In June 1940, however, considerations of such circumstances were far back in the minds of a supremely confident, numerically superior, yet-to-be-defeated Luftwaffe, who were eager for action. Meanwhile the RAF, much more cognisant of the effects of defeat, were acutely mindful of matters of time and space and how they might affect the situation they were facing. Given their scarcity of fighter aircraft and the vast area to defend, they were earnest in considering how best to avoid occupying empty air spaces. They desperately needed to know when, in what direction and strength, and at what height, enemy bomber formations were approaching, and how the best use of time and space could be employed to defend against them.
They had already made good use of time, readying themselves for the inevitable air battle by developing radar and organising the division of the air space in which the battle would be fought. The marshalling of this geographically structured fighter defence system granted a sophisticated, unprecedented framework. The production of fighter aircraft and the training of pilots was crucial, increasing the chances of interception with minimum scramble times. Significantly, these arrangements were not in an effort to counter one big effort over the Channel; instead it was a battle to occur steadily over time. It involved the careful attrition of the Luftwaffe while keeping British losses to a minimum. Such losses were unavoidable, however, and, with the battle ongoing, the time it was taking to train RAF replacement pilots was becoming increasingly crucial. It became a race against time, a competition with the clock which governed the RAF’s ability to reduce the strength of the Luftwaffe before they themselves ran out of pilots.
Thus, time and space played their part in shaping the course of the Battle of Britain – much as they did in the writing of this book. Deadlines and schedules, both the author’s and the publisher’s, had to coincide to make the publication possible. Also of tantamount importance was the input of Edward McManus of the Battle of Britain Monument Committee; his comprehensive knowledge of the battle’s RAF participants was central to its completion. His enthusiasm, graciousness and goodwill in sharing this information was crucial. So was his review of the text in its formative stages, and his unstinting advice and assistance. Thanks also to Maurice Byrne, whose prompt and positive response to my queries was a huge reassurance; to Paul Fry Brigadier General (retired), former General Officer Commanding Irish Air Corps, for writing the foreword for this book, a significant addition; to Conor Graham, Fiona Dunne, Patrick O’Donoghue, Myles McCionnaith and Maeve Convery at Merrion Press; to Deirdre Maxwell, for the typing of the handwritten manuscript; and to Paul O’Flynn, for all his encouragement and practical assistance throughout.
1
SCRAMBLE
The sun shone with a soft quivering light through the seemingly translucent trees. Soon the mood altered and became one of challenge; one of daring and dread. Both militarism and apprehension hung in the air. Moral strength, fortitude and determination were required in responding to the threat of German bombing raids. Such character was evident throughout No. 65 Squadron at RAF Hornchurch in Essex, in late July 1940, not long after the Battle of Britain began.
One among them was Dubliner ‘Paddy’ Finucane. Brendan Eamonn Fergus Finucane was born in Dublin on 16 October 1920. In 1936, at the age of 16, he moved with his family from Dublin to Richmond in England. He joined the RAF as a trainee pilot in April 1938 and qualified as a fighter pilot flying the Supermarine Spitfire.
The pilots and crew at Hornchurch airfield held no illusions about what the day might hold and they sat poised to go skyward when called. Each coped with this oppressive weight in their own way. They had lost comrades over the preceding weeks and were all aware of the dangers, but the human impulse is to shrug off such admissions of fear. Overall the prevailing sense, while subdued, was stoical, resigned and forbearing. Calm and uncomplaining, they found comradeship sufficient insulation against fear. Their nerves were also helped by faith, both in each other and in the supports of the RAF: a warning system which employed the latest technology and was proving invaluable; the Spitfire and Hurricane aircraft, which were a match for the latest German aircraft; and RAF tactics, leadership and discipline, which were measuring up to the task facing them.
Battle-hardened veterans and fresh-faced newcomers, from England, the Commonwealth and beyond, were bound together despite differences in knowledge and skill; they were made ready to confront the German grab for air supremacy which, if successful, would act as a prelude to an invasion of the south coast of England. It was a battle for control of the skies over Britain and the RAF Fighter Command’s task was to deny it to the enemy.
To achieve this, getting fighter aircraft into the air as quickly as possible was vital. It was crucial to get off the ground and into the correct position in order to intercept and shoot down German bombers, dive bombers, fighter bombers and fighter aircraft. Only this would dissuade Hitler, Goering and the German High Command from proceeding with their invasion plans. The aerial combat exchanges had been intense and were increasingly frequent. There was a lot at stake and both sides were committed to the fight.
The rising sun on that late July morning in the long, hot summer of 1940 had just risen above the airfield’s tree line when the alarm screamed, its shrill sound splitting the air. The standard routine of the duty shift, only just begun, was already splintered, the calm transformed into clamour, with pilots and aircrew surging towards the aircraft in a flat-out sprint. There was an immediate need to get the Spitfires and Hurricanes into motion – a critical race against time. They were scrambled and the time it took to organise themselves had to be pared to an absolute minimum. Hearts pounded and pulses raced; everyone in the airfield experienced different degrees of a heady dizziness. They all tried to come to terms with what was happening in horizons beyond. Why, this time, had the alarm sounded? What was the nature of what awaited them in the sky? What was the danger and what needed to be done to prevent an unfavourable ending?
Pre-rehearsed drills were put into play and emergency positions were taken. The reactions of the pilots and crew had to be right – perfect, in fact – and there was no margin for error or second chances. British lives were at stake. Their minds were clear, however. Uppermost was only one thought: that no one ‘Hun’ was getting through today.
To achieve this, they had to get the aircraft sky-bound. The pilots had to ‘switch on’ mentally while the anxious ground crews sought to prepare the aircrafts’ engines by quickly connecting an external power supply. This was called a ‘Trolley Acc’ (Trolley Accumulator) – a two-wheeled, enclosed hand cart containing accumulators, each having a thick cable which plugged in through a flap in the engine cowling; two rechargeable six-or-twelve-volt lead acid batteries provided the power needed. Small and light enough, ground crews were able to move them with little effort. Meanwhile the pilots, having previously placed their parachutes in the cockpit, or on the wings, and who had hung their helmets on the control column or gunsight, were quickly settling into their cockpits. They hurriedly completed the pre-flight instrumentation checks before taxiing on to the airfield proper; they then pushed forward on the throttle, gained engine speed, achieved lift and accelerated off over the near horizon to face whatever was beyond.
2
WAR
Sunday, 3 September 1939 was All-Ireland Hurling Final day at Croke Park, Dublin. During what became known as the ‘Thunder and Lightning’ final, Cork hurling hero Jack Lynch stepped up to take a free, not far out from the Kilkenny goal. Kilkenny were one point ahead (two goals and seven points to three goals and three points) and all that was needed was for Lynch to casually tap the sliotar (ball) over the bar and bring the game to a replay. In the event, he went for the match-winning goal (three points) only to see his shot saved! A thunderous roar rose up from the ecstatic Kilkenny fans at the same time as a downpour of rain erupted over Croke Park. Meanwhile, war was erupting over Europe.
The Irish Taoiseach (prime minister) Éamon de Valera addressed the Irish people on Radio Éireann that evening, making a special announcement.
The great European powers are at war again. That this would happen was almost inevitable for a month past. Yet, until a short time ago, there was hope. But now that hope is gone.