There must have been a spot of leave after this, for I next flew, now with the Advanced Training Squadron, on July 1st, when there came a change in the pattern of flying, in that we were all of us teamed up in pairs so that on most exercises one could act as pilot and the other as bomb aimer or gunner. I found myself paired with P/O Donald Glennie, of our original Burnaston squad, and we enjoyed ourselves taking turns at the controls and at lying flat in the nose of the Oxford releasing ‘bombs’ by firing a flash which could be monitored and assessed from the ground. Fortunately we got on well together and I met his widower father when Donald married his Littlemore nurse during this time. I met the father once more – when some time later Donald was killed on operations.


One flight we did together is one I have never forgotten. We were sent aloft to


carry out some practice bombing runs, firing our flashes as we passed over the target marked on the grass surface of the airfield. Each of us had to complete, I think, six runs up to the target at an altitude of 6,000 feet. I was piloting the Oxford, with Donald Glennie lying prone with his nose glued to the perspex of the Oxford’s cockpit floor.


It was one of those days which start with blue skies but which can encourage the formation of small, but ever-growing, cumulus clouds. My first run was clear. That had to be followed by a steep turn to retrace our flight path and repeat it. The second run ran into very small cumulus clouds, which were no problem. On the third the cloud had increased and each cotton-wool ball of cumulus was a bit bigger. Still no problem, for it was one of those days when flying gave a real lift to the spirits and I was feeling on top of the world. So round we came with another steep turn to the left to prepare for the next run up to the target. By this time the cloud was much thicker, if still broken. We ran over the target, Donald released his ‘bomb’, and I found myself completely in the cloud. Still no problem – I felt I could fly by the seat of my pants – and round to the left we went in a steep turn. The cloud persisted. I looked at my air speed indicator and found the needle falling away, so I pushed the control column forward a bit. The needle fell away even more and the ‘feel’ of the controls told me we really were losing airspeed. Further forward went the control column in an effort to get the nose down and recover airspeed – but it fell and fell and then, a miracle as it were, I saw Donald’s body rise from the floor and float up to the ceiling of the cockpit, where it stuck.


I then knew what had happened. Failing to get on to my instruments as I should have done as soon as we hit any cloud at all, I had managed to turn my steep turn into a half roll and we were actually now upside down. That explained why, when I pushed the control column forward, we had lost speed, not gained it, for the nose had been pushed not down, but further up. Pilots have a well-known cry – ‘Upside down, FA on the clock, and still climbing!’ And now it had actually happened to me! There was something else


30


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