GROUPS AND SINGLE DECORATIONS FOR GALLANTRY


And then an extraordinary thing happened. As I struggled to maintain control of the aircraft, and Me. 109 flew alongside in close formation with my Blenheim. Either the German pilot thought we must be doomed anyway or he was out of ammunition and was just waiting for us to crash, but I was screaming at Kramer, my gunner, to shoot him down. More shouts came from the back saying his gun was jammed. ‘Change the fucking magazine!’ But this advice was not needed, as at that moment the gunner’s ‘K’ burst into life at the sitting target. The 109 slowly fell back and was seen to disappear into the low scrub, and Kramer was sure he had hit the pilot and the aircraft had subsequently crashed. I was too busy to see what was happening astern as I nursed my badly damaged Blenheim along and tried to keep it in the air.


We were rapidly losing flying speed, and my right leg was giving way under the strain of trying to keep straight against the asymmetric power with only a single engine working. I knew now that I had to try and get the aircraft down, and very quickly, before it stalled and spun in. But ahead was a line of what looked to me liked the tallest trees in Holland! With the gentlest of movement of the controls I managed to lift the staggering machine over them with only a foot or two to spare, and there ahead, ‘God be praised!’, was mile after mile of mudbanks. I had no time or inclination to put down the flaps or wheels, but managed to put the Blenheim down fairly gently and it settled on the mud like a dying swan relieved at last of the pain of fatal injuries.’ (Ibid)


Haine had landed on the Dutch island of Overflakkee, near Herkingen. Despite his best attempts to set fire to his wrecked Blenheim it would not light, so Haine and his gunner left it and hurried towards an isolated farmhouse. Here they received a meal and brief respite from an elderly Dutch couple before being hastened on their way towards the nearest town of Oud-Beijerland. There ‘we were swiftly picked up by a unit of the Dutch Army, who, though initially suspicious, and who could blame them, for we had seen German paratroops falling all around, told us that they would do their best to get us to the coast and a ship back to England.’ (Ibid)


Having spent the night in a hotel, with fighting going on all around them, Haine and his gunner continued to stay in the town before they ‘were whisked away at midnight when the Dutch said they were retreating... After we were rushed across the ferry we were escorted to the little town of Numansdorp. Here in the middle of the day we were left with a Dutch family... with strict instructions from the Dutch militia that we must lie low until we were picked up again.... we were picked up again by a staff car and driver... We were taken to a large country house on the edge of town, where we joined a civilian party from the Philips factory at Eindhoven.... In the morning we... set off in convoy out of town along a straight road into the countryside. As we marched along we were machine- gunned ineffectively by a Heinkel that flew very low overhead. Having been picked up by a Dutch Army staff car, my gunner and I were taken on a wild dash into the Hague. As we entered the city the Germans were lobbing mortar shells into the streets, and the smoke was the cause of a scare of a gas attack... We were then rushed off to the British Legation in the Hague, where we found the front door barricaded with sandbags, and so we were sent round the back entrance.’ (Ibid)


After being deposited with the Air Attaché, the British airmen were eventually whisked off in another staff car down to the Hook of Holland in the hope of embarking on a ship bound for the UK:


‘There was plenty of evidence of fighting on the way, and we had to be diverted several times to avoid road blocks set up by isolated pockets of German paratroops. Arriving on the dockside at the Hook a very welcome sight greeted us: two Royal Navy frigates were tied up alongside, their white ensigns bravely waving in the fresh morning breeze. We were expeditiously ushered aboard H.M.S. Hereward, with H43 painted on her hull, and surprisingly we discovered a gang of ratings busily employed in tidying the decks and polishing the brightwork on the guns and bulwarks.... After an anxious short wait with the sounds of battle getting nearer, there was a flurry of activity on the dockside and a cavalcade of large limousines skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. Several distinguished ladies and gentlemen came aboard to be met with due reverence. As the last one came over the ship’s side the gangway was dropped and abandoned, the warps and cables were cast off and with a surge of power the diesels gushed out a plume of black smoke as the ship cleared the inner mole, already doing some 25 knots. There was gentle panic on deck as lifejackets were handed out, and in the confusion a rather large lady, surrounded by her attendants, was struggling to get into hers. I went forward to see if I could help, but as I did so a lieutenant-commander approached with authority and said, ‘I think you should come below, Your Majesty.’ It was Queen Wilhelmina, and the rest of the party were members of her Court and Government. I thought it strange at the time that, although the ship had been attacked sporadically by dive-bombers during the previous night and had fired off every shell on board, no enemy aircraft came near the vulnerable ship carrying such a high prize at any time during our dash from the Hook or during our five-and-a- half-hour passage to Harwich. The Germans must have known that their most valuable hostage was escaping but seemed to do nothing to prevent it. I was much too relieved to be safely back on home ground to let it worry me further, and I went straight to the Air Ministry to report my return to the duty clerk. Then I made tracks to find a telephone to tell my family that I was safe. I did not know it then, but I had been reported missing for two days, so my call was received with great relief. But it was a sad story on which to reflect. Out of the six aircraft of No. 600 squadron that had set out on a sunny May afternoon to try and help the Dutch in a brave but forlorn effort, only one aircraft returned, six aircrew had been killed, including the squadron commander, Jimmy Wells, and his gunner, Cpl Kidd, four more were shot down, three of whom managed to get back to Britain within a few days, and the fourth was badly injured and eventually became a prisoner.’ (Ibid)


After a few days of leave Haine rejoined the Squadron in Manston, and laconically recorded the whole experience in his Log Bog thus, ‘Special Operational Duty. Shot down over Rotterdam by six Me. 109’s Port engine hit, instrument panel destroyed etc. Landed on mudbank at Herkingen, Overflakkee. Crew unhurt. Returned by destroyer (13.5.40) H.M.S. Hereward. 1 Me. 109 destroyed. 2 Ju. 52s damaged.’


A day trip to France


600 Squadron moved to Northolt at the end of May 1940. The Squadron were kept busy with operational patrols at night, but also interspersed with the occasional break from the norm. One such incident, which Haine was involved in, took place on 7 June:


‘A flight of three aircraft from the squadron was scrambled from Northolt and flew via Shoreham and Fécamp and landed at Boos, a small airfield north of Rouen. It was known that the Hun was in the vicinity of the town, but we were told that several wounded aircrew were at Boos and hoping to be airlifted home before the Germans could get there. Our three aircraft landed to find the airfield deserted, so we made enquiries at a small café on a long straight road going south to Rouen. Needless to say, we were welcomed in and plied with glasses of anis and brandy, but no one knew anything about the injured aircrew. Things were getting very friendly when a Frenchman rushed in shouting, ‘Les Boches, Les Boches’, and looking up this long straight road we could indeed see the Germans coming, in the shape of a column of light tanks. The retreat to our aircraft, getting engines started and taking off must have been the quickest ‘scramble’ ever, but we were very distressed that we had not been able to carry out our mission. It was very sad, but we never heard what had happened to our injured colleagues, though we realised that a crate of brandy that we abandoned in our haste was still sitting on top of the bar in that café. On our return flight one of our aircraft was lost when the propeller sheered off the starboard engine of the Blenheim and the aircraft crashed into the sea, killing the crew.’ (Ibid)


Battle of Britain - night fighter


The following month, Haine was engaged with the Squadron during the Battle of Britain. 600 Squadron moved back to Manston and now fully engaged as a night fighter squadron. Fitted with early and unreliable A.I. equipment, the Squadron also had to contend with several moves and converting to Beaufighters during the day whilst flying operationally during the night. A frustrating time for a fighter pilot, as Haine records:


‘To take an example of a typical night’s operation, the night-fighter crew, having done a night-flying air test earlier in the day, would come to immediate readiness at nightfall. In the crew room we would sit, fully kitted-out in flying gear, with dark glasses on to keep adapted to the dark outside. As with the day-fighters we would get the heart-stopping ring of the operations phone ordering a scramble. But from then on things would be very different.


www.dnw.co.uk


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