Having arrived at Rongotai, I settled for the night as next day, the 16th of February 1944, I was to appear before the medical officer for an assessment on my health and was I able to fly again. And so it was over to Headquarters and an appointment with the MO [medical officer], who would give me the once over twice, or as many times as he thought that I would require it. Having passed, I went back to the barracks to await further orders and if possible do a bit of sightseeing and taking in a picture show or two. I must say that the medical was the toughest that I had ever experienced yet. After a few days I received a call to report to headquarters again, and so off I went and on reporting was told to go up to a certain floor and knock on another door and await the command to enter. As I was in the holiest of grails it was not a good idea to upset anyone and so I was on my best behavior.
After what seemed hours, I was summoned in to an office that contained not one but five officers sitting behind a long table. I didn't know that I was that important!
On entering and giving the best salute of my career I was told to sit down, and as a chair just so happened to be there that is where I sat.
“Fighters," one officer said.
“No bombers," another quipped.
“No, no, fighters."
“What about the Corsairs!"
“No, no, he'll be alright."
Now up to this point I have not said a word. “How would you like to fly fighters?” the officer who started talking asked me.
“Not particularly sir, as I trained on multies and that's my preference.”
“Ah, but your first choice was fighters.”
“Yes sir but that was before I graduated on multies and most of my flying has been on them. Besides that was over two years ago.”
“You would like a change wouldn't you?”
“Not really," I replied
“Oh, I think that you will like them so we will assign you to a squadron flying P-40's [Kittyhawks].”
So the die was cast and I would become a fighter pilot, whether I liked it or not.
“As you spent some time in Canada towing targets how about going up to Ardmore and doing some towing and then giving us you report on how we can improve things - as you used to tow and change drogues quickly and we would like to be able to do the same. But first you had better spend three days at Ohakea for you to get used to flying VILDEBEESTS and then off to Ardmore. There you will also do some operational training [at the operational training unit] before joining up with your squadron.”
So there, no arguments.
Up to this stage there had been no mention of Corsairs so what was going on?
So I head off to Ohakea and report in on the 29th of February 1944, and make my presence known at the flight office. On reporting I was told to go and get a parachute and report back. When I returned I was shown a Vildebeest sitting out on the flight line and was told to ''take it up for a spin.” Wait a minute shouldn't I have a check flight first?
“What's that?” the flight officer said, "You don't need a check flight, just take the bloody thing up." On my insistence I got my flight and what I didn't tell him was that I wanted to wander around the back cockpit just to get the feel of it, and besides I could at least have a look at the country side. So be it, I got my ride and it felt great just letting someone else do the flying.
Do you know just how big these aircraft are? Well for starters, they had a 13ft propeller towing you through the air and the rear cockpit was big enough to carry at least 13 people and this has been done. Now there was also a tunnel under the pilots seat where a bomb aimer could crawl up to his bomb aiming position to do his damage. So you see they are pretty big. Not fast, mind you, in fact not much faster than a Tiger Moth and they were obsolete and were being phased out of service.
After landing I had no option but to take one up and so with the important speeds etc ringing in my ears I went out and climbed into the aircraft and got an erk [aircraftman] to start me [well not me really but the aircraft] up which consisted of him winding up a flywheel and when fast enough engage the motor and hope that it would start first time.
The aircraft involved was Lord Nelson or in other words 111 - One eye, one arm, one ar---- and not as some historians would have us believe, Number One in the navy. Our interpretation was much more accurate don't you think? *
So after just one flight in the Vildebeest, I then went up in a Harvard doing a drogue take off from the ground and the last flight was just a sightseeing trip.
I suppose that I had better tell you about the flight I had in the Vildebeest. On coming in to land I decided to land as close to the end of the runway as I could. And so making a perfect approach I decided to land before a white line that was on the runway, but to my surprise I saw as I thought little objects moving before my eyes just below the surface of the runway. Whatever the objects were they were moving pretty fast. So I decided to land on the other side of the line and it was a bloody good job that I did as no one had informed me that the white line meant not to land before it as it was a dummy runway and the netting covered the bomb dump! No wonder the bods underneath were taking to their heels still it was good for their fitness.
So once more I had to get on the move and present myself to Ardmore airfield. Isn't it a blessing that I travel light just two kitbag's. Once more I hired an Air Force taxi, i.e. a covered truck, to take me to the railway station where I could then get a train to Papakura, where I would continue my flying.
This was on the 4th of March 1944, and here I joined No. 4 O.T.U. [Operational Training Unit]. And here I joined up again with Vincents and Vildebeests, which were identical except for some minor differences. As well as these beasts I also had a Harvard that had a bomb rack attached to the port wing which was intended for a drogue to be attached and which you as pilot was expected to get it off the ground without crashing.
There was an art to doing this as the aircraft was at take off position and the drogue was laid out about where the aircraft would leave the ground. The rope in-between was laid out between the drogue and the aircraft. And when the pilot was ready and had been given the all clear, the rope would then be attached to the aircraft and the pilot would stand on his brakes and open the throttle full bore. When he thought he had enough revs up he would release the brakes and speed along the runway until opposite the drogue then pull the aircraft up very steeply while the erk on the ground watched the rope and when it was just about at the drogue would then give the drogue a flick and hoped that the drogue would inflate. This worked 9 times out of 10 and of course on that one occasion the pilot would have to come around and drop it.
On completion of the exercise the pilot would have to come in and release the drogue in a designated area where it was retrieved and the hits assessed [the holes had different colours from the different aircraft]. On one occasion I had a hang up and the damn drogue just would not release, and so I was forced to land with it still attached to my port wing. To get safely in, I had to fly over the boundary fence at a sufficient height, to allow the drogue to hopefully clear the fence otherwise the damn thing could snag the fence and then either snap off or else bring me down. Life was meant to be full of challenges.
Now it was down to serious business and so I took under my charge the Vildebeests and a Harvard complete with a bomb rack. This aircraft had, when the cockpit cover was moved forward, allowed the rear operator to turn his seat around and so watch the drogue and was used, so I believe, when fitted with a scarf ring allowed a gunner to fire a pair of machine guns.
On days that I was not required to tow a target I would be sent over to Hobsonville to take flying helmets that required ventilating to the machinist there and then when they were ready go and pick them up and my mount was usually a Vincent.
On one occasion I was sent down to Rukuhia to take something down and then bring something back. This must have been top secret as I'm damned if I can remember what I took down or brought back. All I know is that I couldn't be bothered to fly very high so went down by rail. That is, I used the main trunk railway to navigate by until I got to Renown when I headed for Rukuhia past Gordonton just above the fields.
Well I just wanted to check that there was no gorse in the fields, didn't I? Flying at this height I passed the Maori cemetery at eyeball height and was able to see the inscriptions but was unable to read them as they were in Maori, and not being conversant in the language was just happy to see them and how well they were being kept.
As the course was mainly for new chums, operational flying was at the fore and of course I was in demand when it came to [a] sea marking and [b] air to air firing so I was kept pretty busy. Of course there just had to be incidents during this period as a lot of the pilots had not long become pilots and of course were very eager to show off to all and sundry just how good they were.
Their enthusiasm sometimes did nothing to instill confidence in their flying ability as the pilot flying either the drogue or laying sea markers [me] was sometimes given a shake up call. As I was to hand over the job of drogue towing to another pilot I had the task of teaching another new to flying and also drogue towing, etc.
I took out on one of my trips a new Sergeant pilot, a Sgt. Piper, who was in the rear of the Vincent. He had slid the front cover of the rear cockpit open so that he could peer over my shoulder to see what I was doing. Notice no inter-com, just plain old shouting. This was all on the 30th of March 1944, and I was in Vincent NZ105 and also one ground staff called LAC Vincent who would do the decent thing when I sung out and drop a sea marker.
Now the orders for carrying out this operation was very specific. If the Vincent that was painted a Yellow colour was over the water then NO-ONE was permitted to go and shoot at the marker - not until the Vincent or Harvard whichever aircraft was being used had returned over the land, and then and only then were you permitted to “attack” the target i.e. sea markers. As there was no aircraft in the vicinity it would be pointless to drop another marker so I just stooged around until a Kittyhawk made itself known to me so I told my offsider that we would go down and drop another marker. We proceeded to dive down when all of a sudden I was horrified to see nice little white tracers going between the space of both of my wings and what's more on both sides of the aircraft
Help we are under attack and not from an enemy aircraft but one of our own!
“Tell the Kittyhawk to cease firing as I am still over the water!” I called out to the control tower, as I was in contact only with them and they in turn were in contact via another channel to the Kittyhawk. This they must have done because apart from not firing any more he promptly turned and headed for Ardmore. He must have been recalled at the same time as he had been told to stop shooting.
As this episode had done nothing for my blood pressure I turned around to Piper who was a whiter shade of white, and that was an understatement, and informed him that we would be returning to base. On returning I was told that the pilot concerned just did not see me. Just a good keen man but of course he had to be punished and what was delved out to him I do not know or care as we were safe. I did explain to Piper that not all exercises like this ended this way. It was later discovered that there was a bullet hole in the propeller going from rear to front and I believe that the said propeller is down on the wall at the Thames RSA but under the banner of coming off NZ111. Not so, NZ105 was the culprit.
What happened in Canada, re the retrieving of the cable if the pilot dropped it for any reason, was also the same here and so on one occasion while towing a drogue we were forced to jettison it while we were way out at the Manukau Heads. And so on landing back at the drome I had to go to the transport office and ask for a truck and with my operator I headed out to the heads to see if we could retrieve the said cable. After climbing over hills and down the blasted dales we eventually came across it and then the long haul back to the waiting truck. Thank goodness we were not paying for the petrol. So with the cable and drogue now aboard we headed back to base dirty and tired.
On the 24th of April I was again ordered to report to Wellington for another medical. Why it couldn't be done up at Ardmore or even Auckland I'll never know, but still orders are to be obeyed and so off I went, via the train of course. So after arriving at Wellington in the morning I went straight to Headquarters and reported to the doctor who gave me one hell of an examination and pronounced me still alive, and I was fit to go up the Islands. Now of course I had to catch the train back to Papakura, another overnight trip. Arriving back next morning, by this time I am bloody tired but still had to report back to the flight office. Off I trudge to report in. On arrival I went down to the Flight Commander's office and opening the door gave him one heck of a salute.
“Good morning Flight. Oh sorry, Mr."
“Good morning sir," I said with a puzzled look on my face.
“Oh you don't know, do you?” and with that he sang out to the OC [orderly clerk], “Bring in the 14th's DRO [Daily Routine Orders] will you."
When the clerk duly arrived the Flight Commander said for me to read it, and there in black and white [what other colours did you expect this being wartime? And besides multi colour printing was not in the Air Force itinerary] was a notice pertaining to me.
“Read it out aloud Mr.” I was told, and on looking around I noticed that damn nearly everybody from the office was at the door to the Flight Commander's office.
So without any more ado I read it out, “Promotions as of the 12th FEB 1944 F/S Pearce is hereby promoted to Warrant Officer with effect 12th Feb 1943"
Notice the date? Yes, I had been promoted for the last 12 months but because I was still with the RCAF I didn't get it. Still I had it now and boy oh boy would I get some back pay. At least that's what I thought.
“Congratulations Mr., just grab my jeep and go over to the stores and change over your badges etc.”
I was beginning to like this rank already. So away to the stores department I went. Now anyone who has had anything to do with the stores will know that THEY were a law unto themselves. As I approached the stores building there was a line of men and women awaiting the pleasures of the store bods. It did not matter whether you were a lowly erk or an officer when you were dealing with the stores personnel, you did what they said and so it was with some trepidation that I climbed out of the Jeep and went up to the counter with the DRO's in my hand
“To the end of the line, Flight,” was the command.
“That's ok, just tell me when you think you can fit me in.”
“What's you got?” The erk at the counter said.
“Oh, I've just got to change over my badges mostly," I replied handing over the papers.
“This way, Sir,” was his reply on seeing the orders and I was then whisked into the inner sanctum smartly where my measurements were quickly taken [remember that I was now required to wear an officers uniform] Badges were cut off my uniform and new ones of the higher rank were quickly sewn on. Caps were changed and as it was summer I had a W/O badge fitted to my wrist on a clip on bangle. So with all the formalities done and being told that my main uniform would be ready in two days time, I took off back to the hanger much to the disgust of those still waiting in the line.
As it was close to lunchtime I headed over to the mess room where I went up to the servery to get my lunch when an airman in a short white coat came up to me and said,
“Please Sir, this is your table. Just sit down and I will get what you want.”
Boy, this will do me as my life as such changed dramatically. Now the only thing that was different from a full blown officer was a salute from the lower ranks, but apart from that I had more power than most officers as I would soon find out.
Of course I was at an O.T.U. And was required to convert to Kittyhawks [P-40] as soon as possible and because there was no dual controlled aircraft available one had to sit three tests. The first one with a experienced pilot on this type of aircraft and this consisted of going through the start up procedure, pre-take-off, take-off, climbing and then normal flying. This was done on what was called an instructional airframe, in other words an aircraft that was no longer fit for flying and usually had bits and pieces taken off it.
When this was satisfactory you had to go through the landing pattern right down to the close down procedures, and when this was satisfactory you were then tested by a more senior pilot. Again going through the same patter and if he was satisfied then you were tested by the most senior of all who in my case just happened to be The Mad Russian or at least that was how he was known. This person was well known in the Air Force being none other than Flight Lieutenant de Willimoff, or as I called him Willie. One hell of a wonderful man. Now these checks were normally not carried out after one another, as generally you made a mistake and so would have to revise your procedure. On this particular day, which just happened to be washed out due to low cloud which was down to 500 ft and was considered dangerous to flying - especially as we had some very inexperienced pilots learning to fly the P40's including me. So don't expect to go solo today. However Willie had other ideas and took me out to do another check on me and then he went into the flight office and said that I was ready to go.
“No way today as flying is off,” he was told.
“Well I think the weather is lifting so we had better do a weather check,” he replied and with that he authorised me to go up and do a weather check.
Now it's daunting enough to go solo for the first time in a strange aircraft, but to fly in these conditions was a challenge to say the least. But Willie had faith in me as he knew that I had done many a weather check whilst in Canada, as after all I was a staff pilot there. So after signing out an aircraft, I climbed into it and started it up and then out to the take off point. It felt strange not seeing any other aircraft around. Getting the green from the tower I opened the throttle and boy what a sensation. But this was my first time in a P-40 and so I must concentrate. Getting off the ground and immediately disappearing into clouds I just kept climbing until I broke through the murk and then settled down to experiment after climbing to a safe height.
Boy oh Boy this was exhilarating flying, and so after about 40minutes I decided to return to base but where oh where was it? No problem, as I have flown in worse weather than this, so heading out to find Browns Island I descended down to a couple of hundred feet and flew up towards Ardmore via the estuary and right on target I found the airfield, did a circuit and landed taxied in and shut down.
On climbing out Willie came up to me and said,
“See, I knew you would be alright.” This all occurred on the 2nd of May.
And so I got another type in my log book. It was a good job that I was very conversant with instrument flying. Of course I was kept busy with [a] towing a target or [b] doing such things as aircraft recognition, flying in formation and carrying out exercises such as weaving and scissoring and also heaven forbid flying the Link trainer. So Life was never slow.
Now because I was fairly conversant with all the flying, I was often sent over to Hobsonville or as I said earlier down to Rukuhia and also Whenuapai was on my list of fields that I visited. This was just to get me out of the way and so I often took an aircraft to one station returning with another and a few days later repeating the exercise again. Now on one such occasion I was asked to fly down to Gisborne to pick up a couple of lamp bulbs for our projector and I could take a P-40 down. Wacko. So Willie gave me his own aircraft to use. This was a P-40N model. The last thing he said to me was, “Remember the mail does not have to get through.”
But I wasn't carrying any mail, was I!
So having received a weather report which I obtained a copy of, for which I was to be extremely thankful for later on, I set off in good clear weather. All systems were working good and so I had no worries, or so I thought as things were to change dramatically very shortly and having past Mount Edgecumbe still in clear weather but ahead the weather was looking a little bit dubious, I pressed on. As things were definitely deteriorating I decided to turn back as I had only flown in the murk for 10 minutes but at the end of 15 minutes I still was not clear of the stuff so decided to turn around and continue on my way but at a reduced speed and so dropped both my undercarriage and flaps and slowed right down. If I was going to hit any thing it would be at a slow speed. Of course to make matters worse, the bloody radio decided to pack up and then the electrics thought that they would follow suit, possibly because it was raining bloody hard.
Having made the decision to press on, I followed the river that I was above knowing full well that all rivers lead to the sea. But seeing what was happening I wouldn't be surprised if the river decided to flow the other way. Press on regardless and seeing that both my hands were busy I just could not feel my backside to feel if it was wet as I was starting to feel just a little bit frustrated. Onwards and definitely not upwards but more level flying was the order of the day.
What's this just ahead? Clear land so I must be near my destination. WRONG. I will just turn to the right to locate the field but when my estimated time had expired nothing. So Where am I? Just don't panic at least not yet. I'll turn 180º and head North looking for the peninsular that should now be on my right hand ride. WRONG again as the murk was so thick I saw nothing. Now according to my fuel gauge I was nearly out of fuel, not a good situation to be in if [and it was a great big if] the gauge was reading correctly then I am in serious trouble and now not later.
Decision time smartly. Well I was always taught to believe my instruments even though you had a sneaky suspicion that they were wrong and I have always done just that so decided now, not later, was the time to abandon ship or in this case the aircraft. Now being on my own I was not in a position to order Women and children first so would just have to obey my own orders I reckoned that if I turned out to sea and started climbing and then turning back towards land still climbing and when I had enough height to clear the hills that surround Gisborne I would bail out and hoped that I had guessed my position right, when out of the corner of my left eye I saw what I thought were some aircraft parked close together and so without any more ado I swung the P-40 around to my left, and in doing so noticed a small piece of tarmac with a railway line passing through it so come hell or high water that's where I'm going to land.
As the flaps and undercarriage were already down I could concentrate on my landing and not having done a precautionary landing in a P-40 this landing was going to be something and I hoped not out of this world. Around we go nose well up and with a gentle rumble I was on the ground in one piece, and what's more safe. Then just ahead of me I saw a control tower amid the pouring rain so taxied over to it and shut the engine down. Now all I have to do is to get over to the tower and report. Undoing my parachute as I did not think that I would need it at this height I closed up the canopy and climbed down and went under the wing. On looking through the murk I spotted a half dozen aircraft in another field but these were not any ordinary aircraft as they were made of wood and Hessian and so these were dummy aircraft and the ones that I first saw.
Now comes the time for me to do a dash to the tower when a figure arrived alongside me dressed in an officers raincoat [how did I know it was an officer well I also had one like his]
“WHERE ARE YOU HEADING?” he asked.
“Where's this place?” I replied.
“Gisborne," was his reply.
“Yep, that's where I was heading for,” was my reply to him.
“Oh good, the CO wants to see you, I'm the adjutant,” he said flashing his raincoat open to show me his rank - the top half that is, not the bottom part - for after all he was an officer and a gentleman.
So after a quick trip to the tower to sign in, I joined him at the bottom of the stairs and made our way across to the orderly office to report to the CO.
“What do you think you were doing coming down in this weather?”
“What weather?" I replied, “The report that I started out with shows that you have four to six miles visibility, Sir.”
“We have had bad weather now for three odd weeks so I don't know where you got your report from,” he answered.
“Well sir I just happen to have the weather report that I received here with me," and with that I took from out of my pocket the written report that I had insisted on having.
“Can I keep this then?" he asked.
“No SIR” I said in my best new Warrant Officer's voice. I'll just keep it as it could be useful later.”
And I was right as later on there was a sequel to this episode.
“Anyway what did you come down for?”
“Oh, I just have to pick up two projector lamps."
“YOU WHAT?” was his surprised reply.
“Just a couple of projector lamps sir and could someone have a look at my aircraft and fix the radio as I would like to take off early in the morning”
“Yes, I'll have someone take a look but unless it is very fine or your radio is working then you will have to stay.”
So with that I went looking for the lamps I had come down for and of course as I had to stay overnight I needed a bed and also have a meal. Comes morning and after a good breakfast I went over to the hangar where my aircraft had been taken and consulted with the electrician who was working on my machine, and even though the CO said it must be fine before I took off nobody had told Hughie [the weather man] as the weather was still lousy.
“You had got lots of water in the electrics Sir, but everything checks out alright now so I'll sign it out but you must do a check before you attempt to take off.”
That's good enough for me and so I went over to the CO and told him my intentions.
“IF everything checks out prior to take off you can go, oh and by the way do you know the panic you put H.Q. in?"
“No Sir, I was alright as I knew where I was."
“That's all right for you to say but headquarters [Wellington] were getting call after call about an aircraft that was either lost or crashing. You might have known where you were but they didn't.”
So going out to the flightline [it was still raining] I did a radio check and yes everything was working fine so contacting the CO again out of courtesy informed him that I would be on my way. Nothing was going to stop me from heading home. And so having had the CO's blessing, albeit very grudgingly, I started up the 1000hp motor, waited for it to warm up, then waving the chocks away taxied out to the small piece of tarmac with the railway line running through it. It would just be my luck for a train to come on through and I would have to wait, but no I had the green light given to me. Well not given to me as that would be silly as how would I be able to take it back to base as it went out the moment you released your finger, no it was flashed at me .
As the field was saturated with water I had to get as much speed up as possible in the short distance that was available to me and then hopefully I could plane [not aircraft plane] the rest of the way to achieving take off speed. So standing on the brakes I put the motor up to full blast and then when everything was shaking released the brakes and we were off. Across the field and then airborne with no hitches I quickly did a split arse turn of 180º as ahead of me was a range of hills. And raising the undercarriage, started to climb straight into the murk. Too late now, I was now committed and so continued to climb out to sea and still in radio contact. After a few minutes I did another 180º turn back onto my home heading and still climbing when wouldn't you know it the radio decided that it was safer in Gisborne and so that is where it stayed I was once again without contact with anyone.
After climbing for a while I knew that I would definitely clear the hills surrounding Gisborne when at that moment the clouds parted and I was in brilliant sunshine and on top of a sea of clouds and what a sight it was. Checking my course I see that my navigation is right on. So none of my old flare has deserted me. Ahead of me I could see the Bay Of Plenty bathed in brilliant sunshine so I am going to have a very pleasant flight home. Yes virtually a C.A.V.U. Situation [Ceiling and visibility unlimited] not SNAFU [situation normal all f**** up].
On arrival at Ardmore I then had to join the circuit and as I had no contact with them due to a lack of radio, even though they knew when I was due to arrive because my flight plan had been telephoned through I still had to be careful to join the circuit.
After parking up the aircraft I took the two lamp bulbs into Willie and gave them to him and said.
“There's your lamps and your aircraft is safe and sound outside with no scratches on it."
“Have a good trip did you? I told you that the mail did not have to go through.”
“I didn't take any mail, did I?” was my reply.
He just grinned.
On another occasion I had to fly with him in a Harvard down to Ohakea just to bring a Harvard back to Ardmore so we left late in the afternoon of 1st of May and after 1 hour 20 minutes we arrived at Ohakea. After a quick turnaround in which I examined the aircraft and then satisfied, signed for it, we got underway again but no way were we going to get into Ardmore before the evening meal had finished. Now we pushed on [well not really pushing as the motor was doing all the work] arriving at Ardmore well after flying had ceased for the day so the Air Force was in the twilight stage.
At this point Willie called up the tower requesting them to contact the
mess and save a meal for him. “Don't forget me," I pleaded.
Also at this time because we were now at the field Willie called up for landing instructions.
“Do not, I repeat, do not land - just orbit until the flare path has been laid out” This message came from the tower
“I say again landing instructions please,” this from Willie.
“Do not land. Wait for the flare path to be laid out,” from the tower.
“You are breaking up. We're coming in,” Willie.
“They said for us to stay up, Sir," from me.
“Oh bugger them, just follow me and use your landing lights," and I see him lower his wheels so not to be undone I dropped mine and dropped back from him and lowered my flaps and followed him down.
On parking the aircraft up and walking back to the flight room I said to him
“Didn't you hear them tell us to stay up!”
“If you thought that I was going to hang around up there while the flare path was laid out you have to be mad. I'm hungry and tired.”
So faking radio trouble we got down quickly. They did not call him the Mad Russian for nothing.
Now remember the time in Canada that I, along with some other plots, went duck hunting in a Bolingbroke - well much the same thing happened here in N.Z., only this time using a P-40. Not me I hastily add. But another pilot. On this occasion the pilot was flying over the Hauraki Plains, doing what I don't recall, but on this occasion was on his way back to Ardmore when he called up the tower saying that he could not get any power from the motor no matter what he did. So was told to get back as best he could.
He could not climb and his speed was severely restricted so leaving everything alone he headed up the Thames Estuary up to Browns Island and then turned inland up the estuary that would lead him to Ardmore as he was still low and not able to increase his height. On successfully touching down, he taxied up to the flight line and parked up Naturally every one was interested in what was wrong. Now the pilot still could not shed any more light on the matter. On taking the air scoop off, which on a P-40 was on top of the cowling it was discovered that a duck was firmly jammed in the intake and so air for the carburettor was restricted. On being asked just how low he was when he got engine trouble he said that he was at a good 1500 feet.
Well you can take that with a pinch of salt, at least the duck would require some as everyone knew that flying over the plains one would most likely be having a close look at how the grass was growing and to do that you have to get pretty low down. Still, he was not saying and so one duck slightly damaged but well aerated and minus a few feathers was available for anyone who wanted a duck meal.
Some of our training was camera gun shooting and on one occasion I was detailed to attack another aircraft who would then attack me and when the exercise was finished we would head back to the base and when the films were developed they would be shown on the projector [remember I had to get some lamps for it ] and an assessment would be made as to how good your shooting was.
This particular exercise was carried out over Rangitoto and as I was returning to the base I spotted a PBY [Catalina] ambling along towards either Mechanics Bay or else Hobsonville and so as the day was CAVU [ceiling and visibility unlimited] I decided to have some fun. So turning on my back I “attacked” this intruder, making sure that either the sky or sea was in the frame and not a sign of land around. Now back at the field the films were developed and brought over to the flight rooms to be shown on the special lamp. This was overseen by our gunnery expert, our own F/L De Willimoff.
Now 'Willie” had a lisp, quite pronounced, and so as he was going through each frame of the film he would explain just how and if we had hit the target and would also point out mistakes. Things were going well on my film assessment until he came to the Catalina upside down.
“What's this?" he spluttered.
“What's what Sir?” I replied
“This, this, this PBY upside-down," was all he could say.
“As I knew no-one would believe me if I told you that I had seen one flying upside-down so I took a film of it," I replied.
Still spluttering a bit, he informed me that he would see me later and promptly took the film out of the machine. Well after class was over he took me aside and said
“You bloody fool, did you think you could put something over on me!”
“Not me Sir. I wouldn't pull a stunt like that.”
“Well, just quietly, it was well done but don't pull a stunt like that again.”
For my efforts I was presented with the film and as far as I know it is still in my possession slowly deteriorating as the old films tend to do.
Now all this time we had other things apart from flying to do, such as aircraft recognition and lectures on what to do if captured or forced down behind enemy lines. In other words, survival.
Then one early morning we were all bundled into a Lockheed Lodestar and taken down to Woodbourne to do a decompression test, for if you could not hack the height at which we could be forced to fly then you were no good to the Air Force even at this late stage of the game. So we were all bundled into the decompression chamber [not all at once of course] and put through different tests. On one test it was demonstrated to us just how dangerous it was flying at a height without sufficient oxygen. One or two of the pilots were told to take their oxygen masks off and to write their name on a piece of paper while the air was slowly decreased as if we were climbing. All this time we had a doctor with us and it was very remarkable just how much the personality of the oxygen starved pilots behaved. One trying to play football, and as for writing their names you just had to see it to believe it.
This exercise was very dangerous and so at the first sign of collapse an oxygen mask was firmly slapped onto the affected pilot's face, to which he quickly came to. Having completed this part of the training we were then whisked back to Ardmore. On the flight down the day was near perfect with no clouds around and the tips of the Alps had just enough snow on them to make them picture postcard perfect. Now we were only at Woodbourne for 1 hour 40minutes before we headed back and to this day that's the longest time I have spent in the South Island.
I have promised myself many times over that one day I shall return. Hopefully that day is not so very far away. And so back to school and as I had plenty of hours up and unless it was something like weaving or scissoring I was generally sent away on some pretext to another field just to get me out of the way .
On the 20th of March I was assigned to fly down to Ohakea in company with three other planes all flying Harvards. The leader was a if my memory is correct F/L Hutchinson. I was to fly at No. 2, then No. 3 was a Dave Clouston, one of the famous Clouston clan. Remember his brother I believe flew the D.H. Comet racer in the McPherson Air Race from London to Australia, and Dave had served on Spitfires in England. Our No. 4 man was a new chum and so we were to set off for Ohakea after evening meal. So having participated of an early meal we assembled on the tarmac and promptly lined up for a take-off, me being No. 2 in line.
Now as I knew, but did not at this stage say anything, that we would not arrive at our destination until it was dark and then I would have all the columns in my log book filled in. You may remember that I had not flown a single engine solo at night [remember that the trip with Willy was at dusk and so could not count as a night trip] and so this was to be the day that I would do it as up to this time we had not done any night flying And feeling very excited at this stage I took off immediately after my leader.
Now our course was southwards and on take-off we turned to port fairly quickly so as soon as I left the ground I raised the undercarriage and turned straight over the mess hall. Funny this aircraft doesn't seem to want to climb very well, and on looking at my dials I see that my flaps are in full downward position. Oh, OH. So when I have got sufficient height I raise them. What I had done was to push the power push first and then as soon as I was airborne put my hand down and grab the undercarriage lever and pull it up but at the same time I must of accidentally pushed the flap lever into the downward position hence the flaps going down. I was to be told off on my return, as if you have ever heard a Harvard in full fine pitch and full throttle you will know what it sounds like. Apparently everything in the mess and on the table rattled and if you think that I was going to tell them that it was accidental then think again. Let them think that I had done it on purpose.
So we flew down in formation and when I knew that they couldn't make me return, I just waited the time to tell the flight leader of my problem. As it was getting dark we were told to put on our navigation lights. A couple of minutes later No. 4 called up to inform the leader that his electrics were not working in his aircraft and so he had no lights and he would have to fly and land last. The flight leader said not to worry just keep flying [what else could he do, Pray?] So I thought now was a good time to tell Hutch [the flight leader] about not having any single engine solo night time experience so calling him up I said in my most matter of fact voice,
“Sir, I had better land last as I have never flown a single solo at night, and would this qualify me as a solo night flight?”
“S*** that's right, you trained on twins.” This from Dave Clouston.
“Don't worry about it just land behind me as usual.” This from our leader, "And yes it will give you what you want.”
So we flew onwards and when the time came Hutch called for landing instructions for four aircraft and then he peeled off, and counting three seconds I followed, and then No. 3 peeled off and so comes the turn of No. 4.
Remember that the time between each of us is only three seconds and Hutch, I noticed, was going to the right hand side of the runway so I'm to go to the left with No. 3 to the right and No. 4 to the left. Flying was tight to us seniors. As I leveled out I noticed that I was catching the leader up bloody fast, so sang out,“ Get off the runway fast!”
And with that Hutch pulled over to the grass while I went passed him rapidly. On arrival at the flightline and climbing out of the aircraft Hutch in his unflappable voice asked me if I had forgotten to put my flaps down.
“Yup,” was all I said and nothing more was mentioned. So on this trip I had taken off with flaps fully extended and landed with no flaps extended, plus causing a ruckus at the Ardmore mess, but after all this time I had filled up all the columns in my log book.
We were to return to Ardmore next day with a change of aircraft and I was also given a passenger. This was one way of getting bods around the country. The aircraft we took down were MK 3's while our aircraft for the return journey were MK 2's, not a great deal of difference but never the less sufficient changes to require a different mark no. It was on my return to Ardmore that I was told off about the racket I caused when I took off and this did not come from the higher ups but from the lower ranks. You see they at least appreciated my flying, besides I was doing it for their benefit.
Now up to this time I generally got above average or average plus in all my tests so when I had to fire at a drogue, this time towed by someone else, I was horrified when my results came out. Hell if I went into action and had to fire at an enemy aircraft he would have wet himself laughing as my percentage of hits was very, very low. Not good by any standard but in my favour it must be remembered that I was used to a gunner in a turret doing all the shooting but in a fighter you were on your own.
So there would be a lot of work to get up to a standard that would be acceptable to the Air Force. Therefore it was the use of the camera gun and also drogue shooting to improve my aim as on the monthly assessment my report;
Assessment of ability
As a S.E pilot ABOVE AVERAGE
As pilot navigator ABOVE AVERAGE
In air gunnery BELOW AVERAGE
Wow, was I going to have to work hard [later I did come right].
Now as I was, to put it in Air Force language, an old hand at the game, I was detailed one night to be duty pilot and supervise the operation of the CHANCE light. I had an erk as an assistant and for those not conversant with what a Chance light is or does let me explain.
This was a very powerful mini searchlight that was shone down the runway and illuminated the runway so the pilot did not have to use his landing lamps. This was only switched on after the aircraft had passed the lamp as otherwise it could dazzle him and Lord knows what would happen then.
In England and I believe Germany which also used the same type of lamp it was always switched off as soon as the aircraft was safely down as it was a golden opportunity for the enemy to get a good clear view of the enemy aircraft and so shoot it up [not down as it was already on the ground] and so we carried out the same procedures here.
Well on this occasion I was watching an aircraft make its approach and he was coming in just fine when for some reason he veered over towards the lamp. Now he should have had a row of lights on either side of him, but now he has two rows of lights on his Starboard or right hand side. At this point my assistant was standing by the switch to await my command to switch it on and he was between the lamp and the runway lights. Not a good place to be in the circumstances.
“Get to hell out of there” I shouted or more than likely screamed as I hit the dirt hoping that both my helper and myself were clear and awaited for the crash. But thank goodness the pilot at the last moment realised that he was in the wrong place and so opened his throttle and went around again. I told you that life in the Air Force was not always boring. That episode made me annoyed as I had landed in some mud and was not a pretty sight when seen in the light of the lamp. Oh the humiliation of it all. Still that was life and one just had to accept it.
At some time in this period of training we had a P-40 come in for a landing and the runway was quite wet due no doubt to the rain that we had or was having. This is Auckland after all. So the pilot proceeds to land and although he had made a good landing he started to drift over to his left and onto the grass verge which was still OK, as it was wide enough, but as the grass was also very wet his brakes were non existent so he just kept on drifting to his left. Now at the edge of the grass verge is a quite deep ditch into which he promptly disappeared and all we could see of him and his aircraft was the tail skidding along, eventually finally coming to a stop and then over the grass verge and not in any hurry the pilots head and then the rest of his body came forth.
By this time we were rushing out to see if he was alright. When the aircraft dropped into the ditch the wings of course folded up and the elevators also assumed a strange shape as did the propeller. After looking at the aircraft we now realised that we now had a perfectly good fuselage for instruction purposes.
You see, you don't have to go through official channels to get something that you need. As for the pilot, all the damage he suffered was to his ego and no blame was assigned to him as the wet runway and a slight crosswind were to blame.
It was about this time that we had another very unfortunate accident involving a very well liked and popular senior pilot. He was in the back seat of a Harvard having taken up a junior pilot for some instruction and upon landing was told to get over onto the grass as a P40 was virtually on to him. He promptly pulled over and the other aircraft landed but unfortunately started to drift across to his left and and on getting onto the grass had no stopping power, consequently his port wing hit the back of the Harvard just at the rear of the cockpit, slicing into it and hitting the pilot in the rear seat and fatally injuring him.*
So you see you never knew just when your number was up.
Now when I received my promotion to W/O, there was also another pilot in the group who was also promoted to a W/O, he having served in Singapore and he actually fought the Japanese with - you just wont believe it but it is true - he was flying Vildebeests. Most of his comrades were shot down but some how he survived and was eventually returned to good old NZ to fly - guess what - but good old faithful Vildebeests.
He was very shortly invalided out. A couple of weeks after my promotion I discovered that I was put down for the CO's parade as the SWO [Station Warrant Office] so I went over to see the adjutant to voice my concern at having to take on such an onerous job seeing that I was flying personnel and not GD [General Duties]. On speaking to the Adjutant I told him that, “I am not a Station Warrant Officer."
While he replied, “Senior Warrant Officer.”
“How come I have to take this parade?'
“Well for your benefit the SWO has been transferred to Nelson and as we have not got a replacement yet you've drawn the short straw.”
“But Sir, there is another W/O on the station."
“Yes, we are aware of that but you are senior to him by a few months and seniority rules. You're it.”
There just is no beating the powers-that-be when they have made up their minds, even though they are wrong. At least in my mind they were. So comes Friday the CO's parade and out to the parade ground we went. Thank goodness the Adjutant would have to take over after I had assembled everyone but it was not quite as bad as I thought it would be because I had the assistance of the Sergeants and Corporals who had to assemble their own particular squads and, when ready, hand them over to me who in turn handed the collective force over to the Adjutant and so surprisingly without a hitch I got my one and thankfully only CO's parade away.
Thank goodness the new SWO arrived for duty in a couple of days. Just to show how the Air Force can work in very subtle ways, remember when I first got notice of my promotion and how it was backdated a long way and I was looking forward to receiving a large [by my standards] payout? Well never try and beat the system as they get you every time. Yes on asking about my back pay I was informed that I would have to apply to the RCAF for it as I was with them. Say again?! Yes according to the pay clerk I would have to apply to the RCAF if I wanted the back pay. You can forget it as I had heard that the pay section had had a windfall and had had a right royal rave up in their mess. Somehow I guessed that the sudden windfall was them celebrating my back pay. Oh woe is me.
Still what I didn't have I was not going to miss. However I did receive a fairly good hand out. On days off I generally went either into town - Auckland - or out to my parents' place at St. Heliers. But of course I had to return to the camp at night and usually caught the last train back to Papakura if you could get a seat as the train was generally filled with Yanks mostly stationed at Wiri. On one of these trips to town I learnt that the easiest way to get a seat was to get to the station early. On this night in question two Yanks were in the seat opposite me and we struck up a conversation as when they discovered that I had been to the States [goddamn] then they were interested in me and where I had been over there.
Of course they were also interested in the wings that I wore and when told that I was stationed at Ardmore as a fighter pilot they in their innocent way asked me if when next I was flying and in their vicinity could I pay them a visit. Why not! I'm on for anything if I can get away with it. So next day which was a Sunday and there being no rest for the wicked I was sent up solo in a P-40 to carry out some exercise so headed over to find the yank camp and after finding it decided to give them a Hello in the best way that I knew, and that was to buzz them.
In their camp I saw that they were all massed up obviously at church service so getting into a decent position I went down very rapidly and very low and as fast as I could and then pulled up, up, and away doing a couple of upward rolls at the same time putting as much space as I could between their camp and me. Nothing was reported so I had got away with another beat up. The next week I went to town again and on catching the train to return to Papakura who should come and sit opposite me but my two Yank friends.
“Boy oh boy did you stir things up,” one said.
“We were in the middle of church services when you came down!”
The other Yank then said that his mate was shouting out “I know that ********* I know him.” So he was proud to again tell every one within earshot that, “This is the ********* that beat us up last Sunday."
It was something to say the least that I had made someone happy but I did not claim to have been the pilot concerned. On another occasion while leading a flight of four aircraft on an exercise, I decided that as it was a Sunday and also the weather being just a tad murky that I had better go and show off to my folk's at St. Heliers. just what I was doing [showing off of course], and so took my flock as a mother duck would in line astern and buzzed my folks home with my dutiful flock following behind.
And as I was heading towards Mission Bay I decided to turn up the Dingle Dell reserve and ever so gently climb with my flock following behind. So up we go to emerge up by Long Drive and so just kept on climbing until I had got to 1500 feet [there are no metric's in my vocabulary] and I then called the tower for landing instructions even though I was miles away from the field. Well I had to establish an alibi didn't I. Carrying on we flew to the field where I again asked for landing instructions and on being queried why I had called for it early I told them that I was not satisfied with the formation and so had flown away from the field to form up better.
Boy could I lie in situations like this - after all I was learning from experts. Next morning being a Monday what could possibly go wrong but never count your chickens too soon as I soon found out. When Dave Clouston arrived he took me aside and asked me if I had been any where near St. Heliers. Bay yesterday {Sunday}.
“Who, me Sir?" I said in my very hurt voice.
“Yes you. Who else lives at the Bay?”
“It couldn't have been me anyways.” I replied.
“Yesterday I saw a most disgusting sight coming up the glen and level with me Not one but four P40 's and all with red spinners on," he intoned. “I was just coming out of church and had to explain what they were doing that low."
“I hope you told them that it was low level training or also the weather was bad and they were forced to go low,” was my response.
“I know it was you as you were the only one flying with three others."
“Sir it could have been the other section.”
“These aircraft had red spinners and others are white besides you were the only one with four so it must be you."
I must say he was very persistent in his accusations but he dropped the line of inquiry he was pursuing and just gave his lopsided grin and shook his head and wandered off, for after all he was no saint to this type of flying.
It was around this period in time that I was asked to go out as an observer to try and locate an aircraft that had crashed somewhere around Pukekohe and ascertain the pilots condition. So hopping into a Harvard with a F/O George as pilot, we set off and located the crashed aircraft with the pilot obviously dead. It appears that he was beating up his uncles place when he crashed. He had not got many hours to his credit and so you can see the folly of inexperience.
Of course all this time if you thought that we just mucked about and had fun, I can definitely assure you that there was lots of hard work to get up to a position whereby you could feel safe to meet an enemy who was no doubt better at the game of living than you were. So you were subjected to PT, bouts in the Link trainer and aircraft recognition which was carried out with the help of the trusty old lantern that I had caused such a rumpus over.
These tests were carried out in silhouette form and each test was done at a speed of 100th of a second and you were required to pick out any features you had seen as well as identifying the plane. When the test was completed and just for sheer hell the time was shortened downwards so the time you had to identify was raised to 500th of a second and then for those who were still in the race up to 1000th of a second. There were three of us who managed to achieve this magic time but there were no prizes given for this achievement.
Achieving this result was to prove it's worth in just a few days time when tragedy struck again. Now at this time we had on the station one P-40 stripped of all its paint [NZ3110] just to see how much faster it would go and surprisingly was only marginally faster than the painted aircraft. Now this aircraft was supposedly only to be used by our CO but on this occasion, June 6th, I was instructed to take a flight of 4 aircraft up for a demonstration take off and general formation flying, but “Don't stay up too long as there is someone to see No. 4." So knowing this I went out to the flightline and woe and behold I had been allocated NZ3110. On asking the Flight Sergeant was this the aircraft assigned to me he promptly nodded his head [well he couldn't nod anything else could he!]
So climbing in, I did the usual checks with the aircraft and when I was ready, checked with the other pilots and then proceeded to taxi out to the take-off area. When ready, I turned on to the runway facing Papakura and waited for my brood to get into position behind me.
And when satisfied opened the throttle and took off with my flock trailing behind.
As I got to my first turning point I noticed that all planes were in their right positions behind although No. 4 was further behind than he should have been. I completed 180º turn still climbing and already passing over Papakura township I was informed that the high profile personage and his entourage were at the gate, “So don't be too long.”
I dutifully acknowledged the instructions and on checking my men noticed that they were all in position so waggling my wings - which was the signal for the others to get into their respective positions, No. 1 came up alongside me on my port side and then out of the corner of my right eye in just a flash I saw an aircraft at 90º on his side turning away from me. But he had no left hand elevator and then on my left hand side I saw an aircraft heading towards Ardmore and low down and on looking in my mirror I could not see any other aircraft in view.
So calling out to Dick, my No. 2 I instructed him to break off. At this time I had turned around to look for the aircraft that I had seen and the tower also called me up to see, "What's happened to that aircraft that's gone down?" and by this time I had located the crashed aircraft which had plunged through power lines into Papakura Military Camp, and swooping down could see that the pilot would have had no chance of survival. Of course by this time personnel in the camp were in attendance.
The tower then asked me if there was any chance of survival and I had to reply in the negative, and so returned to the field. On landing I was taken straight into the flight commander's office to give my observations on what had happened and it was then that I found out that it was my No. 4 who had crashed. My No. 3 had landed successfully having survived just minor damages. *
It was very unfortunate that the high profile person awaiting at the front gate with his daughter who is still alive at this time of writing and an MP and well known as was the M.P. awaiting to see his son plus one other person were to witness this unfortunate incident. He seeing his son get killed and his daughter who had seen her brother die. What can one say?
Of course there had to be a Court of Inquiry and also a coroners inquest to which I had to attend. It was amazing just how the general public at the coroners inquest saw things differently in what they had seen. As their estimate of the height that I had taken differed greatly from my account, the Air Force decided to do a test on them and so with the go ahead of the coroners office a flight of four aircraft were dispatched to fly exactly the same route that I had done. As the aircraft came into view the witnesses were asked at the appropriate time to guess at what height the aircraft were. After the turn and prior to forming up they were again asked to guess the height. Then the pilot of the lead aircraft was asked his height and so when everyone was back inside the courtroom each was asked what the height was at the different points and this included me. Well as you can guess the difference in height between the expert witnesses was staggering, ranging from 100ft to no more than 500ft.
To say that they were very surprised when they were given the correct heights. It was a very sad day as the pilot concerned bunked below me in the barracks and so apart from being a flying mate he was also a bunk mate so to speak. What happened was just a tragic accident and it was my flash observations that allowed the powers that be to fully put together the events leading up to the accident. So quick identification had proved its worth although in a sad way.
Still, well not really still, life had to go on and I together with Dick were ordered to take off again and do some close flying. This was of course to get us to concentrate on flying and not dwell on the past event. As for Walker, the other pilot involved in the tragedy, well he went up solo later on. And did I get NZ3110 again? Not bloody likely as by this time someone had realised that it was the flight commander's personal aircraft and don't forget it.
It was about this time that a quite serious thing occurred although some people [wrongly of course] would say that it was nothing to get excited about. Who's getting excited! One of the pilots came in for an emergency landing just covered in oil from head to toes included his parachute. Everything about him was covered in oil. So of course there has to be an investigation but before this could proceed I was airborne inP40 NZ3046 and had just started to climb when my foot slid on the floor and on looking down saw that the whole of the floor was awash with oil. Definitely not a good sign so calling the tower I requested an emergency landing. Now knowing that the other pilot had opened his canopy thus creating a vacuum I decided to land with the hood closed which I did.
Of course the powers that be wanted to know what the hell is going on, and on examination it was discovered that the aircraft had just been serviced and the airman concerned just being new had put the oil cap on only to the first lock and not to the most important one, the second, consequently on
pressurising the oil was forced out and into the cockpit. Needless to say the poor erk got a right real how to do telling off.
Now it was getting close to completing this stage of training and I knew that I was to be assigned to No. 17 [F] Squadron when they returned from a well earned rest before they were sent up once more to the islands and facing action again.
______________________________________________________________
Note 1: The Vickers Vildebeest with the serial number NZ111 was known to all the units that it served on as Lord Nelson. It was one of the earliest reconnaissance bombers to serve in the RNZAF, being one of the first batch of twelve Vildebeests to be ordered new prewar. Later second hand examples were purchased from the RAF, and in all 39 Vildebeest served in the Royal New Zealand Air Force, alongside 62 of the nearly identical Vickers Vincents.
Flying Officer Walter de Maus was killed and Sergeant R. Looker was uninjured when their Harvard III, NZ1059 of No.4 OTU Ardmore, was struck from behind by P-40N NZ3163 whilst on the ground at Ardmore. This occurred on the 16th of May 1944. The P-40N pilot, Sergeant L. Long, was also uninjured. The Harvard was written off the books at Ardmore on the 24th of May 1944 and converted to Instructional Airframe INST101 with No.1 Repair Depot, RNZAF Hamilton. NZ3163
was also written off the books at Ardmore on the 23rd of May 1944 as converted to produce. It became Instructional Airframe INST99 with Technical Training School, RNZAF Station Nelson. SOURCE
This four-ship formation had consisted of:
Warrant Officer Trevor Pearce as No. 1 in the Flight, in the bare-metal P-40M, NZ3110. This aircraft was the personal aircraft of No. 17 Squadron CO, Sqn Ldr Doug St George. (It was later written off in a fatal accident on the 21st of March 1945, when it crash landed in a river five miles from Ohakea. Sergeant Frank Rout was killed.)
P/O Dick Hughes as No. 2 in P-40M NZ3???
Sergeant H.W. Walker was flying as No. 3 in P-40M, NZ3072, possibly the RNZAF's most famous P-40 having previously been the personal aircraft of the top RNZAF Pacific ace Geoff Fisken whilst it served with No. 14 Squadron. It had been named by Fisken as "WAIRARAPA WILDCAT" and wore a rampant cat nose art, but by the time of this accident the artwork had been painted over. Sergeant Walker was able to retain control of the aircraft and land safely back at Ardmore. The aircraft survived the war and was sold to Jim Larsen from Rukuhia on the 2nd March 1948, and was scrapped.
Sergeant John Tirikatene was flying as No. 4 in the formation, and his aircraft, P-40M NZ3112, collided with No. 3, NZ3072. His aircraft had overshot the No. 3 aircraft, and NZ3112 struck its tail on the underside of NZ3072's wing. The aircraft dived into the ground and was destroyed, as detailed above, and Tirikatene was killed instantly. He was the son of the Hon. Whetu Tirikatene-Sullivan, MP for Southern Maori, and former Labour Cabinet Minister. SOURCE and also Too Young To Die, by Bryan Cox