THE FIRST DESERT CAMPAIGN

The following document is perhaps the only one of its kind in existence to so uniquely detail the daily activities of a Squadron during the second world war. It is not just a dry listing of operations and their outcomes, neither can it be called a diary in the sense that it simply sets down the activities and events that affected the writer. Rather, it is a unique combination of diary and historical documentary written in the first person as the actual events unfolded, and is "remarkably" balanced between brevity and detail. Intended or not, the highly unique style of the author is such, it has the effect of including the reader in the events. Listen in on the banter in the Sgt's mess, feel the heat of the desert, share in the worry of an overdue aircraft. No attempt has been made to make something from which it was not, It achieves this by having blended snippets of "actual" conversation into the recording of events along with with the authors own thoughts and feelings. The effect is magic.

We fly from Helio to Maaten Bagush and arrive late in the afternoon to find our convoys have got in and tents are up for us. Darkness falls. A staff car is seen racing madly along (the road?) from 202 Group Headquarters.

We are shouted into the Mess Tent. Barney says: “Italy has come in. Standby and I’ll let you know the bomb load later.” We expect to take off there and then but hang about until 11pm. and are then sent to bed!

I’m with Bob Bateson. Barney is leading with John up. On ETA we turn in and sweep over the coast. There is Menistir but there’s nothing much there except for a couple of Savoias. Barney turns west and we follow. We’re down to 1000ft. calmly flying along a main road.

In a great wadi are hundreds of transports. We steam past a convoy. Sixty-five miles of this and here’s El Adem. Bob yells: “Lord, look at ‘em!” I clean forget to be scared. John drops a stick on the hangars. We follow. A crowd of men on the tarmac (apron) is staring up at us stupidly. They turn and run as I ping off. I have no feelings at all.

John’s bombs (means first stick) burst beside the hangars, mine go through the roofs. On the tarmac are about 30 a/c. I’m sure I miss them and my second stick goes on the field. There’s a ghastly racket under our aircraft (blast from leader’s bombs. Ed.). We circle and return. I loose my third stick. Everything is covered in smoke. Can’t see if I do any good. (! damage) B Flight’s incendiaries are burning everywhere.

Thompson yells “Fighters!” but I’ve still got bombs. Round we go again and I drop my stick on some buildings. Things are hitting our machine. Bursts of ack-ack smoke are filling the sky. We dive with Bob using the front-gun. It’s a circus. We are down to ten or fifteen feet.

O-omph! There's a stink of petrol. It’s our starboard tank. (Filling the well – Ed) We’re off now streaking toward the sea with fighters on our tail. And there’s ‘Basher’ (Beauclair) burning in front of us. Barney’s shouting. “Join up! Join up!” ‘Basher’s’ going down. Two fighters are attached to us. We hear their guns but we are too fast for them. (Later identified as CR32s). We’re away. ‘Basher’ has belly-landed.

Nine aircraft did a dawn raid on Tobruk Harbour scoring hits on a battleship and a submarine. CR42s engaged. One shot down with turret fire. Unattributed. The CR42s were fast enough to overtake but as Barney led the squadron out to sea at nought feet and they were able to launch only one diving attack.

NOTE: This was a joint operation of 45, 55, 211 and 113 and the navy. Italian records state there were not any CR.42s operational over Tobruk on the morning of 12 June, only the CR.32 of the 8o Gruppo. None were shot down contrary to claims by 113 and 211. The ship was the San Giorgio which was hit by the 113 but apparently not damaged per the ships war diary.

Bob leads us on a raid on Tobruk Harbour. 9 aircraft. Dropped half our load (small ones) on a satellite just south of the town where there were about 30 parked aircraft, some three-engined things, the rest on assorted shipping. The battleship had so flak much reduced. No one saw the sub.

A string of 42s got up from somewhere and came at us but Bob led us out westward at nought feet in very tight formation and I think our combined fire-power must have been a bit daunting for the Iti pilots. Interesting how spurts of sand got up ahead of us. The 42s are armed, they say, with two heavy (half-inch) guns. The fire rate is quite slow - compared with our Brownings.

At 6.45pm we put up 4 to nuisance' raid Tobruk singly, Bob in the van. It must be very irritating having your dinner interrupted by machines flying in one by one dropping 20s and 40s in penny numbers for an hour or so. We tried to hit transport and oil tanks. The flak is very pretty - looking back, but rather frightening to fly toward!

I said if we had actually hit an oil tank there should have been a lovely blaze. Bob said consolingly that unless the Italians were completely balmy the tanks were most probably empty anyway. Bardia's searchlights waving about as we turn for home. I use Solum's pretty little harbour as a fix and we drive along the coast road. Bob and Tommy squirt from time to time at the weak lights of transport until we cross the wire into our own bit.

The jettison button squawks all the way home - we have hang-up but Bob makes a sublime landing. Rands comes out with a pickup to collect us. Bob Bentley is missing but we hear later he has landed at Fuka.

Mersa Matruh heavily bombed today. We hear there was little damage so the Italians are no better at it, apparently, than us. But what is the target? We're told Mersa's just a little seaside place for weary Egyptian businessmen! What happens if Egypt refuses to declare war on Italy? Do we retire to Palestine?

Mersa got it again this am. Pilot of a Caproni shot down during the raid landed on our bit. He says Basher Beauclair and his crew (Sgts. Owen and Dobson) are okay. He also says we broke 21 of their kites at El Adem and killed some men.

NAMES: Basher Beauclair, P/O Owen, Sgt J Dobson, (Note: There were two Owens on the squadron at this time, one a P/O Owen and other a Sgt Owen who was part of F/Lt Beauclair's crew shot down on June 11th 1940)

Takeoff at 12.15am – one Blenheim. Bob is shepherding two Bombay's. We are loaded with incendiaries and 20-pouners – don’t know what the Bombay's are carrying. We cross the wire at 15000ft. There’s a bit of a headwind. I drop an incendiary to get a drift but it disappears. Still vis is good and we see the surf line at Solum. We turn in to shufti Gubbi, losing altitude. Nothing! No flaming onions, no pom-pom bursts. Bob grins at me in the green glow of the flying panel. The Bombays are big ghostly figures formatting a little above us, their eyes, no doubt watching the little darting blue flames from our exhausts.

Suddenly, on the ground, a big white Savoia shows up and beyond it about 30 dispersed fighters. I click down Selector 1 and press the tit to release my first stick of incendiaries and shout bombs gone. But the jettison light comes on and Bob pulls us up suddenly in a vicious climb. As he flattens out there is a rewarding rumble - our incendiary parcels have come unstuck. I press Selector 2.

Bob takes us round in a leisurely circuit. One Bombay is still with us. The ground below is a living sheet of flame so they must have had ‘matchsticks’ too. Bob goes round again and the Bombay peels off with a quick double-flash of the belly light.

We steam along the dirt road to El Adem and find a lot of aircraft there too They are well-dispersed. (The BBC news said they had 1500 so we ought not to be short of targets). We drop the other two sticks from 8000 to get the clusters to spread, and set out for home, leaving a cheerful glow behind us.

We signal a dummy flare-patch and get its number in reply. 8. Only ten miles from home. I give Bob the course, click my stopwatch. His beady eyes see the glims before Tommy does and he makes the circuit. The Chance flings a great swathe of light for two seconds as we touch down. The CO himself meets us with a gharry at the red. We hang about in the Ops tent nattering for some time while expecting news of the Bombays. Barney finally drives us up to the Mess and we pour ourselves ‘nightcaps’. Rands appears just as we are breaking-up and says one Bombay came back with an undelivered load having lost touch with us. Sounds balmy, the moon was so bright. The other had a 250 hang-up and left us to give it a shake. I wonder how you shake a Bombay?

We got into our Mess hut today – marvelous after the EPIP. Some of us built a bar with bomb boxes. The boxes duly name-labelled make excellent personal depositories for drink etc., You just reach across to pull out your bottle of Johnny Walker. They say 55s hut has a fireplace and chimney. “Communications. Must be for sending smoke-signals,” said someone. The Egyptian gaffer presented us with a pair of chameleons – instantly named Gilbert and Sullivan. Every time the door is opened a 'squadron' of blue flies surge in but Gilbert and Sullivan collect them in minutes. It’s bliss.

Mersa got another pasting today. CO says stores for the Aussies are being shipped in by small coasters from Alex and the Iti's are bombing the dock. It seems there is an Aussie regiment (or is it a division?) a few miles south of us.

Everything was a shambles. We had been called far too late for the 5.30am takeoff Group ordered. The briefing was garbled (not Friar’s fault) and half the crews got into their kites not even knowing what their bomb load was.

At last it transpired the target was a huge concentration of transport in a wadi – El Gobi? – 10/12 miles south of El Adem. We are loaded on four selectors with 20s and 40s. 12 takeoff seaward and we go into vic threes. We are strafed energetically by the Mersa flak though well out of range.

We crossed the coast by Fort Maddelena with Bentley’s flight way above us to watch for fighter takeoffs. The formation split. When we reached the target it was anything but a ‘concentration’. The transports were well spaced out for miles. I wondered if they might be dummies. Bob with his flight made four bombing runs and then took us round for a shuftie. It didn’t seem to me we had hit much.

Late this afternoon Frith, Boehm and Thornicroft with their crews took off for Helwan on three days leave. Others will go when they return. How amazing! I thought we’d just go on forever. This is a new dimension.

I've was `shuftie stooge' on the watchtower all the morning. When relieved I wandered back to Ops and hears that Owen, doing a recce, is so overdue it seems we've lost him. But minutes later a Lysander lands and he steps out of it. One of his engines stopped during the recce and shortly after the other showed signs of weariness so he landed wheels down on a bit of thorn a few miles south of 208's strip. He and his crew then walked.

Two war correspondents walked in on us this afternoon, a chap called Matthews and a little American, nannied by a Major Moncton, Intelligence Corp. Yarning went on and on.. A few of us left them to it and picked our way down the escarpment for a swim. The water was glorious.

It's `Dickie' Squires' birthday so we spent an hour or so drinking on him after dusk (We still say `dusk' but it's a bit of a misnomer really because there is no twilight. The sun drops below the horizon, and that's it - light to dark).

Pike, with Peter navigating, did the furthest recce to date - all the way to Derna and Appollonia. Coming back an engine failed and they landed at Quasaba. They managed to get a signal through in the evening. John and I heaved a mutual sigh of relief.

An S79, much damaged by Mersa's flak. belly-landed near us today and the MPs collected the crew. The S79 is a wooden aircraft with an obsolescent look but just the same had blue self-sealing fuel tanks of spongy material, similar to ours.

Somewhat to our horror just before lunch a motley crowd of us were herded onto it, including three crews, plus Bob's Flight-Sgt. and a bunch of riggers.(Pilots: Bob Bateson, Squires and Anderson.) Barney himself took the controls and after running along the desert halfway to Libya the Valencia actually got airborne.

We landed at Helio and Barney told us his orders were to await instructions. He conceded there would be time for a beer. We broke up to find overnight accommodation, with instructions to be at a briefing at 6am. the following morning.

We were ordered on to Ismailia and got Gilliard to fly us there. Bob saw the Groupie CO there and got the gen of what it was all about but wouldn't pass it on, except to say we were going on a raid using three `long noses' that had just been delivered. Ismailia is on Lake Timseh which contained three warships.

We get it at last: we're to fly to Aleppo and from there lead a flock of French Martin-Bakers to Rhodes where we are to annihilate a vast ammo. dump consisting mostly of mines intended for the Canal. Sounds fun.

We return at 5.30am and spend some time checking over our shiny new machines. At 4pm. after all this fuss we're told the op. has been scrubbed. What a way to run a war! It seems Syria, though normally dominated by the French, has thought better about allowing the use of its territory for the mounting of hostilities by foreigners. All bods to return to desert unit (taking the new kites with them) except Bob and `senior-navigator'. They are to report to HQME. We learn we are to do a photo recce of Benghazi (mosaic). (A mosaic consisted of strips of pictures that overlapped by thirty percent to achieve ?? when viewed with the right equipment, a stereo effect. Ed).

Bob flies us to Helio and I look at him in surprise as the Mark IV surges down the strip and takes-off like a `homesick angel' (as they say of the Spitties). He grins, flicks on his mike. "No desert air filters for this flip - doctor's orders," he says.

At the 113 Mess Don Anderson tells us bad news: `Friar' Mason and Sgt. Knott have been shot down in flames and Pike is missing. "It's suicide smacking Gubbi in daylight. Those bloody pompoms are ganged in fours - they put up a solid wall of muck." (SEE JULY 14th)

While having breakfast a phone call orders Bob to HQME. He and I walk in together but I am told to get lost. Bob disappears into the rabbit-warren and I hang about for more than an hour drinking cup after cup of coffee. When he finally reappears he recounts that some G/C wanted to `tear him off a strip' for not having done the Benghazi mosaic. Bob saw a Winkie first though and blamed HQ for time wasting.

We went to Groppi's and gorged on superlative ice-cream, thence to the bank. Lunch at Helio where we found Phil Williams and Bob Bentley. Phil said the CR42s had found more horses and really beat them up on the Guppi raid. Intelligence, he said, reckons their ammo sequence has one `explosive' in five. It's the explosives that kill the Blenheims.

A few days back the Italians lost their air chief, the redoubtable General Balbo while Blenheims were attacking El Adem from high-level. Unaware of this his pilot tried to land. At first there was a great hoo-hah that we had shot him down, but the Air Ministry today claimed he was killed by his own flak.

We were due to do the Benghazi photo-recce today but the port engine refused to function. The mechanics toiled over it for hours in the increasing heat without reward and it finally got too late for the takeoff.

In the Mess for a pre-lunch drink we came upon Walker, now a Flying-Officer, by the way. He told us one of his runner-beans had already reached the top of his tent. (We were all growing beans up the guy ropes watering them daily with our shaving water.)

Walker (Not Lister Yorky Walker) had been at the Bardia/Tobruk show. He said the Navy had put up a spotter plane, an old Walrus and the RAF was asked to protect it. A Hurricane, three Gladiators and a Blenheim were also up but only the Blenheim had been told about the Walrus. When the Navy came weaving in to start their bombardment they launched the Walrus. At once the `spotter' was spotted. The Gladdie leader seeing a silver aircraft at once put his nose down and all three went streaking after it.

The Hurricane at once joined in the fun. The Blenheim roared after them to try to wave them off! The Navy at once put up a barrage to protect their precious Walrus. The `Allies' suddenly realised their error and hurriedly peeled off whereupon a solitary CR42 nipped out of a cloud, saw the Walrus, and gave it a horrible mauling, disappearing before the Hurricane could attack it. The poor Walrus, too badly holed to attempt a water landing beached itself somewhere just our side of the wire.

We've been, we're back, and we've to do it all again. In retrospect it doesn't seem to have been much of a `do' but it was 1500 miles, nearly eight hours, and seemed to take forever. Split new 9319 behaved perfectly. The Aden flight was as long but we had company and a fuel stop. Perhaps because we have to do it again our minds try to minimize it.

We flew there well out to sea and turned in from 30 miles past Benghazi on the sort of course the Italians would use from their mainland. Just as we did so Tommy came through on the intercom: "Oxygen running out, skip." We were at 20,000 ft. - the stipulated altitude for the mosaic. "Set the delivery to twelve thousand, Tommy," replied Bob without hesitation. It was freezing cold.

"Left, left," I called, lining us up to the first pinpoint. He flew an immaculate course and turned out to sea for the next run. I picked up the next pinpoint, steered him over it. We circled for the third run. Bob looked cool and undistressed but my head was splitting and I wanted to vomit.

"All done," I called, switching off the camera. Bob put our nose down and we headed eastward. "How are you, Tommy," he asked. "Bloody terrible. It's all gone, skip." "I know," said Bob as we headed for Benina. I took a couple of photos of the airfield. Three fighters took off but we found a bit of cloud and lost them.

We snapped the airfield at Barce, nothing there, and set a course for home. After Siddi Barrani we followed the coastal road and felt good, though tired. At Maaten Bagush we refueled and went on to Ismailia arriving at 7.34pm. They turned on a flood for us to land. (9319's air filters were there.)

We took the film canister to HQME having landed at Helio and collected a staff car driven by a pretty girl in uniform, so Bob and I promptly adopted our best behaviour. She said she was a WAT and translated that for us as ‘Women's Auxiliary Transport’.

The pictures were beautiful, bright and clear and contrast. But, said the photo interpretation bloke, completely bloody useless. The overlap, which should have been 30 percent was below ten. I couldn't believe it, The preparation had been so meticulous, Bob’s course flying impeccable. With a calm sea and thirty miles out from Benghazi we dropped a ali marker, got a perfect wind direction, and flown precisely downwind with no drift at all.

“Complete waste,” said ‘Tubby’ Mermagen, the AVM, when we saw him. “Go and do it again, Bob, and get it right next time.” We left, deflated. They’d changed the driver. We had a corporal with a hangover.

Back at Ismailia, where 9319 was to have a service, Bob and I, with Dickie and Mac(there to collect a/c), got a couple of sailing dinghies out and careered about a bit, staying well away, as we’d been warned (leg-pulling, I think) from naval vessels.

At Helio we had a proper breakfast while they processed the film and we got to HQME with it about 10 am. Everything was rosy. The pictures were fine and sharp and the overlap just right. “So why couldn't you have done that in the first place,” growled some G/C Intelligence. Why Indeed? It was still a mystery. John had said it could be the target map we used. It was pretty crude.

Bob thinks up a scheme to get a day in the lake at Ismailia. It’s where 9319’s desert filters are. (Of course there must be spares at Maaten Bagush, but overlook that). We go there, then, in the evening he runs a temperature. We hustle him into Sick Quarters with a dose of sand-fly.

I phone S/L Birch at Abu Suier and he says get the long-nose serviceable and he’ll come over in the morning and deliver us and it to MB. Bob is on his feet, a ball of fire, raising merry hell about this arrangement but the doc shoves him back in bed and threatens to ‘sedate’ him.

On the 8th. We did the Benghazi trip again. We had debated the ‘overlap’, my plot had been checked repeatedly by all and sundry - no one fond anything wrong. Bob said, constructively, “Re-plot it for a 50 percent overlap and let’s see what happens.”

It turned out to be a near thing. Bob had ordered the takeoff for 6am. but stopped the pickup at the Orderly Room for a bit to sign something or other. When we reached the a/c we found some enthusiastic corporal had decided to warm up the engines and had over-primed the starboard. It now refused to start. “Cowardly bloody thing,” said Bob. It delayed us for 20 minutes. Tommy and I checked that the oxygen bottles were really full, and this time we had one extra.

Benghazi looked calm and lovely. We checked the wind. I gave the camera button a bang for a test. But the green ‘running’ light stayed on. “Camera runaway,” I shouted into my mike and furiously pulled out the plug to cut the juice. Bob circled. We tried again. It stuck again. “Tommy will have to hand wind,” said Bob. I was checking with Tommy whether he knew manual when my mike packed up. More fiddling about. Tommy knows about F24s thank god. He finds a dud fuse and replaces it. More checks, yes, it’s running now.

I hunker down to the bombsight and guide Bob toward the first pinpoint. Pretty little harbour: one, two three . . ... nine flying boats, five merchant vessels. Two funnies - warships with camou nets? The camera will know. I press the tit. The camera starts, the light winks, one, two , three, four exposures. It’s gone. The lousy thing has stopped. Would you believe it. Bob calmly takes us out to sea. Tommy finds changes the fuse. Bob had said we’d try once more before going onto manual. The camera runs. We do the next plot and go out to sea for the third, but as we approach the start the camera jambs again. We go onto manual, and somehow get the job done.

As I enter the log I realize we have taken 45 minutes, fifteen more minutes than the time we’d allowed. We’re on our way home. There’s Barce. I take a couple pics. We make a southern leg, drink tea, eat the awful sandwiches. I dream of stewed steak and kidneys and thick gravy.

The starboard engine coughs. Bob glances at the gauges, fiddles with the fuel switches. My mike has packed up again. I glance at the compass. Bob is off course. He nods, and scribbled on his knee pad. “Give me shortest route back.”

It will take us over at least four Iti airfields, I hand it to him and he changes course. “What’s up? I scribble. The outer fuel tanks won’t feed. I glance at the gauges for the inners - 80 galls. I measure the route home. It’s 331 miles to the border. I write Bob a note and deliver it with a bar of chocolate. We are at 25000ft.

There’s Solum. I wonder who holds Solum today but Bob doesn’t chance landing there. The engines pack up, first the starboard, then the port. The silence is eerie. We float on. There’s Siddi Barrani.

Bob begins a slow circuit staring down at the terrain. Height peels off. “Put the Very unloaded in your pocket. Bones - Three cartridges. Tommy, put the camera canister in your flight bag and your water bottle.”

We’d made a 360 degree turn, we were down to 5000. He leveled out, pointing westward, slammed down the under-cart, set a bit of flap and tweaked the tail-trim. I looked at my watch, gathered up my map board and log. The under-cart made a satisfying clunk as it locked and green lights came on.

He’d made a perfect landing and we rumbled along a patch almost free of camel thorn. Probably the only bit like it for a hundred miles but he’d found it. We tumbled out, shed our Sidcots. Bob loaded the Very with a red and pulled the trigger. It soared up and burst with surprising brightness in the afternoon sun. The smoked dispersed rapidly, mercifully there was a light wind, enough thank god, to ground the flies. I put the u/c locks on. It would be too bad if 9319 settled on her belly now.

We rolled up our Sidcots and sat on them . Bob pulled out a packet of cigarettes offered them to Tommy. “Come and sit over here with us,” he said. “What now?” I asked pulling in a lungful of smoke gratefully. “There’s an army unit of some sort in a wadi over there near the road. They’re probably having a kip but we hope some dozy sod saw our signal. We wait.”

We didn’t wait long. A field ambulance came careering over a dune and slammed to a halt not 20ft from us. An army lieutenant jumped out of the front and two orderlies from the back. “Anyone hurt?” shouted the Lt medic striding toward us. “No, we’re fine. Just out of fuel, that’s all.” He and the medic hunkered down together in the shade. Bob asked the name of the unit.

“You’ve landed in the right place, then, said the Lt, “we’re laying down a forward supply. “ The orderlies went and sat in the ambulance. Bob and the Lt chattered a while then stood up and shook hands. “I’ll send you some tea as well,” said the Lt climbing in beside the driver.

The fueling was a bit tedious without the usual funnels which you could slap a four-gall tin on and leave it to empty itself, but it got done in the end and we got to Maaten Bagush late afternoon. They were in a bit of a tizzy because we were so late. Bob intended to go on to Helio but Group stopped him so we had a good dinner and went early to bed. John came in an hour later. It was comforting to sleep in your own tent.

Bob fit again. Up at 4.30am but the kite proves u/s. Bob decides we’ll take the mail plane. We stop at Dekaila, Amriya, Daba and Fuka before making it - after 4 hrs. - to Maaten Bagush. Dreadful old Anson, definitely u/s and barely able to stagger into the air. (Thank god there was an erk to wind the u/c up and down. Poor devil must have been exhausted. Pilot deserves a VC).

Bob saw the Messing Officer and gave him a chit with the name of the army unit that rescued us. “Send them a couple of crates of beer, will you?” he said. “It’s a hell of a long way,” said the MO. “Just do it, please,” said Bob sharply.

The CO inspanned me this morning to do the daily entries of the squadron history which are supposed to be completed by noon daily and sent by courier to Group. It’s a bore but at least one is sitting at a table in Ops and you get to hear a lot more about what is going on.

Just two flights. Bob led and Vicky Boehm flew as B. It was a frightful mess. I had this low level bombsight and put the wrong settings on it for 40-pounders. They all went into the water. The Capronis offered no target being far dispersed in mud shelters. Bob said ‘hit the barracks’. We left a few little fires. B flight missed but hit a bit of an ammo store (by mistake) and there was a nice little red explosion with lots of smoke.

I forgot – heard the full story today of the loss of the Friar, Sgt. Knott and Percy Pike, during that awful show at Gubbi when the squadron ran into a flock of 42s and Bredas. Percy had with him Lidstone, his bomb-aimer, and Taylor, his. gunner. The Italians say he crashed on the beach just south of Bardia. The crew set fire to the kite then launched the dinghy and started to row for Egypt. An Italian torpedo-boat patrolling the bay intercepted them.

Nine a/c made the attack at 4000ft. The harbour produced a terrific barrage of pompoms and a battleship added heavily to the general dirt. The CO did two runs for god’s sake! Ten fighters, high up, awaited them as they flew back into formation. The fighters chased them out to sea and apparently, with the gunners of Friar and Knott no longer firing they just closed right in for the kill and blasted both a/c to bits. (SEE JUNE 26th)

While I was scribbling in the Ops tent this morning, Rands told me that six Bombays had gone to Tobruk last night and one (Ron Taylor’s) took a direct hit from the large caliber AA shell and exploded in fragments. Another badly damaged force- landed at Alex somewhere.

We have done no flying today. I was Orderly dog so spent most of my time in the Ops tent while the others took pickups to the beach for a swim. I stink like goat and could have done with a swim myself. Late this afternoon I was chased out of the Ops tent when Barney went into a huddle with the flight-commanders. Something must be afoot.

Bob and I spent four hours in the El Adem/Tobruk area today searching for Garrard Cole and his crew. A pair had gone on early recce and Cole didn’t come home. We had no luck but took a few photos and did a bit of gunnery practice on convoys on the Tobruk/Bardia road on the way home. The running commentary from Tommy was very witty and he used a vast quantity of ammo. Bob emptied the front gun. This kite had no blister gun for me to play with.

As we came abreast of Fort Cappuccio we thought it was being bombed but could see no aircraft. Then Bob said: “Artillery bombardment.” Tommy reported explosions on motor transport approaching the fort.. We hastily veered away but not before something hit our port wing with a frightful thump.

In the Mess this evening, news that Ron Taylor has survived. His damaged Bombay hit the escarpment near Mersa. He was badly burned and his crew lost. A Mersa army unit took him to Fuka.(?) A chap from Group, visiting, said one of 211 squadron gunners had been found by an army patrol. He’d walked for 16 hours in a 5-mile circle!

An Arab cobbler has set up a stall near the Mess cookhouse and is making us desert boots. Most of the old Gyppy hands have them already. John and I went and ordered. You stand on a square of hardboard and he draws a chalk line round your foot, and puts a tape measure across – makes a squiggly note. You then print your name on the hardboard. The boots are lovely soft brown suede and reach halfway up your calf. Guaranteed, says Bob, to keep sand and scorpions out. It’s good to be shot of the flying boots – fleece-lined – which though comforting at night could be jolly hot by day. Shoes, of course, are useless.

Ketton-Cremer, returning from a spot of leave, brought back a bunch of papers???. How we pounced on them! The first we’ve seen since coming here, mostly a week or ten days old but marvelous just the same.

Stainless and Floyd went off this evening to fly the Sidi Barrani/Bardia/Menister loop for a WT test for Group. Most of our flying has been done in WT silence. I wonder what this is about. They took a load 40s for the fun of it. At debriefing, around 10pm. Steel said he didn’t know if he’s hit anything but he’s sure ‘scared the hell out of a flock of camels’. (Camels, I’ve noticed, go stiff and rigid as you overfly them). Floyd brought his load back.

An S79, part of a raid on Mersa, tried to force-land on our bit this afternoon but fell to bits on touchdown. The pilot is wounded and in our Sick Quarters. The rest of the crew are dead. The daily Bombay has taken the bods back to Helwan. Doc Turner says the pilot speaks perfect English and thought we were on the point of surrender. Bob’s Flight-Sgt is furious – the S.79 is scattered all over our ‘best bit of sand’ and has to be cleared away.

Four a/c to do individual raids over Tobruk, Gubbi, El Adem and Bardia. Pilots: The CO, Bob, Ward and Williams. I’m with Bob, John with Barney. Bardia, allocated to Ward being nearer than the other targets we leave him to his own affairs, and abreast of the CO take off at 8.37 and form a three. They briefed us a moon at 8.17 but someone at Group fouled up – didn’t allow for EST – and no moon appeared till 9.21 when we were well on our way.

Poor John, who was leading nav. had no chance to find a wind and led us miles too far west. I sensed it and wrote Bob a note. At last we turned north. Williams was to do El Adem and we were well west of it, but as he peeled off, to our astonishment, according to Tommy, he turned south!

As we nearer the coast, we were already west of Tobruk (the CO’s target) and as we peeled off he turned WEST. What on earth was going on? I pointed down and shouted “That’s Gazala!” Bob lifted his hands in mute despair, and pointed at the bomb selectors. He began to circle to see what was there. “No good,” I shouted into my mike. “We’re loaded with incendiaries” I reminded him. He gave a thumbs up and turned us onto the Gazala/Tobruk road.

I looked down and saw what I thought was a train (silly ass). It was of course a convoy and as Bob put us into a dive toward it most of the lights went out. He raked along it at ten feet with his gun. Abruptly we both realized that it was heading for a concentration. Bob made a sharp climb and took us out to sea to ponder and size things up.

“It’s near Gubbi,” he said at length turning back. “Can you fix us? No matter, I can see the ras.” It was a tiny cape with a bit of white water round it. We slid down to 1500ft. hoping Gubbi would identify itself with a few flaming onions. But as we approached it was clear the field had had a visitor – a strip of incendiaries was still burning. I could see no a/c. Suddenly without any warning we found ourselves surrounded in the center of a swirling circle of lazily moving red tracers - thousands! We’d found it – a vast new army camp that hadn’t been reported by the morning recce.

Bob started violent evasive tactics and a I got a quick look at the altimeter that was winding down rapidly from 800 ft. He flattened a bit. I got sight of a mass of transport and pressed the bomb tit. Fortunately I had selected a half load earlier. They got a couple of canisters of 4-pounders. More and more red tracers streamed past.

In the cockpit we were dazzled by a white flash. The plane lifted and shook violently. Tommy yelled: “Oh, lovely, lovely, sir, smack in the middle.” He gave his guns a triumphant burst. The small arms flak around us seemed to get thicker. Another tight batch of MT flicked past my sights and at once I let go the rest of our load.

Bob was climbing now on rate 3 turn. Another excited shout from the gunner. The bombs were gone but we weren’t out of the wood yet. This was one hell of a big camp. But at length the firing dwindled. We set course for our nearest dummy flare path, and the welcoming glims of MB.

Editorial. Probably not as hairy as the diary suggests. It was a sudden, unexpected encounter. Most Italian army convoys had a truck-mounted machine-gun every twelfth vehicle. This one, we heard later, was some 30,000 troops. We could not, of course, see gunfire on its way UP – the lazy red lights were spent tracers dwindling as they fell. We were seeing the bright little ‘tails’. It was the first time we had seen this phenomenon in such splendour! They belted their .303 ground guns, twas said: soft-hard-tracer and they spat 900 rounds pm. Our airborne Brownings were belted, soft,hard, armour-piercing, soft,hard, tracer, and ran at 1200 rpm. An alert had sounded, no doubt, but they could not see us. A noisy low-flying aircraft attacking you, even with a single Browning blazing, is very daunting. The poor lads below, probably young conscripts, were just ‘ hosing’ the sky. MHS.

We landed five minutes ahead of the CO. He and John had started a good fire at Tobruk but didn’t know what was burning. “Let’s hope it’s that wretched crane,” said Bob at the debriefing. (Overwritten with a note: ‘later found to be a sub.’)

Williams who had overshot badly found his way back to his target but the Oerlikon ground fire was so heavy that his evasive wanderings trying to find a reasonable approach ran him low on fuel and he finished up taking his load out to sea and dumping it to preserve fuel for the get home.

Ward went first to Tobruk then to Bardia. They saw no result for their night’s work and the gunner thought their bombs all went into clear water. Bardia’s inhabitants must be getting a lot of fish to eat these days.

The rest cleared the Mess of all personal stuff, drink, etc., and went off for a swim while I was lumbered with supervising a small Gyppy crew that came in to concrete the floor. This will make a big difference to life. (I got a box for Gilbert and Sullivan (precious beasts, gosh how fat they are!) and took them to my tent for safety. In the early evening played ‘cricket’ on the dart-board outside with Dickie, Bob and John. Early to bed after listening, with John Dunning to a sickening budget.

The CO and Peter Wakelin flying a Valentia (where on earth do they find these old crates – the Science Museum?) for WT calibration, Don and John off on recce to get pictures of the big new Iti camp. Bob and I on standby in the ops Tent..

We have borrowed spades from the concreting man and we’re digging out our tent to provide a ‘basement’. Then we won’t have to leap into a slit trench when the odd strafing fighter sweeps in to spray the place. I have collected a mass of petrol tin boxes to line it. We’re going to have a paneled bed-space.

During the afternoon Don, having borrowed John from the CO, did a recce of the area just west of Gazala and have found a big new area stripped for a/c, with fifty to sixty planes on it – Bredas, Capronis. How about a dawn raid?

This evening a bunch of 208 came in, stamped around admiring our new concrete and downed a vast quantity of whisky. What a mob of line-shooters! Fun fellows, though – you must have a sense of humour to fly a Lysander, surely. Brave fellows. They can keep it.

John says it’s our serviceability, or rather opposite. I suggested we might walk over to Flights and find out. “All that way – in this heat? – don’t be ridiculous,” he said. Of course if ‘Flight’ (and we have a good one who hero-worships Bob) won’t sign the form 700s well, that’s it. The a/c stay on the ground. (It must be fiddly and horrible doing repairs under these conditions).

For first time all three leaders had cameras aboard. This was later to prove a curse and the mass of pictures taken of bombs in every stage of bursting led to hours of argument about who hit what. They gave the impression we had wrought utter havoc whereas in the last analysis there were precious few hits.

Shrapnel put several a/c u/s. and once again several of us came home with jettison lights flicking and bombs hanging on. Are the release mechanisms really able to cope with desert conditions? You’d think they must have been tested long ago on the North West Frontier. Poor old A Flight, always unlucky in this respect brought back 720lb.

Apart from any other aspect it is also rather wretched not to be able to relax when crossing the border, to be beset all the way home with the notion that one of those dangling forties is probably hanging by a coat of paint and the moment you squat down on your bit of sand, will blow you all to kingdom come. It doesn’t pay to have an imagination. It hasn’t happened to anyone yet!

Altogether a thoroughly unsatisfactory affair. For all the cameras, Group has only plotted 72 bursts out of 200 which means that none of B Flight’s were photographed. Bring back the night raids when everything is a bit more visual!

Six Blenheim fighters have flown in – Beaufighters, they call them – from 30 squadron. Apparently one of our armoured-car units has been having hell knocked out of it by dive-bombers of some sort and a patrol is needed to catch them at it. The Beaufighters went on their mission – there’s a fancy word! – but late this evening Jock Dunning said no ‘dive-bombers’ appeared so they found no target. Meanwhile, said Jock, another nine armoured-cars have been knocked out and the Army is very upset about it.

Group has apparently decided that as we have some fighters here temporarily – the Beaux from 30 squadron – they might as well use them before sending them back to their base. It seems there is a certain Army unit in danger of being cut off and very low level recces are needed to size up the position and make a rescue plan. So before we turned in tonight a plan was devised. Two of our a/c would go in with a pair of Beaux on watch at 5000ft.

Owen came in first, followed by the two fighters. Then for 10 minutes nothing. At last we spied a speck – It was Barney. His kite sounded pretty rough. “He’s flying on one,” said someone. But where were the other two fighters?

In the Ops Tent we heard the whole story. (I sat in on it and no one noticed me – I’d become part of the furniture now. Over the target there was a layer of stratus and Barney and Owen going down through it lost the Beaux. 32s and 42s swarmed up from Gubbi and Adem while they were making their photo runs Barney and Owen darted in and out of the cloud to lose them but they were very persistent. Owen said both he and his nav. got disorientated for a while. They finally darted for the border in cloud.

The CO meanwhile was hotly engaged by a trio of 42s. One got in very close and gave him heavy burst. He saw John crumple in his seat. Just as the 42s overshot Tommy shouted triumphantly: “Got one, sir,” as Barney circled, still looking hopefully for a Beau, he saw the 42 flaming to the ground.

Meanwhile, a Beau had appeared and the CO’s tormentors turned their attention to it. He climbed back into the cloud and to his relief saw John was recovering, so he turned toward Bardia to finish the job in hand. But here another shock awaited him. New defenses just south of Bardia, not previously seen, opened up and he found himself the center of a fierce pom-pom barrage. A terrific clonk hit the plane and the cockpit filled with fumes – a shell had gone through the well. John's tin hat parked under his seat was crunched! Weaving and twisting the CO managed somehow get out of the tangle and set out for home with the port engine leaking oil. He landed on one.

(Just after the debriefing the CO’s Flight-Sgt pulled up – he said a .5 explosive had ripped through a spar, then through the observer’s parked parachute pack and, finally spent, thumped John on the back. Curiously, it didn’t explode. John has it as a souvenir.)

The a/c is badly hurt but with full revs now available Bob, with me as passenger, flew it to Fuka for return to the Delta. Not a very comfortable trip, a bit blustery – the bomb-aimer’s front perspex panel was missing, and the undercart wouldn’t retract. (No! I didn’t leave the locking bars on – I had them in my lap.)

We went to the beach this afternoon. That medicine ball soon becomes very heavy. Had a good yarn with Jock Dunning. He is convinced the threat to England is a feint. I protested –what about the massing of barges? Jock thought the real war was going to develop out here.

Barney called me over in the Mess. “Bones, take my pickup down to Flights and bring back a load of petrol boxes. Build us a decent bar in here with storage for our bottles and personal things. And, Bones,” he reached down beside his chair and hefted up a big lump of melted ali-alloy.” It looked like shiny, lumpy porridge. “Hang this on the end wall there with a notice: ‘Lysander S . . . get the number . . .unrepairable at this unit.” Bob came outside with me. “See George, say it’s for me and ask him to lend us a carpenter.”

(Editorial: A petrol box held two four gallon tins. These boxes were used for everything. John and I lined our funk-hole with their timber. The petrol tins, too, were fashioned into wonderful artifacts. They were often cut lengthwise. Our Mess cookery had a whole battery forming a ‘chest of drawers’ to hold vegetables and other foodstuffs. MHS)

During the evening some of the 208s dropped in – Bernard, Hardiman and ‘Dixie’ Dean. They told us Jimmy Aldiss had shot down TWO RO37s. With a Lysander!! The story went that he was returning from a recce and saw one going in to land at Adem. He just accompanied it and gave it a squirt and it burst into flames. As he gained altitude Aldiss saw yet another making approach. He latched onto it and repeated the performance! The pair of Gladdies giving him protection just sat up at 2000ft and watched the whole show.

Group sent for him and he didn’t know whether it was for a gong or a court-martial. If you’re sent on a recce, that’s it, you don’t play at being a fighter (unless you’re Jimmy Aldiss). He got a smack on the wrist inside SASO’s office, and a pat on the back outside.

Yet another quiet day. Thornicroft did a recce of Derna and the pics show that the Italians have now removed all their aircraft from there except those we hit during our two small raids. Question now, is where have they hidden them? Barney, back from Group, says there are no targets for us except the huge concentration of troops and transport. Apparently they have been widely dispersed and so are difficult to hit with any hope of doing much damage.

When he came back from Group he had a nice little yarn. The photo-interp bloke said he was looking casually at a camera-test photo exposed by someone south of Adem – following a camel track actually – when he noticed that at one point the camel’s meandering briefly became a straight line. Funny, thought, camels don’t walk in straight lines. Group had sent someone to photo at a lower level and they found there was a biggish area enclosed by a fence. The camel train, or whatever, had come to it and followed it till it ran out. Two of 55 (was it 55? I think so) were sent to bomb it a bit and caused a beautiful convulsion. It seems to have been a well-camouflaged ammo dump! Jammy, eh?

Quite a cheery sort of evening. S/L Harrison came in bringing with him my flight log of the Derna raid, with criticisms. I was able to show him my log was right and the leader’s log wrong. Full of suppressed indignation, though mollified by his apology, I proceeded to get a little drunk. Sounds as if Bob and I will get the coming weekend off.

Our latest Italian prisoner is a snooty major (says Jock). He had the cheek to down one of our Gladdies, but one of ours pranged him. He has a broken ankle and two broken ribs, says Doc Turner, who had him in his truck for running repairs. The damage was caused by a bad harness design, and hitting his own tail-plane. The parachute, though, is gorgeous white silk and has been spirited away by the CO. 30 rang Rand and claimed it. Fat chance.

Extracted from him by Jock: The CR32s are just as fast as 42s and more handy to fly; Gladiators and Blenheims are good, the Blenheim gunners ‘very brave’; when the Tobruk sirens sound Gubbi’s Capronis are dispersed to satellites in the south. Our captured aircrew are well-treated by them and are sent to Benghazi.

An inspection this am by the AOC. Stood about for two hours and it was then a very perfunctory affair. No patriotic speeches! The crews were lined up and given a courteous good-morning and we then all dismissed into the Ops Tent. Once in the shade the AOC told us he was being made to conduct limited operations until we received reinforcements and in particular heavier bombers. One anecdote gave us a smile. Wellesleys were doing a leaflet raid by normal chutes over Abu Simnel and a gunner thought he could hurry things up by shoving a packet or two out of the rear gunport. Package of 2000 leaflets broke and the leaflets plastered the inside of the cockpit, including even the flying panels. The pilot had to do some fancy feel flying before the crew cleared the mess away.

Steele did a recce near Bardia and 55 followed him at high altitude. Army Intelligence had long believed there was an underground ammo dump that way and now Steele thought he had found it. He spoke to the 55 leader, went in low and marked it with a canister of incendiaries. 55 hit the spot with armour-piercing from 20,000 and caused the biggest bang ever heard in Libya. Steele’s pictures showed that the Italians had stockpiled nearby on the surface and this is what had caught his eye. Owen was sent to have a look and his photos show a huge crater. Some nearby concrete buildings have disappeared completely. One of 55’s Flights had been sent down to 7000 ft. and even at that height got a buffeting.

A few 208s drifted in this evening - their Mess is still in an EPIP so they enjoy our hut and the Turf Club chairs. (Ed: Stolen from the Turf Club Cairo on Al-Maghrabi Street) Bob, Dickie, John and I played Sevens for a while but wandered off to bed about 10pm. having had our fair share of swimming and medicine ball during the afternoon.

I took this diary with me on leave but didn’t bother to write anything. Now I have to try to reconstruct. I am back in the Mess. John and were together. We find the lads have done two raids in our absence so are very unpopular with us!

It was a very special weekend. We set out Friday noon so had THREE nights on the loose. It was also very expensive! We flew into Helwan because the machines were in dire need of servicing and only Helwan could do it. Bob (with Tommy and me) collected our kite from the satellite and brought it back to MB to clear the bomb load. The others had taken off ahead of us. Then, funnily enough, we arrived at Helwan first! The other Flights had been crawling because Owen’s starboard leg had failed to retract and he flew the whole way with it hanging down. Much ribaldry at his expense. Bob made the most awful landing at Helwan having forgotten a certain well-known ‘ridge’.

At Helwan we separated. Bob got us a lift on a very posh-looking Cord but on the way it burst a back tyre and it took two hours to repair and change. A friendly Egyptian, who’d stopped, had sent us a taxi from Cairo, so we thanked the Cord owner for getting us part way and left him and his driver to sort themselves out. We booked in at the Continental and later went on to Groppi’s, finishing the evening at the hotel’s cabaret show. Met many odd bits of Air Force there.

Next day (3rd) spent the whole of the unslept portion of the morning shopping. We ran into John, who joined us, packed up at the Continental and, taking a taxi, moved into Hel House. Thence to the Club for a swim in the pool and the company of young ladies. We had planned to go to the Metro after dinner. To our pleased surprise the Constantines walked in. We crowded into their tiny Hornet but got to the Metro too late for the show so went on to Tommy’s bar. From there at midnight onto the Continental’s cabaret. Back to Hel House at 2.30am. still vaguely sober.

A late-ish breakfast on the 4th. Then to the Gezara for another swim and a sandwich lunch. Bob had arranged to see some local friends, so John and I went off to look at the Pyramids, which we did in proper tourist style, with wobbly camel rides. Next tea, expensively, at Meena House Hotel. Back to Hel House for dinner and a flick, which, owing to EST, didn’t come out till 12.40am. Found Bob with friends in the bar and stayed chatting till one thirty when we broke it up for a 7am takeoff.

Taxi to Helwan. Airborne at 7.20. Got back to MB before 10. to hear stirring news of things done in our absence. There had been two raids - one on Saturday, the other on Sunday. The Saturday show was a wing combination, eight 113’s plus 211 and 55 - 24 a/c in all; the target, ships in Derna Harbour. 113 was delayed at takeoff by bomb handling troubles, but finally got up at 11.38 am to fly 340 deg. with the coast about 25m N. By Sidi Barrani the wing had got into order with vics spread about 5 m. Williams developed engine trouble and turned back. Nearing Derna the wing went out to sea for some 12m then turned in at 16,500 ft and did a flat-out approach, vics in line astern, to bomb at 10, 000 - individual aiming, and release.

55 was reported later as having done the most damage but no ships were actually sunk, though a jetty was demolished. 211 dropped small stuff all over the place, like confetti at a wedding. The paper today cracked it up as something terrific, but it wasn’t.

Andy had two 250s hung up but managed to shake them off over a satellite near a couple of Bredas that were lining up for takeoff. They didn’t, so perhaps he hurt them. He was pretty high still. The gunner said the pom-poms were bursting below them.

The second raid was rather hotter. It was again supposed to be a wing effort but 211 didn’t show up at the rendezvous and 113 had only four serviceable machines, 55 only two! (It’s getting ridiculous.) So six in two flights crossed the border in search of a small armoured-column reported earlier. The approach was at 12500 and the column easily located. Then the fun began.

113 suddenly realized they were flying over a collection of 27 mixed CR 32s and 42s and just ahead of them were 9 Breda 65s. This formidable outfit had turned in the direction of Fort Maddelena where the 8th Army were busy massing troops. The presence of the Bredas suggested those troops were about to be ground strafed. The little biplanes climbed rapidly to our altitude whereupon the wing dumped their bomb-load and went into a near vertical. Bill said the Blenheims actually clocked over 300 (computed). Quite a lot of the 42s hung on grimly (waiting for their wings to come off?) and the air was full of .5 tracer.

Fletcher, in particular, got hit quite a bit. He was pulling out of the dive when a CR42 overtook him. His gunner had been blazing at it and thinks he hit it because it went down in flames. He picked holes in another and it turned away. The wing tightened formation and crossed the border without loss (except of face!) The hectic action had lasted 12 minutes and three of the kites were put u/s. One of 55’s gunners was wounded but declared mendable. The Bredas sailed on and took no part at all.

What a day of fuss and muddle! Spent the morning pottering about doing my usual chores then about 3pm. when I was enjoying Anne Lindberg’s delicious book “North to the Orient” a recce was called for. (Ed: A first rate book highly recommended, nothing worse than having to put down a good read to go bomb Italians) The CO elected to do it but as John was duty-officer, I took his place as nav. At first the recce was to be Bardia but while we were warming up a cancel came through (by motorbike) and Barney shutdown and we sat there, sweating on our Sidcots, waiting for fresh orders.

Then Bardia was on again. The CO started first the port then the starboard then back to the port for full revs. And one mag. had clonked out. Our Flight-Sgt roared up in his pickup to find another kite. Then Bardia was canceled again! Well, it was too late anyway. Jock arrived with a fresh signal while Flight had found another a/c. We all got into Jock’s pickup and trundled over to the other plane.

The signal: a Sunderland was down in the sea just off Tobruk having been badly mauled by 42s; proceeding toward Tobruk was an Italian destroyer escorting a tanker; proceeding to the wounded Sunderland was another Sunderland with a view to rescuing the crew. At MB were two armed Swordfish. And due any minute a pair of Beaufighters. The Swordfish - it went on - were to sink the tanker, and if possible the destroyer for good measure. The second Sunderland was to rescue the crew of the first and then sink the floating crane at Tobruk. Our orders were to overfly everything and radio back what was going on.

Someone got the timing wrong. By the time we got their an Italian torpedo boat was close to the Sunderland. I thought it had our flying boat in tow but we were too high to be sure. The destroyer and the tanker were safely inside harbour and as we sidled over for a closer look up came the flak. The destroyer joined in - evidenced by the balls of black smoke with red centers. Barney cruised round out of range looking for the second Sunderland. We never saw it.

Reynolds and Durrant did the recce above, Jock having decided Group meant both harbours. They met with very heavy naval flak at Tobruk. A couple of warships must have snuck in during the night. So now we are expecting a show.

Here is the HQME report on the death or glory stuff of the 4th. “One Lysander of 208 escorted by four Gladiators left at 1700 hrs to recce enemy MT 12m east of Bir el Gobi. The formation was attacked by 50 CR42s and in the ensuing combat three CR42s were shot down. Three Gladiators are missing but it known that two are safe. At 18.30 nine Blenheims from 55,113, and 211 Squadrons attacked the MT. Fifty CR42 attacked the Blenheim formation. 113 gunners shot-down two EA. One Italian fighter was shot down by friendly AA.”

Well, as expected, something did happen today, and what a nonsense it was. Round about two pm. we got a standby. Steele had gone off on a recce to see if the two warships were still at Tobruk. Whether Group intended them to be a target for 113 is still a mystery. Our three Swordfish (who controls these fellows?) had taken off just after Steele. Bob said the Swordfish had been ordered to land at Sidi Barrani and refuel.

At 4pm. Steele transmitted the digit ‘2’ that meant yes, the warships were still there. Perhaps it didn’t convey anything of the sort to Group. Anyway, as three of our lot got airborne with orders to bomb them, the three Swordfish returned. Our flight was joined by 4 of 55, and we who were left behind went off for a swim.

Everyone got back in due course but with no sort of a story. The warships had departed. 55 somehow got ahead of Barney, who was supposed to be leading and dropped their load on ‘nothing in particular’ (according to John) Barney chose an alternative target, warehouses on the waterfront. 55 meanwhile had disappeared.

The three Swordfish have been to Tobruk and come back whole. Ock (Jock?) has pictures showing the havoc they wreaked. Clear to see, lying on their sides in the harbour, are one destroyer, one submarine and a small tanker. Two merchant ships seem to be beached. (Could they have done all this with three torpedoes?)

There are now several targets in the eastern section of Libya. The Italians are massing troops in the forward area. We have found a fuel dump near El Adem, and there are dozens of aircraft dispersed round the airfield. There is also a newly cleared area w. of Tobruk with a number of tri-motored a/c on it.

This is probably the only diary entry I shall make in the air. We have collected L9319 from Abu Suier and spent the night at Hel House. This is the kite we took to Benghazi that first trip - when the oxygen supply dried up. Now we are to go again, this morning at 11am. We left Helio at 6.30 and we’re an hour into our flight to MB.

Last evening was half briefing at HQME, and half having a party. We left the HQ in Cairo about 9.30pm. and joined a dance party the Kay's had arranged. Max was there. We stayed on till near one. Getting up again at 5.30 am was no joke!

Since writing that big on the plane a lot has happened. How’s my recall, Benghazi first: it was a long and uneventful trip but produced some interesting results. We set out a 11.20 am on the 9th. Just as we were running up, Jock dashed out in a car, and asked us to have a look for a sub reported near Mersa. That made a muck of my pretty flight plan. We went out to sea for 30m at low altitude and then turned towards Sidi Barrani. Saw no sub so we altered course inland, climbing, and began the 320 odd m. of desert to Benghazi. So we approached from well south having been briefed to keep a sharp lookout for new landing grounds.

Bob’s compass verge had shifted a bit on the way and when we picked up our first pinpoint we were well off course. It took us half-an-hour to get back. The harbour was very full, as we expected, and both Benina and Berca airfields looked very well-off for aircraft. North of Benina scattered all over the desert were lots of Breda 88s. In a leisurely fashion we made three photo runs across the harbour. This time still not knowing why our overlaps were too narrow we had plotted for 50 percent to be sure of getting stereo. (Why we failed last time was still a matter of open debate).

Then we set off north for Tocra, but found nothing there. They’ve lots of hangars on the airfields, though, and I suspect they feel pretty safe at this range. The hangars are probably stuffed full. Barce’s little batch of fighters were supplementing by a pair of big bombers. From Barce along the road of red sand to Cirene. Nothing here, so on to Appollonia one tiny civil a/c. Derna next. Pretty little harbour. Where are their planes? They boast of having 1500 in Libya. Well, plenty at El Adem and the forward bases, but not 1500.

Derna was our last target. We had used a whole canister of film. We turned out to sea and slid down to 17,000 the job finished. It is 4.30 pm. Now for some grub. The sandwiches were frozen and snapped like toast. We’ve tomatoes and sliced cucumber. The cucumber is like potato crisps. Spoonfuls of marmalade are best, followed by gulps of hot tea. We each eat a bar of chocolate. Poor Tommy is frozen stiff. His turret is jammed and we cannot close our top canopy window. So (particularly when the camera window was open) he’s been abiding in a considerable draft. We’ve brought him up to the well where we have some blankets and cushions to protect from the spars.

We finish the trip without any hitches, Sgt. Lucas is there to grab the film, we debrief and get to the Mess stiff and tired. It is midnight before we hear the pictures are fine. Gosh! How I want to sleep! We stagger to our tents for a short kip. We're to be called at five am to get the pics to Cairo. Fortunately, the guard makes a mistake, and we sleep on till 6.10 am.

We get off at 7.30 am with a set of prints and land at Helio. (Helio is 225 m from MB). W/Commander Willetts is enormously pleased with our stuff and steers us in to receive personal congrats., from the C in C (Sir Arthur). It seems we’ve done a good job. (Ed Note: No one in Cairo lets on at the time that the target maps are ‘up the spout’, though it is widely known in HQ. P/O ‘Skeleton’ is left with the burden of that little failure.)

And now before I go back and describe what the other lads have been doing I must have a natter with Jock to get the gen. (No one does the official ‘history’ when I’m away. I’m forever playing catch-up.) Bob and I came back yesterday, the 10th. Barney has signed 9319 onto our strength so I suppose there will be more long recces. Bob got himself a swim at Helio before we came back but I fell asleep for an hour or so in the Mess there.

The squadron has been busy in our absence. On the 9th. They went to Tobruk intent on sinking the big floating crane. The Army doesn’t like this thing because they say it is capable of off-loading tanks. The early recce had revealed it unloading stuff from a cargo ship on the west jetty, but it moves about and you can never be sure where to find it. Three 113s joined up with three each from 55 and 211, and the little ‘wing’ set off after a rendezvous over Ras el Kenias. They had alternative targets of Naval oil tanks a bit to the north. The blessed crane was tucked away (Jock guessed at its refueling point, and 55 leading circled everyone round and round, but couldn't find it. So they broke formation and individually bombed whatever too their fancy.

Williams developed a wonky motor and got left in the target area. Peter Wakelin saw two approaching ships, so they bombed those. ‘No hits observed’ said the gunner at debriefing. Seems to have been a rather silly show.

The next day, the 10th. They tried again. Another little ‘wing’ of ten kites from the three sqdns. (There must be a helluva lot of stuff u/s at Flights). Vicki Boehm, with Peter, turned back with a dud port engine. The target was a huge new military camp. They didn’t even find it! But they hit a little one next door and caused considerable mayhem. All got back in one piece - even Vicki.

We all have the feeling things here are coming to the boil. There are big troop movements being made by both sides. Jock says our pictures of the roads east from Benghazi reveal dozens of tank transporters very widely spaced - offering no sort of target. The three harbours are constantly full, and Italian aircraft abound everywhere. Bob says there’s no point in counting them so carefully the way Group do. They are moved so often they get counted twice!

The Italians are massing in their forward camps. A big new camp has popped up just 30 miles inside the wire. Gobi, of course, is now monstrous. A large mine-laying destroyer has appeared at Tobruk with 12 torpedo boats. When we were in Helio there was a definite air of expectancy. “When is the blitzkrieg going to start?”

No ops today. I spent the morning on this diary and the ‘history’. (It has to be written to a precise format: target, number and type of a/c; names of those taking part; brief description; any observed damage; status of returned a/c. Leader’s comments.) Very dull.

I keep meaning to make a list of the expressions we use here, but when I try to make a start, I can’t think of them. The use of the odd Arabic word is, of course, common in the Delta, and we have brought some with us. ‘Shuftie’ - having a look. Latin ‘dekko’. The ‘shuftie-king’ today - the chap doing the dawn recce. ‘King-pin’ = the leader of any enterprise. ‘Split’ - a polite contraction of ‘split-arse’ = any mad aerial maneuver. ‘Shoot-up’ low-flying intended to frighten people on the ground/ (The Mess is frequently subjected to this by pilots returning from leave.) A ‘line’= telling a tall story. Some messes, including ours, maintain a Line Book in which are recorded the most outrageous ‘lines’. The officer’s name is appended, sometimes with a cynical remark by a superior. ‘Like a ding-bat’ - anything that travels very fast.

Gilly has appeared with a Bombay and the armourer’s are loading it with 500lb. armour-piercing. He’s here for ten days. Harvest moon? Surely to hell they’re not going to put him over Tobruk. Perhaps it’s that bally crane. It has a charmed life that thing.

Group has issued new maps of Tobruk with a grid of little squares. We are in future to report sightings as ‘in sq. so and so, ’like a BBC football commentary'. This, of course, is all about locating that crane!

Another operationless day! We seem to be busy servicing other squadrons but not doing anything ourselves. Rand, who appeared from Group first thing this morning, says we are down for something tomorrow. He’s come because Jock has been whisked off to Mersa for a confab with Army top brass.

I am orderly-dog today and have whiled away the time reading Wells’ “Chrstine Alberto’s Father.” Jock reckons aircrew spend 99 percent of their time doing ‘damn all’ and one percent being shit-scared. I think he’s right - not for Bob, though. I don’t think Bob is scared of anything. He scares us, though.

55 escorted by some of 33’s Beaufighters did a nice show at Bomba. (It was our show really because we found the 15 flying boats there and should have been given a stab at them. These things have been patrolling up and down outside Tobruk for some days now. They are big things, proper Balbos, and are said to carry a 2000kg. bomb - not funny even if you’re a battleship.

The plan was simple: 55 were to go in and bomb with lots of 40s and 20s and the Beaux were then to pitch in at low level with their five-apiece Brownings. Everything went according to plan, except that the expected opposition never materialized so they made three runs instead of one. They all came back, the Beaus, of course, to us. But debriefing was at Group so we heard nothing directly. We’d love to know how many they pranged. (Three, escaped we know. One of our recces reported them on patrol as usual.)