“Pilots take no special joy in walking. Pilots like flying.”
Neil Armstrong
Who took these photos of Canadian aircraft and why? It would
be odd for commanding officers of an airfield to let someone wander about with
a camera during wartime, yet most of these do not look like official photos. I
couldn’t leave a mystery unsolved. The place to start was back at the
beginning: the stall at the flea market where the rest of the photos remained.
All the proprietor could tell me, as he calculated the price of the snaps while
factoring in ‘keen buyer interest’, was that he had bought them about ten years
ago. He couldn’t remember the circumstances clearly but he was sure the seller
had also been the photographer. Being Canadian, he apologised that he couldn’t
be more helpful but actually he had told me a lot.
Given there were three film formats (four now) and each had
their own look and style, I had three immediate possibilities. The first was
that one man took every photograph and used particular cameras for certain
types (action, still life on the tarmac). If his hobby was photography he was
dedicated but owning three or four cameras wouldn’t be unusual. Alternatively,
he took the photos because he loved planes. This makes more sense, up to a
point. Twitchers I’ve met tend to be very particular about their equipment.
They’ll have three pairs of binoculars when most of us think one is sufficient.
(This creates an image in my mind of a stout, ruddy faced chap in an undersized
t-shirt, Bombay bloomers and thick-lensed glasses. I need to get rid of that.) As
a plane spotter he would have seen the value in several cameras too. The third
possibility was that he did take the photos in an official capacity, but if so,
why would he be allowed to keep them? This plane, incidentally, is an Avro Lancaster, a bomber. It looks like it has a small problem.
And this plane is a Westland Lysander. I recall putting together
an Airfix model of one when I was a kid and it was a favourite among my
collection. You might think the real man would choose a Spitfire but the
Lysander was the photographer’s plane, ideal for aerial reconnaissance, which
was of course far more dangerous than flying over enemy territory in a high speed
fighter. It was also a trainer. During the war most of the Canadian Lysanders
were stationed at Rockcliffe in Ontario, Saint John in New Brunswick and
Vancouver Island.
It seems obvious now but it hadn’t occurred to me that air
bases would specialize in one or two types of aircraft, hence you’d find Cessna
Cranes at Claresholm and Lysanders at Rockcliffe but not the other way around.
Once you realize that, it becomes apparent from these photos that while the
backgrounds tend to be similarly flat, anonymous and wintry, our photographer
was travelling across the country. Short of spying, that can only mean he was
visiting the airfields in an official capacity. What that might have been,
we’ll come to shortly, but in the meantime we have the Stinson Voyager, serial
number 3467, which according to R. W. Walker’s rather helpful site, was
stationed at No. 4 Training Command in Saskatchewan for most of the war. It
would go on to have a long life, still cruising the skies of Manitoba in the
1970s.
I’ve always thought that era of early arctic flight was
romantic, in the way Saint-Exupéry made those pilots on early mail flights to
Dakar cool, unassuming and nonchalant about their slim chances of getting to
the other end. Flying medical supplies up to an Inuit village in the 1940s
while dodging blizzards and polar bears would be interesting. I’m being
flippant. It turns out this very plane – Fairchild 71, serial number CF-BJE –
was a film star. In 1941 Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger made The 49th Parallel, about a
group of Nazis on a U-Boat sunk in Hudson’s Bay who then have to make their way
across Canada, encountering all its stereotypes in the process (Lawrence Oliver
as a Quebecoise trapper is hilarious: they may speak French but that doesn’t
mean you have to behave like a Parisian opera singer who just bought a stale
baguette). At one point the Germans steal CF-BJE, which takes them across the
snowy wastes before they crash it in a lake. Later, CF-BJE would turn up in The Saint episode, The Sporting Chance, where Simon Templar, aka Roger Moore, has his
peaceful Canadian fishing holiday spoiled by Russian spies. I notice that on
IMDb men rate this episode much higher than women do.
Back to the real mystery. For the last photo in the previous
post I noted that a Facebook friend thought the wreckage was from a Mosquito.
Well spotted, I say! The next sequence of photos, all square format and all
presumably taken by the same photographer, show firstly a badly damaged
Mosquito then one that may have replaced it. The damaged one can’t be the same
as the one in the previous post as it has its empennage intact. Alongside the
Spitfire the Mosquito was probably the emblematic Allied airplane of the Second
World War. It was actually built from plywood, which gave it speed and
manoeuvrability though not much protection. Those of a certain age may recall
being enthralled by such films as 633
Squadron, which celebrated the wonderful agility of this aircraft when
paired with the British stiff upper lip. It appears from this photo that the
fuselage has been split in half, most likely in an accident rather than enemy
attack. Mosquitoes were prone to accidents, partly because they were so fast
and agile that it was easy for pilots with limited training to misjudge
landings.
This is the photo that makes me think I know the nature of
our photographer’s work. This looks like a crashed Mosquito having its usable
parts packed away. Incidentally, thanks to its vast forests of spruce and birch,
Canada probably built more Mosquitoes than any other country. I’m not sure that
the same person took all these photos but this one provides a plausible clue as
to why someone was allowed to wander around the base with a camera. If our
photographer was attached to the department responsible for air force
acquisitions he would not only have to travel to air bases around the country,
he would have to file reports on planes that had been damaged in order to
justify their replacement. He’d also be interested in the assembling of
aircraft to make certain parts weren’t missing.
A fully assembled Mosquito on the tarmac. (At least, to my
uninformed eye, that’s what it looks like.) An odd story about Canada,
Mosquitoes and the Japanese: In 1944 Japan hatched a scheme to send thousands
of balloons loaded with bombs across the Pacific, the idea being they would
sail on the Jet Stream to North American shores where they would unload their
cargo. The balloons were fitted with mechanisms that controlled their descent
and triggered a bomb release. They sound like something Wily E. Coyote would
dream up but a lot of effort went into design and construction. The
miscalculation had to do with the Jet Stream and balloons ended up scattered
across the Pacific, most landing in the water. Some did make it to North
America and were spotted over Kansas and Wyoming. Six people were killed. In
Canada the job of flying out across the Pacific to hunt down the fire balloons
was given to Mosquito squadrons. That was probably a difficult job. The
balloons were small and it would take more luck than skill to shoot them down.
This looks like a Fairey Battle – I say having searched
diligently using a rudimentary process of elimination. It was designed as a
light bomber that would swoop down on slow moving or small targets – German
mothers taking their children to school – but such were its weaknesses, too
compact to carry a heavy load yet too slow to get out of the way, that by 1940 the
surviving machines were sent to Canada to be used in training. This is
interesting but I’m not sure what it means. A lot of the planes in the
collection were used as trainers. Canada was just out of range to be an
effective base for launching assaults but the prairies were a perfect area for
military flying schools, being both flat and far away. Germany was no doubt interested
in Canadian training schools but there wasn’t much it could do about them.
Avro Anson Mk V, serial number 11899, and yes, another
trainer. I could be wrong; our photographer could have been a flying instructor
but you would think, wouldn’t you, that instructors tended to stay with the one
aircraft. A pilot ought to be able to fly any plane but knowing the various
flaws and graces of particular models would help.
With my new found eye in place, I’m confident these planes
are Harvards, and yes again, they were trainers. These aircraft appear to have
inspired their own cult, especially in Canada. There are several websites
dedicated to Canadian Harvards, indeed there are still quite a number of the
planes still flying, so many in fact that because of a passing similarity to
the Japanese Zero they are painted with the rising sun and sent up to take on
the role of an old foe when a film set in World War 2 demands it. Harvard incidentally, is the name this airplane
was given by the British and the Canadians. The Americans referred to it as the
Texan. Think about it. One name evokes genteel intellectuals wrapped in tweed,
the other lassoing steers and throwing them on a barbecue. It’s a question
Clint Eastwood might ask: “well, do you fly a Harvard, or do you fly a Texan?” The
Australians called it a Wirraway.
One final image, and one of two that could be considered a portrait,
of the same man by a plane (The other is at the top of the page). I don’t know
the significance of the white coveralls, whether they mark him as an inspector
or a mechanic, but you’ll notice he’s about to have a look at the engine. Is it
our photographer? You can spend hours studying a collection like this, trying
to come to a conclusion, and every so often you have to pull yourself back from
the brink of absurdity. There’s a lot we can never know about these photos but
one thing is clear: whoever took them loved aircraft and knew how to shoot them
so they looked their best.
ON A WING AND A PRAYER 2 |
Oh, a lot of interesting images. I will have to show this to my father. I'm sure he'll blurt out the names of the planes as soon as he sees them.
ReplyDeleteI never knew about the balloon bombs, but it does remind of a tv evangelist who, several decades ago, was trying to raise funds to send balloons into East Germany carrying bibles. I loved his stupidity.
Thanks Tattered and Lost. Any help identifying the planes would be great.
DeleteUnless the photos are out of order, John, that's not a Lancaster. It's the unmistakeable tailplane of a de Havilland Mosquito.
ReplyDeleteThanks Stencil. Little as I know it did occur to me this was too small to be a Lancaster but I was going on the serial number. I'm going to correct that.
DeleteThe Japanese balloon bomb which killed six people was in the Bly, Oregon area.
ReplyDeleteYes, Jonathan, and I believe someone was injured deep in the midwest.
ReplyDelete