Diary of a Navigator Pt 8

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John Mitchell’s account of his VIP flying with the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill in 1943 continues in this eighth instalment.

TURKISH INTERLUDE AND RETURN TO THE UK

All through the autumn months of 1943 the PM had been busy with a pet scheme of his to convert Turkey from mixed neutrality to join the war on the Allied side. The Turks had been prudently sitting on the fence, anxious not to be on the losing side and equally anxious about Soviet Russian intentions in the long term, at her back door. It could be said that the Turkish Army was generally pro German, having been largely trained and equipped by them, dreaming perhaps of past great ideas of the Kaiser and the Berlin Baghdad Axis. On the other hand the small but efficient Turkish Air Force was RAF trained and decidedly pro British in fact, remnants of our training mission had lingered on after the outbreak of the war in various roles, under a particularly energetic Air Attaché in Ankara, one Bobby George, later to be Air Attaché in Paris in 1945/46. Evidently Roosevelt and Churchill had agreed to invite Inonu, the Turkish President to Cairo for talks at which Vyshinsky was to be present, on Stalin's insistence. The York was therefore despatched to Turkey to fetch the President, with Captain Randolph Churchill (as a special compliment) to do the honours. Little did we know on departure that Roosevelt had despatched his aircraft, the Sacred Cow, on a similar mission led by his son in-law, Major Boettinger with a bevy of senior Colonels, etc. Adana, in South East Turkey, was to be the pick up point.

3rd December 1943. Supplied from RAF sources (I believe the Cairo bazaar) with rather ill fitting sports jackets to wear with RAF uniform trousers, so that we might perhaps masquerade as a civil aircrew, we left Cairo West at midday on a short three hour flight to Adana, a small civil airfield with no facilities whatsoever for large aircraft, except for a barely adequate tarmac strip. Our route lay eastwards through the Ismailia corridor of the Canal air defences and around the coast of Palestine, over Gaza, Haifa, to Acre, thence direct to Adana, The few local Turkish air force officers at the airfield were most friendly and their numbers grew as they sampled our hospitality (Scotch Whisky) which we were fortunately able to offer in Randolph's name. Probably RAF trained, they literally 'homed in' on the sound of the soda siphon. A good time was had by all: they soon demolished our limited stocks; regrettably, they could only offer the local spirit, Raki, a Levantine version of Ouzo, and that at aviation strength. I believe it is a good disinfectant though prone to hang over production.

4th December 1943. The following morning the VIP train of the famous blue Wagons Lit carriages drew up alongside the airfield. The President's party seemed to be surrounded by officials of all colours of uniforms but we were more concerned to be ready for the off. In a few minutes Randolph arrived in a panic and somewhat breathless to say that 'they' had got him in a Skymaster. 'What is to be done?' Send a message at once to Cairo to tell the Prime Minister what was happening. Jack Gallacher, our very Glaswegian wireless operator, explained succinctly that there was no way in which he could raise Cairo on the WT (for we had no long range voice HF in those days) until we were airborne. The message would have to be in cipher in any case and that by the time that he had encoded it and Cairo had received it, decoded it and passed it to the Prime Minister's party (who might well already be en route to Cairo West Airport to welcome M.Inonu), we should ourselves have landed.

We were a slightly faster plane than the Skymaster. and if we cut directly across the Eastern Mediterranean and so cut the corner and beat the USAF aircraft, we could land in time to explain where the VIP was. What a master piece of planning! So off we went, stepping up the engine power; and who were our passengers? We had been left with the Turkish Vice President, the British Ambassador to Ankara, the Russian Ambassador and our Air Attache, Bobby George, and a vast amount of luggage, and of course, Randolph, out ranked and probably out drunk the night before.

Certainly we raced the USAF Skymaster into the landing circuit of Cairo West but not by very much. The RAF Air Traffic Control, assuming we had the VIP on board had us marshalled onto the place of honour where the PM et al was waiting. As we swung into position with the door facing the awaiting dignitaries, we showered the band with sand to tickle up the Turkish National Anthem. Out got Randolph: to be confronted by father with, one presumes, the question "What have you done with M.Inonu?". What else was said of course was out of our earshot. Meanwhile, the Skymaster with its VIP passenger, unknown to the RAF Air Traffic Control, was marshalled onto a distant hard standing and met by a jeep and a ladder, for there were no steps of Skymaster height at Cairo West. I suppose for once we thoroughly enjoyed the discomfort of officialdom from the level of the cockpit. We tidied ourselves away and took off for a hotel in down town Cairo.

This attempt to bring Turkey into the war was a failure, reinforced no doubt by our disastrous attempt to retake Kos and Leros earlier in the autumn. However, the PM was determined that the Turkish President should return to Adana in the York.

7th December 1943. We left at midday from Cairo West for Adana, this time the PM taking Inonu firmly by the arm and guiding him to the door of the aircraft, with no Americans in sight. On the short flight, champagne and delicate sandwiches were served; these were specially acquired, I believe, by Teddy Smouha from Groppi's in Cairo. This time there were no excitements. We had the whole Turkish diplomatic entourage on board and there was no doubt that Randolph did justice to the refreshments and the honours to the Turks. Just before we landed, the President presented the Captain with a gold wrist watch as a souvenir; the rest of the aircrew got boxes of a 100 best Turkish cigarettes; and to Jock Duncan, the chef, he gave £20 in notes we all felt he came off best! We returned directly to Cairo the same afternoon with no further risks from Turkish ground based hospitality.

10th December 1943. Four days later, we left Cairo to head homewards, so we thought, with the next stop Tunis. There were rumours (again) that the PM wanted to visit the troops in Italy, although inside information indicated that he was very tired. Our passengers were as for the Teheran journeys plus the CIGS, Sir Alan Brooke, who was going to proceed on his own visits to Italy later and return to England separately, after getting to Tunis. The take off was set for 2100 hours local time and the RAF Movements Staff of Cairo West, mindful of the PM's recent birthday celebrated in Teheran, had provided a splendid birthday cake for him and this was set out on the conference room table in the aircraft for all to admire.

Rumour had it that the PM was not at all happy with the proceedings at Teheran and in Cairo, especially with the American attitude. He was also disappointed with the outcome of the Turkish President's visit. Furthermore, he had a heavy cold. The aircraft was ordered to be specially warmed for him on the ground (Cairo West airfield on the edge of the desert plateau could be incredibly cold at night we were in blue uniform). So we used an electric fire on the airfield mains for this purpose. The aircraft's own heating would work only from the engines and therefore would take a little time to warm up after take off. Local intelligence, supplemented by Flight Officer Sarah Oliver on her visits to the cockpit, told us the PM was not in the best of humour. Although he was pleased with the gift from the RAF, he did not want his cake now: it was to be put away safely, for a future occasion. The flight itself was uneventful at about 8,000 feet and my log records a brilliant star light night. Our route lay due west across the desert to Marble Arch and then via Tripoli to Medenin where we turned north for Tunis. Our destination airfield was EI Aotrina, on the outskirts of the city on the road to Carthage.

Fifteen minutes short of landing time our corrected ETA was sent by W/T and acknowledged by Tunis ATC with the message that EI Aouina was closed to all traffic and that we were to divert to 'Whipsnade', the code name for an airstrip some ten minutes flying time away. We queried these instructions by WIT we had to observe strict R/T silence regarding our mission, and continued to El Aouina, actually overflying the airfield and lowering the under carriage to indicate our desire to land. ATC was adamant: EI Aouina was closed and we were to proceed to Whipsnade which had been identified for us amid the plethora of landing strips which had been constructed in the area. We could only assume that last minute unserviceability or obstruction of the one and only long runway. Thus we sailed over the heads of the assembled VIPs awaiting the PM's arrival and went off to land at a half deserted airstrip inhabited by a Beaufighter squadron. Clearly, something was badly wrong when we were met by a scruffy flying control jeep. Hasty telephone calls established that El Aouina was indeed closed to all aircraft, except the PM's York!

Unfortunately, the PM insisted upon disembarking and sat glumly on a packing case for five or ten minutes while contact was established. There were angry words and some confusion. It was a cold, winter morning and the aircraft cabin had been particularly warm; the damage was done. We took off some half an hour later for El Aouina with the PM in a worse mood and the start of what proved to be an attack of pneumonia. We land again in ten minutes at the correct destination this time, to the embarrassment of the assembled VIPs.

A visit to Italy was still in the plan but after 48 hours it was quite clearly off. For almost two weeks the PM was extremely ill and it was not until Mrs Churchill's arrival on December 17th that he began to recover and then rapidly. It was said that only she could insist on him taking the medicines that were prescribed. Mrs Churchill had arrived in a BOAC Liberator from Lyneham, via Gibraltar, flown by Captain Armstrong and had had a very rough passage. She was escorted by Jock Colville, one of the PM's Private Secretaries. Meanwhile, the crew were entertained most comfortably not far away by one of Eisenhower's ADCs in a villa at Sidi Bou Said. It was not until eight days later that we were despatched to Cairo, although we had been dispersed the day after we arrived (12th) to Sidi Amor, another airstrip in the vicinity: the York in its standard UK camouflage was all too obvious on the bare ground, should a nosey Luftwaffe reconnaissance aircraft be searching out the PM's whereabouts.

Gerald Pawle in his book on Churchill's travels 'The War and Colonel Warden' describes the events of the next few days at Eisenhower's villa The Little White House' where the party was put up. Churchill's temperature shot up: Moran sent off to Algiers and Cairo for ace RAMC Specialists and two QA's. The RN Chief Petty Officer Chef in HMS Renown, then at Gibraltar was flown to Tunis to cook for the PM's party, for he had looked after the PM's gastronomic requirements on the journey out. A company of Irish Guards were brought in from Constantine to guard the premises and various anti aircraft guns arranged for air defence.

20th December 1943. There had been some scare about this time of a German commando raid to seize the PM. A cover plan had been devised in which a VIP villa was rented and ostentatiously guarded by British troops on the outskirts of Cairo at Helwan. As a part of this plan, the York was despatched back to Cairo West with no attempt to conceal its arrival. We were carrying only Lt Colonel Scadding, one of the RAMC doctors who had been sent for by Lord Moran and whose services were no longer needed at the Little White House. The Axis press and radio promptly reported that the PM was indeed in Cairo. The crew had some decoy value in down town Cairo because by now our comings and goings were associated with this unique aircraft.

25th December 1943. We were summoned back to Tunis on Christmas day to find a different scene: the PM very much better. We had flown into Tunis empty, a seven and a half hour day time flight, arriving in good time so as not to miss our invitation to the Little White House on Christmas evening where Sarah Churchill gave a party for some of the many servicemen and women who had been involved in his stay there. It was a buffet supper drinks party with all the 'family' and about five Commanders in Chief with their retinue. The PM was in sparkling form in his dressing gown and slippers.

On December 26th we had a briefing conference for the flight to Marrakesh where the PM would convalesce. The Met Officer expected a big cloud build up over the Middle Atlas Mountains, the highest peak of which was in the vicinity of 12,000 feet some way to the south of our expected route. The PM's doctors were not keen that he should fly above 6,000 feet. The Taza Pass through the Atlas Mountains, near Fez, is about 3,000 4,000 feet. We had two choices. To fly westwards down the Mediterranean in and out of cloud over the sea all the way, out into the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar and so south to Marrakesh; or, to fly inland south of the Algerian coastal mountains over the relatively low desert hills, over the Shatt el Hodna and take a chance that the cloud was clear of the Pass and that we could sneak through it though it would obviously be very bumpy. But we were warned that there could be a deterioration in cloud conditions, though meteorological reports en route were sparse.

The Captain 'Dad' Collins opted for the latter route, if the BOAC Liberator aircraft, which was to carry some of the entourage would fly ahead of us and radio back the weather conditions they found. The AOC in C concurred in this decision, for to fly over the Mediterranean at 6000 feet with all those large convoys sailing hither and thither, the risk of being shot at was too great. The York, a four engined aircraft strange to the area would be immediately associated with a Luftwaffe Focke Wolf 'Condor' with hostile intentions. The Royal Navy were notoriously trigger happy, not without reason.

In confirming the Captain's choice, which for three quarters of the route would be in clear, dry desert air, Tedder decreed that we would take along with us his PMO, one Air Commodore Kelly, notwithstanding that we had Lord Moran with us at all times. Kelly brought along a portable hospital oxygen kit which was quite unnecessary as the aircraft was fitted with an abnormally large oxygen supply and enough outlets for all the various passenger seats. Kelly was 'in the way', both from the crew's point of view as well as Lord Moran's.

27th December 1943. Airborne at 0815 hours local time with all the family including Mrs Churchill and Sarah Oliver, we settled down to a smooth flight at just under 6,000 feet for the first three and a half hours. Approaching the main Atlas range our own meteorological observations, strengthened by the Liberator's radioed reports, made it clear that the Taza Pass was in cloud. The Liberator had gone through with a bad bumping and perilously near the high ground on either side of track. We were therefore faced with the decision whether to turn north and come out over the Mediterranean near Melilla and thence westwards through the Straits, or to climb for 15 minutes and clear this section of the Middle Atlas range at 11,500 feet. At this point it is a comparatively narrow hogsback and we knew we could start reducing height almost as soon as we topped the climb.

The aircraft Captain chose the latter course and informed Mr Churchill and the other passengers. 1 think the PMO nearly passed out with fright at the thought of it. However, the PM said "Don't worry about me, consider the safety of the aircraft first". After 15 minutes slow climb we broke out into glorious sunshine and cruised level at 11,500 feet for about 20 minutes, before gently reducing height via Meknes to Marrakesh, where we landed after a flight of just under six hours.

After an excellent lunch the PM had taken oxygen from the aircraft's system as and when he felt like it "happy playing with his oxygen apparatus" as Lord Moran puts it and drinking his customary brandy and soda. The only panic appears to have been the PMO himself who darted breathlessly up and down the aircraft with questions of all and sundry. Fortunately, we did not have the embarrassment of extraneous medical advisors on later flights. But naturally, it was a great relief to us that the PM was unaffected by the altitude, in spite of his pneumonia. He had been in splendid form, and suffered only from the 'wind', in Sawyer's terms. So we arrived in glorious winter sunshine but knew that this paradise was not for us. We left precisely twenty minutes later, without refuelling, for the one hour flight to Rabat where we were to pick up General Sir 'Jumbo' Maitland Wilson, his Chief of Staff, Brigadier Murphy and his MA Colonel Chapman Walker and take them back to the UK. He too had a personal aircraft a Dakota given the name of 'Freedom' and flown by Squadron Leader Penfold, but this aircraft with its furnishings, did not have the range and payload to make a non stop flight to London.

28th December 1943. The use of Rabat was now routine for us. Time for our supper and flight preparation, a good route forecast but with risk of fog in the London area. Our flight plan time was eight hours ten minutes flying at 10,000 feet. In the event, the flight was straightforward and comfortable and we started to reduce height some 150 miles out from Hartland Point gaining a little speed all the time. Landing forecast received made it clear that Northolt was impossible with thick fog so we had no option but to put down at Lyneham whence cars were organised for our VIP passengers. We hung about until midday, getting some breakfast and tidying up the aircraft, before leaving for Northolt when the rain and fog had lifted. So home for the New Year, but with instructions to be ready to return to Marrakesh a week later, with Jumbo Wilson and his staff. We had been away for six weeks and the York had behaved faultlessly with no mechanical hold ups. We were becoming a good deal more experienced in the running of this airborne yacht and the whims and wishes of its owner.

While the PM was enjoying the sunshine, painting and picnicking in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains the crew enjoyed late Christmas celebrations at home. The RAF Mess at Northolt had saved us some turkey and plum pudding. Obviously there was a certain amount of activity in the York Flight as the engines had to be overhauled, the airframe thoroughly cleaned of desert sand both inside and out, and all the catering accoutrements washed and polished. A fresh supply of clean sheets and towels had to be acquired and, from lessons learned, crockery and glass and utensils exchanged or replaced.

6th January 1944. Off again with the same passengers whom we had brought home a few days earlier, plus Captain Manley Power RN, the Chief Naval Planning Officer on Admiral Cunningham's staff, whose expertise on the availability of landing craft was highly valued by the PM (especially in his drive to mount amphibious operations on the coast of Italy). In addition, we also brought out from the UK. General Sir Bernard Paget to be Jumbo's deputy. On this flight we were lucky with additional navigational assistance. The USAAC operated a regular passenger/flight service between Prestwick and Marrakesh, routed down the Atlantic coast of the Irish Republic. As navigation had never been an American specialisations, to say the least, they had installed a powerful radio range of distinctive signal characteristics which the stupidest pilot could follow like a sign post, without a trained navigator at both terminals. Of course, in fine weather and in clear moonlight, the snow-capped summit of the Grand Atlas range could be seen miles away. Our flight time of nine hours forty minutes, at a cruising height of 9,600 feet. We landed at Marrakesh an hour after sunrise, on a glorious morning. We ourselves were lucky to be accommodated in the Hotel Mamounia where the PM's staff was also put up this was a luxury hotel, a former palace, with lovely gardens and Arabic decorative tiles everywhere.

9th January 1944. Two days later we were despatched to Algiers to fetch the Duff Coopers, then the British Diplomatic representative with the Free French in North Africa. We took with us from Marrakesh, Brigadier Fitzroy MacLean, leader of the UK Mission to Tito's partisan forces in Yugoslavia. He had been summoned for talks with the PM, Randolph Churchill (who always seemed to turn up when there was free drinks and food to be had) and Captain Sanderson who were with Fitzroy MacLean would continue on to Bari, in Italy, and then to be dropped by parachute back into Yugoslavia. One would assume correctly that this was a jovial trip of about four hours to us with no worries about the height of crossing the Atlas range. We climbed to 15,000 feet and flew the direct track, letting down slowly all the way to Algiers and making a fast trip. Notwithstanding the relatively low ranks of our passengers, Jock Duncan offered them a fillet steak and saute potatoes, following cream of vegetable soup: this they polished off with fruit salad and cream, then the statutory cheese and biscuits, and coffee. I think the Owner would have approved; after all, they wouldn't be getting this sort of menu in Yugoslavia. The crew slept on board the aircraft at Maison Blanche as we knew we were to return early the following morning to Marrakesh.

10th January 1943. We were standing by ready for an 11 o'clock take off when it became clear that this would be delayed. First, Lady Diana Duff Cooper arrived at the aircraft with the ADC or Staff Officer, one Major Boggis Rolfe said to be connected with 'Security'. Their vehicle, a splendid pre war Citreon Light 15 had had a minor 'panne en route', the traffic around Algiers naturally being truly French. Then Duff Cooper himself arrived slightly later and it was immediately clear that only champagne would be a suitable medicine to settle their jangled nerves before the flight. This was the only time (in spite of Randolph Churchill) the rule was broken that the aircraft's bar was not opened until after take off. This restorative wasted more time and eventually we took off for the return flight at 11.45 on what today would be a sort of Airborne Orient Express lunchtime flight. It was smooth at 8,000 feet and our records show that roast chicken was the main course followed by a choice of grilled lamb chops or cold ham and salad. Jock Duncan our chef was at his best. A four hour flight enabled the passengers to do justice to the menu and to have a short sleep before landing. They were met on arrival by Mrs Churchill and Sarah Oliver. We retreated to the Hotel Mamounia once more, being warned for departure to Gibraltar and the UK four days later. On 16th January, the day before departure, Sarah gave a large party for the lesser conference supporters and the crew were all included.

14th January 1944. The PM was now really rested up. He had had numerous conferences and had settled the details of the Anzio landings; had entertained de Gaulle and thoroughly enjoyed meeting El Glaoui, the Pasha of Marrakesh who was the most senior tribal chieftain in this French Colony. We left for Gibraltar at 12.45, a lunchtime flight of two and a half hours with the PM, Mrs Churchill, Sarah Oliver, Lord Beaverbrook, Lord Moran and two Thompson. We coasted out over Casablanca and then into the Straits to Europa Point and so to land at North Front at 1500 hours Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, to be going home the PM keen to continue home in the York that night, weather permitting. He made it clear that he preferred the comfort of his aircraft to the 'draughty' battleship which he knew was awaiting him.

The VIPs went to the Convent, the Governor's Residence in Gibraltar for dinner whilst Captain 'Dad' Collins and I went to the Meteorological Office and worked out a flight plan for a crossing that night of approximately eight and a half hours to Northolt.

Meanwhile, it was confirmed to us that the battleship King George V was standing off Gibraltar and that the PM was expected to travel home in it, on Cabinet instructions. A wintry sea voyage was said to be good for his convalescence. A little, while later, on instructions from the ADC, Collins reported to the Convent and was taken into the PM's bedroom where he was resting. Collins was quizzed on the weather, on take off time, etc, and all seemed set for our departure.

Outside the PM's bedroom in the corridor, C in C Med Admiral Sir John Cunningham, and the Governor of Gibraltar, General Mason MacFarlane, told him (Collins) that on no account was the PM to fly home whatever he had said. Lord Moran was against flying and even the AOC had been suborned into saying that the weather was none too favourable. All in all, it transpired that the PM was shanghaied to the battleship and Collins was instructed that on no account was he to attempt to fly empty from North Front that night or indeed start his engines without express instructions. He would be stopped and forcibly restrained if he did. Further more, one of the York's engines was to be covered with a tarpaulin and step ladders placed alongside the aircraft to simulate unserviceability for the benefit of the duty spy who would have known by then that Churchill was on the Rock.

Jack Payne our Flight Engineer was deeply hurt the aircraft had never been unserviceable when it was needed by the Prime Minister. We all felt that we were being bullied by the Navy for whom it would be a loss of face if the Prime Minister returned home by air. We were order to remain at Gibraltar, covered up, until the KGV sailed into Plymouth on 17th January, when we were released.

17th/18th January 1944. We took off by night for Northolt empty, on an eight hour flight plan with doubts about landing conditions at home base. We checked in over Hartland Point and continued towards Northolt when we got diversion orders to Portreath near Camborne in Cornwall, only to be countermanded (for weather was closing in) and ordered to Chivenor, near Barnstaple. This was a sea level airfield in contrast to Portreath which is on cliff tops. There we landing in miserable weather and low visibility and were parked on a most distant hard standing, away from all civilisation and laid out right against some unfortunate Devonshire farmer's orchard. Mat a contrast from North Africa and the Mamounia Hotel! Northolt was fogged in, 'solid' in RAF parlance, and we remained at Chivenor, living in the aircraft 48 hours more before we could fly home on the 20th January. We had quickly made friends with this dispossessed farmer by giving him some bananas for the children. Leaning over the farmyard gate, he nonchalantly remarked of the York, "She be a big bugger bain't she" in his local dialect, "we didn't expect to see the likes of that thar on our orchard!". So, with the end of the Cairo and Teheran conferences came a period of two months slackness, as far as the York was concerned. The co pilot, the wireless operator and myself returned to 24 Squadron duties, apart from the occasional test flights of our aircraft to make sure that it was in constant readiness for the PM's orders.

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