Open Writing

In June 1943 a few of us younger pilots were sent to Azizia, a centre developed by the Italians some 100 miles inland from the African port of Tripoli. Azizia had its place in the encyclopaedia as the hottest place on earth, with a recorded temperature of 120° in the shade.

Our adjutant was none other than Basil Davis, brother of Alfred, but he did not last for more than a very few weeks before being carted off to Tripoli military hospital with heat exhaustion. I visited him there, and he was an unhappy soul. He must have been over 40 - and much too old for such temperatures and primitive conditions.

We 20-year-olds coped - although with difficulty. Food was primitive (bully and biscuits), water limited and warm. Fortunately I had learned that the water bottle with its material-covered exterior was admirable when dunked in water and hung in the sun. Cooling by evaporation followed. Periodic dunking cooled it further.

Our Spitfires were equally unhappy under these conditions. The heat was such that unless you took off immediately after starting (preferably at 07.30 in the morning), the engine overheated before takeoff.

Another problem was caused by sand and oil combining to make paste that congealed in the undercarriage locking ring so that the wheels could not be fully retracted. One wheel would then partially block the air intake, causing engine overheat. Many of the aircraft landed immediately with smoke pouring from the engine.

If these two problems were not enough, sand would enter the engine, causing the speed of the engine to fluctuate. We called it ‘boost surge’. At last the engine stopped altogether. This beautiful, thoroughbred aircraft was less suitable for the conditions than were we humans who flew them.

We soon moved up to the African coast some 50 miles west of Tripoli to an oasis that had been used by the Italians as an airfield, with its half-destroyed Machi fighter sitting there.

This oasis had one special facility apart from date trees. There were a couple of wells, and every evening the two farmers with their little fields around the wells would draw water using the biblical method of the ox walking round and round whilst attached to a simple pulley system. This hauled up a canvas bucket full of water that would tip into a channel that watered their fields.

When there I would strip and let the delightful cool water pour over my body. With a bar of soap as an adjunct, it was a real luxury. On the first evening the farmer looked at me and announced, “Inter Arabi.” (You are an Arab.)

At first I thought he was referring to my suntanned skin, but then realising that, after seeing nude Germans and Italians, he was looking at the first circumcised westerner.

“Lo Anna Yehudi.” (No, I am a Jew) satisfied him. He came up to me and shook my hand, telling me we were brothers from several thousand years. He never spoke again of the subject. Perhaps my very limited Arabic discouraged conversation.

We took new or reconditioned fighters into Sicily most days although our losses were less than anticipated. The Luftwaffe fighters had nearly all been withdrawn, and ours were being used for close support of the ground troops, with bombs and machine guns.

So many of our losses were caused by either friendly fire or friendly mistaken action. When the gliders were towed from North Africa to Sicily loaded with British and Commonwealth troops, there were insufficient heavy RAF aircraft, so US aircraft and crews were used.

The majority were newly arrived from USA and, with their limited experience, a high percentage of the gliders were released over the sea and too far away from Sicily. Thus an enormous number were drowned. I was only hit twice - both times by Americans. The excellent American/British relationship did occasionally come under strain. The strain only became visible during evening drinking.

A few aircraft were shot down by ground fire. A Spitfire CO was the first to try to land at one of five airfields. We had cut through the orange groves and vineyards in the plain of Catania, but a few miles short of the front line. Sadly, the RAF Regiment anti-aircraft gunners who had been installed to defend the airfield thought he must be a German aircraft. So they shot him down and he was killed. More a demonstration of how more RAF deaths were caused by accident than enemy action.