as we could then walked up to the guns. Several Aussie graves indicated that the position was expensively taken. To us, it was an impossible position to capture and our admiration for the Infantry increased perceptibly. All around this knoll on which the guns were, at the back, side and front were foxholes, tunnels and dugouts, all cunningly constructed as only the foxy Jap can. The stench was rather powerful, but we decided to walk further into the jungle down a narrow track. Descending into a swampy region, we could not bear the odour so our inspection of this region was cursory. More by smell rather than sight we found a Jap half rotted away near a cunningly concealed land mine. The knoll was veritably honeycombed with foxholes and tunnels in which a nauseating smell of filth lingered. The conditions in which they existed were not even suitable for animals. In a sort of cave we saw military boots, about the size for a child, books, clothing and cosmetics (suggesting that they may have had female company). Naturally, detonators, shell cases and sticks of cordite lay everywhere.
I saw a film once concerning a US bomber field in England. A former pilot revisited the field after the war and relived some of the incidents that had occurred in a small window of time. The picture that lingered from the film was the intensity of the occupation of the space within the buildings. Aircrews walked, ran, talked, argued, worried, and felt fear all within the walls of the buildings. Outside this window of history, there was no occupation of that space. The huts decayed and the once hallowed areas became part of the grassy field.
The very same feeling comes over me when I think back to the area in which we were camped at Tarakan or Balikpapan. Evenings inside Bill Friend's tent where B flight gathered were, for example, heavily occupied for the few months that we were there. We joked, laughed, agonised, argued and part of the lives of some 6 to 10 men were lived out in a few square feet of ground. Today that ground is probably jungle or it could be underneath a 50-year-old house. There was nothing obvious to indicate that it played a role in some of the lives of men, yet to some it had become hallowed ground.
Jokes were told almost every night. Where they all came from no one knows. As it happens many were written down by one fellow, F/O Jeff King. I recall he used a fountain pen and odious green ink. To my knowledge he did not ever tell any jokes, but was probably preparing for other occasions. I often wonder whether he could remember these jokes from his notes made during these sessions. On nights when beer or spirits had been issued the jokes seemed to flow more readily as did the anecdotes about other squadrons and various people. However, 50 years on these do not easily come to mind.

Next day Clive as Black 1 and self as Black 2 went up the Milford Highway to find trucks. Clive shot up a staff car and I settled for a truck that burned on first burst. We went up towards Samarinda where we both scored hits in a road roller. At this point the road runs through some pretty green plains up to the river-the best scenery for miles around.
The next day was Mum and Dad's wedding anniversary. It dawned dully and rain fell unceasingly all day. On such days boredom set in, and spirits fell. However, the Kittyhawks came down on the 2nd and I had a long chat to Johnny Joyce about "old" times at Deniliquin and chaps we both knew. On the next three days I was on readiness. (I did not realise it at the time, but I seemed to do more than my share of readiness, but I was rather keen so it was no problem.)
We went up to clear the new campsite. We will be right on the beach, where the cool breezes will be unobstructed. The site is just hacked out of the bush using bulldozers. Spent the afternoon putting up tents with Clive and Blue and sustained slight concussion from a tent pole. I had to go to the dentist but wasn't very pleased with him. No doubt he would rather have been in Collins St. He annoyed me, as my diary record shows, but I am uncertain of how or why. Perhaps it was that he said that there was nothing at all wrong with the teeth even though I was the best judge of that, I thought. Next day we moved into the new camp, and settled in. During the night rain fell quite heavily and we found that the tent only slowed the rain down somewhat. On top of this we had king tides and the waves lapped playfully at our small protective sand embankment. Soon however a few more adventurous waves found their way right inside the tent. This was not a pleasant situation needless to say. At one stage a receding wave transported my boots seawards. I had to rescue them and put the legs of the stretcher into them to hold them down. Needless to say hurried repairs took place next day, and we spent that night in comparative comfort.
At the new camp at Balikpapan there was a very comfortable latrine set up. Without going into great detail, a deep trench about 12 feet long was provided. Access was provided via 44-gallon drums from which top and bottom had been removed. The cylinder was set into the ground and fitted over the rim at the top was a jeep tyre, halved longitudinally. A fire was lit daily to burn off solid matter. Using the toilet on a cold morning was a pleasure. Sitting comfortably on the tyre, warmed by the fire underneath, and with a view of jungle not far away, what more could you wish for. If you wished for entertainment, it was there in the form of monkeys that played ceaselessly in the trees of the jungle within easy view.
One day a Mitchell (B25) made a pass before coming in to land. Somehow the word had passed around that the nosewheel wouldn't come down, or would not lock down. All the crew and several passengers moved the cargo to the rear of the aircraft while they flew around using up fuel. After a long wait the moment of truth arrived and the pilot brought the aircraft in as slowly as possible with nose high. He touched with the main wheels, and did not apply the brakes. We held our breaths and watched the landing run gradually slow to a crawl. Finally the nose tilted forward onto the nosewheel but it did not collapse.
Dal H. had a picture of Sinbad the Sailor painted on the left front of his aircraft. I had a scroll in which the name Marianne was printed. US crews tended to name their bombers, such as "Liberty Belle", and usually added some indication of the number of missions completed, as was the custom in RAF as well. American fighter aircraft like the P 40 had the mouth of a shark painted around the nose, ostensibly to frighten those in its path. Some of this was a hangover from the first War when the wing or the propeller boss was painted. The more conservative English crews seemed to settle for names such as "G for George".
Photos of several of the fellow pilots in 452 Squadron appear in the "Air War against Japan, 1943-1945". Now that I am in my seventieth plus year, no doubt my assessment has altered. They look to me like very young men, which of course they were. At the time many had become mature, seasoned men, older than their years. This may have been heightened by the self-confidence of those that had already had one tour of ops and survived.
Our food was nothing to write home about, which is probably why I did not. Mostly I remember stews, cold bully beef, rice, and potatoes rehydrated with chlorinated water. Probably we had some canned fruit, but there was no fresh fruit or vegetables, nor milk. There was no butter, but some industrial chemist had made a substitute of plant oils, the forerunner of margarine--"tropical spread". It was mustard yellow, and almost runny in the heat--it was ghastly. We had to take atebrin as an antimalarial. Not taking it was tantamount to malingering which was a punishable offence. Gradually our skin turned yellow or yellow brown if one already was tanned. It was easy down south to pick out those who had served in the islands.
The atmosphere in a fighter squadron was not unfriendly, although there was a little superiority shown by "veterans" of more than one tour of ops. The fact that bomber squadrons were made up of a number of units or crews probably made for a more pleasant and sociable life in off duty hours. Each team, often 5 or more, had one another as well as those from other crews with whom to socialise. Fighter pilots tended to be individuals, owing no special allegiance to the other pilots, although of course many sorties were carried out in pairs or as a flight.
We had at one stage two brothers in the Squadron, the Proctors, but sadly the older Jim was killed during a sortie. We lost Col Tapp flying a Wirraway at Morotai. Clive Miller undershot the runway at Morotai and was killed. F/L Cullen was killed on a sortie. The Squadron Leader Kel Barclay lost oil pressure, probably as a result of ground fire, and had to bail out, thus qualifying for the Caterpillar club and perhaps even the Goldfish equivalent as it was over water. Having heard recently of the loss of two pilots in the crash of an aerobatics aircraft, a Trojan, during an Air Show, I am reminded of Al Blumer. He risked death attempting a roll off the top on take off in a Spitfire Mark 8. He held the aircraft down for as long as he could then roared upward into the loop. At the peak he was losing forward speed rapidly. He rolled over very squashily and just managed to hold sufficient height above the trees for the engine to drag him out of a likely stall. He had done it, very courageously, but rather foolhardily. It was very close to disaster.
On the 9th some chaps flew a sortie, and on the following day the Japanese motor transport received some attention, about 16 sorties being flown against them. Clive and I took off at 4 p.m. to strafe dug in positions on the banks of the Kahala River. The surrounding country was a lush green, and was really beautiful, especially around a glassy lake. It was a pleasure to fly over it and it was too serene a day to be on a sortie. However we did the job and went for a round trip home over Samarinda to the delta, then home on the deck along the coast. That part at least was most enjoyable. Later reports from our Army showed that the exercise had been most successful. This was the last operation of 452 Squadron in the war. I do not have access to the early history of 452 squadron, but am aware that a lot of pilots flew with it throughout the few years of its existence, many of them becoming notables (as was not uncommon if one survived two or more tours of operations.)
It was at about this time that I was awakened one night by muttered curses coming from Dal who was out of bed and peeling off his blanket. He shook it without effect, and as he inspected one side, I saw on the other side the largest scorpion that I ever hope to see. By the look of it one sting would be fatal. We despatched it to the scorpion's heaven.
When I was at the dispersal on readiness a day or so later, I met up with Ross Clark in 4 Squadron (Boomerangs). I had soloed on Tiger Moths under his guidance, and we got on well together.
It is strongly rumoured that the war is nearly over and that the citizens down south in the cities are celebrating. One can sympathise with many of them who have been affected, but it does seem as if they have forgotten us up here, still flying both the flag and the aircraft. I was still flying sorties up to two days ago. Also, I continued to be on readiness on the 11th, 13th and 14th of August. On the 15th we learned that the war was officially over. Even so we continued on readiness as a local security measure as there was still the possibility that Japanese could disregard the edict.
We took the opportunity to go into Balikpapan which had been "off limits". It was a rough road as might be expected. The view was of devastation. On the approaches, evidence of the colossal bombing and shelling became obvious. Palm trees denuded of leaves by blast and shot, stood like rows of telephone poles, rudely silhouetted against the sky. Wrecked vehicles and tanks were strewn on the roadside, some gathered roughly into heaps. Continuing on, we passed what was once the residential area, but now was a heap of rubble on the hillside, with some concrete floors and steps forming the headstones of dead houses. A ruined mosque stood, or rather leaned, on the right side while to the left the wrecks of three Catalinas could be seen. Passing a Moslem shrine on the right we rounded a hill in which many tunnels had been dug, linking up in the form of catacombs. The wharves were on the left, and the refineries and storage tanks on the right. All had been battered and burned into a mass of twisted piping and plates. Huge storage tanks had been bent and twisted as if made of tin. Everywhere was devastation. It was an eye opener to see this damage and instructive to consider the ruin also wrought on European towns by even heavier bombardment. Some of what we saw was due to the efforts of those Liberators (B24's) that used to take off over our camp at Morotai at dawn every day. Our attention was attracted to a very tall palm tree near the sea. (This note in the course of preparation--one of the pilots who did some of this damage was Ken Worrall). Up near the top the leaves had been shot away, and wedged somehow was the body of a Japanese sniper, who apparently wrought havoc before being discovered.
Even though, in retrospect, I spent part of every day on readiness or flying a sortie, there was still a lot of time on the ground with no official duty. Hence we played sport--volleyball or cricket, or we went for a swim. I took a correspondence course in Pure Mathematics from the University of Queensland. It may sound impressive. In fact I found it was very difficult to study. This was partly because it was quite some time since I had been at school, partly because of the steamy heat and partly because the new material had no obvious relationship to what I had been familiar with in school. Later I studied Pure Maths with the University of Adelaide and coped very well. Probably having a lecturer made all the difference.
On the 22nd August, I flew with Al Blumer and Bill Schoon. Clive, Blue and Kel Barclay flew to Tarakan. Some were due to go south, along with Jack Pretty, Joe Weger and Brian Gurney. The bunch that I had joined some months back was now splitting up. Later in the day I was to fly as an escort for the Kanimbla, but it was already in sight when I was due to take off, so I played cricket instead. I was appointed Messing Officer (ignoring the fact that I was still a Flight Sergeant as far as I knew at the time). The next readiness was two days later, when Kel returned with a bunch of others, including Jack Pretty, Marc Fakry, John Shoesmith and Bill Denny.
Readiness again came my way on the 27th, but on the 29th I flew back to Tarakan from which I had left some months earlier. There were many new faces in the squadron, and few of those who were there when I joined. Obviously there had been some effort put into giving some a chance to get into a battle area even if the war had stopped. Some of the chaps were Tom Vance, Bill Coombs, Stan Davidson, Nicol, and Perc Pilkington. Some of these took up the offer of converting to Mustangs and going to Japan as part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces (BCOF). Unfortunately a number of them flying up toward Japan followed their leader straight into the side of a mountain.
As the tours of duty of the pilots came to an end they were flown south and a replacement was obtained. In my time in the squadron over half the "originals" reached this stage. Another reason for being sent south was not so praiseworthy. It was termed LMF (lack of moral fibre). This really meant that they could not overcome the fear of being in action. It was rare, but showed up in various ways and of course it could sometimes be mis-diagnosed. One chap who joined the squadron at the same time as I did had flown Spitfires in a Squadron based in Perth. That type of flying, based as it was in civilised surroundings, with no threat of shots fired in anger did not provide much stress. However, soon after joining the Squadron in Morotai where the enemy was well ensconced, he started to behave erratically. During squadron formation he would swerve towards other aircraft, or pull up, or bank when flying straight and level. He was unsafe. He claimed he was suffering from a scalp infection that was uncontrollably itchy and he wanted to scratch it during flight. He was given a fair go, but was eventually sent south as an LMF case. This was not the only case I heard of, but no more were in our Squadron. Rex W. was also sent south but for a different reason. He was quite experienced, but was ageing. A false age statement had left him flying long after the 32 years limit, perhaps by 7 years. One day on a sweep, he had the misfortune to strafe Australian troops causing some casualties. It happened on a featureless winding dirt road winding through a featureless green jungle. Believe me it was very difficult to pinpoint ones position. It was an unfortunate accident. Later, talking to a friend on the Gold coast, Dr. Andy Eklund, I found out that he had attended wounded troops in that vicinity, and had learned that they had been shot by their own aircraft. Sad as this was, we hope it was the same episode. We would not like to hear of more. At this time it was early September and the Japanese signed the surrender on the 2/9, the same day six of us had a wizard line astern chase, an exercise that I really enjoyed. Again on the 8/9 we had a line astern chase with Jeff King. The next day we had a few experiences. First a Kittyhawk pranged on the strip and then Dal Halliday pranged his Spitfire, after holding off too high. Another P 40 pranged later. Then two Spits and 3 P 40's narrowly missed a crane standing at the approach to the strip. Some more of the squadron went to Balikpapan, heaven knows why at this stage. There was a party at 80 Squadron with John Joyce and Greg Bushell and Bob Barnett. On 15/9 a P 40 pranged on the strip. Why all the prangs occurred when the war was over is hard to understand. Perhaps pilots were too relaxed, or careless. It is possible that the edge had gone off our reflexes, and we were not quick enough to correct small errors that would have been quickly corrected when we were flying in ops. Quien sabe?
` Our evening storms often yielded a lot of rain, one gave us 3.5 inches. We have since experienced similar storms during our stay much later in Bogor in Java (Indonesia).
We learned of a C 47 ditching between here and Morotai, and that mail had been lost. Our engineering officer was on it but we do not know his fate.
I had a flight on 22/9 testing QY-I so I took the opportunity to do some aerobatics, which I always enjoy. Later I flew QY-X and at 8,500 feet at +12 inches of boost the TAS was 330 mph, and at +8 inches at 14,500 feet was 320 mph.
We learned that we will be required to fly the aircraft south, probably terminating at Oakey in Queensland. While waiting we entertained ourselves with cricket, tennis and some reading. Occasional flights came our way mostly for testing the aircraft. On the 12/10 I had to test a belly tank. Some days later I flew QY-T and a note says it is a 70, but I cannot remember what a 70 is. A notable, S/L Bobby Gibbes, flew this aircraft. He later started aerial services throughout New Guinea. (I had the opportunity to mention this yesterday to an ex S/L Beau Palmer, who said that Bobby Gibbes did not fly Spits in operations, being a Kittyhawk man. I suppose he could have flown it once or twice).
Two people, Halliday and Webb pranged on the strip. I flew again on the 29/10, two and a half months after the end of the war. Finally on the 31st of October we left Tarakan.
Ten Spitfires and 2 Beaufighters set off for Zamboanga, reversing the flight path we took on arrival. We all landed safely, but my tail wheel collapsed during taxying. As there was no provision for repairs, I had to leave the kite there, and travel on in a Beaufighter. We landed at Morotai, and Dal pranged yet again. While waiting for transport at No. 60 OBU other Spits came through, among them, QY-T, Bruce having brought it down, and from memory without a chute or helmet. It must have been deafening and uncomfortable. The first group left for Biak on 3/11 and Bob went down at Middleburg. Again I ran into Dave Lowing and Calcino from TSS.
On 7/11 I took Bill Schoon's aircraft, as he wanted to go to Melbourne in a hurry. After being delayed by a difficult start that was most embarrassing, I finally took off long after the others, caught them up and formated on them. They were all Kittyhawks. We were travelling slowly, to conserve fuel I guess, but I had been warned to give it a boost from time to time by throttling on and flying straight up then rejoining the group. It might have looked like showing off to the Kitty pilots, as they were touchy about comparisons of the virtues of the two aircraft.
Approaching Biak we received some weather news. Unfortunately there was an electrical storm in progress as we prepared to land. I was last in line with about 9 Kittyhawks before me. The air traffic control ordered a right hand circuit. One has to appreciate the length of the motor in a Spitfire to realise that forward vision with the nose up is vastly impeded. This was the reason that tight circuits were normally used. The rapid loss of height in the 180-degree turn, traditionally to the left, brought the aircraft to the end of the strip at about holding off height. The turn to the strip was usually unfinished, so that the pilot had a clear view up the strip and could judge the extent of any drift due to cross wind. That was how it should have been. On this occasion, none of the customary factors was in place. The poor visibility due to the storm, combined with the unaccustomed right hand circuit, that forced one at the very last minute to change from looking out the right side to looking out the left side of the cockpit while still turning made it very difficult to check any drift. At this stage the aircraft was very close to the ground and one had to concentrate on making the landing. Those are the excuses, now for the problem! I touched down with some drift, and one leg of the undercarriage folded up. This I realised straightaway, and set about landing on the one wheel. I managed this satisfactorily in that I kept the aircraft on the strip till the very last minute when the wing dropped. The aircraft described an arc on the ground, but did not hit any parked aircraft. It was the end of what had promised to be an interesting flight. I had to retrieve my gear from the aircraft, and get transport to home. Someone had arranged to interview me over the prang, and a burly MP arrived on a Harley Davidson to pick me up. Clutching my parachute bag with my goods, I aimed to sit behind him. I was just easing down on to the seat when with a Vroom Vroom he gave it the gun and let out the clutch. The G force was colossal and I barely retained my seat. In fact I remember having embellished this story by saying that he had shot off without me and although this was certainly a possibility, I now cannot separate fact from fiction. The powers that be had me filling in accident forms, and called it "pilot error". However, our own chaps praised me for managing a difficult landing as well as could be expected. There would have been no problem if in our training we had been allowed to do right hand circuits. Imagine at the very end of ones flying career being asked quite unexpectedly to perform a new trick! A flight to Australia was arranged for me in a B25 Mitchell belonging to the Netherlands Indies Air Force, but flying with 78 Squadron. The route should have taken us over West Irian, where I had seen on the way up. but I cannot remember that part. What I can remember is the flight across the Timor Sea at about 20 feet, more or less. We landed at Gove in Arnhem Land, at that time just a settlement. I was told that the red dirt all around was really an oxide of aluminium called bauxite. Since those days the mining of aluminium has been a success story for Australia. From Gove we flew South East to Cloncurry. (The distance between stops makes me realise that there should have been stops between Biak and Gove, but I have no record of them. The landing at Cloncurry was memorable. It was the furthest outback I had ever been, and it really looked it. I remember the desolate appearance of the few scattered huts that made up the "nerve centre" of this airfield. As we walked over to the mess hut for lunch, the message got around and hordes of bush flies came from nowhere, accompanied us to the hut, straight in through gaps in the fly wire and on to our food. Never before or since have I had such a problem eating a meal without eating the flies. From Cloncurry (known locally as "The Curry", just as Mount Isa is known as the Isa) we flew to Brisbane, the first place that I recognised. Slept the night there and got a flight in a C47 to Sydney and on to Essendon, after which I was put on a train to Adelaide. I was home with my parents at last, which must have been of some solace to them, as Dick had not made it back.
On reporting at 4PD, I received news that I had been commissioned as from 31/5/45 and by then was almost due to be promoted to Flying Officer. My folks and I went away for a short period to Victor Harbour, and then I started to consider the future. One option was to go to University, with some help from the Repatriation Department.