News

Sep 16, 2014

A Reunion With The Spitfire by Brian Bird

Birdman 250pxl.jpeg On the 28th June 1945 I stepped down from Spitfire No: P.T 669 in Italy for the last time before being posted to 112 Squadron to fly Mustangs. For me it was a very sad moment as I had come, in a relatively short time, to have great affection for one of the finest aircraft I was ever to fly out the eight aircraft types I was to fly in my RAF career. In that moment of sadness I never dreamt that seventy years later, at the age of ninety, I was to find myself airborne in a Spitfire above the English countryside. In the following pages I will endeavour to describe for readers the multitude of emotions I experienced as I looked down from two thousand feet upon the Cambridgeshire countryside.

In early August 2014 I received an email from a photographic colleague of mine (Martin Bisiker) who runs the Legasee Veterans Archive (http://www.legasee.org.uk/the-archive/brian-bird) on the Internet in which hundreds of details of war service of individuals (such as myself !) appear. In that email he advised me of a Production company that was searching for an ex Spitfire Pilot and he had put my name forward. Subsequent to receiving this email I received a telephone call from a Lady Producer of the Production Company saying that she would like to come down from London to interview me. This was duly arranged and on the 19th August at 10.a.m into my room walked Matron accompanied by the said Lady Producer. For a solid hour many questions were asked of me by the Producer (hereafter referred to as Thea) and similarly I and Matron bombarded her with countless questions. At the end of the hour Thea returned to London and at 5.p.m on the same day Matron and I received emails defining that I had be selected for filming at RAF Duxford as an ex Spitfire Pilot and also a flight in a Spitfire on the following Thursday - only two days hence!

As readers can imagine, with such short notice, certain important decisions had to be rapidly made by Matron. Who was to take me, what form of transport would we need (bearing in mind my hip incapacity) permission had to be gained from the GP, the recognition of legal liability if I or a Carer were involved in any form of accident and a host of other factors. I must admit I found such a list almost so daunting that I nearly offered to forego the idea of Duxford despite my inner enthusiasm to make the trip. But to my complete surprise Matron stepped in and indicated she would be taking me which I thought was the most generous commitment for a person in her position to make and my gratitude throughout the next two days was often repeated.

We left Mais House at 2.15p.m on Wednesday 20th August and what I said in the previous paragraph about Matron’s commitment was soon amply demonstrated. For some unknown reason I had never been aware of her as a driver one of the minibuses but here she was operating the hoist to elevate my wheelchair into the minibus followed by lengthy tasks of securing the locks on the wheelchair. Having previously and rather timidly enquired about her experience on minibuses I was quickly gaining confidence and settled back to enjoy the hundred mile journey to Duxford. It was an uneventful journey and as each mile passed I became more and more impressed with the excellence of Matron’s driving skills and thus my confidence allowed my mind to turn to anticipation of what lay ahead on Thursday. Shortly after 6.p.m we arrived at the hotel into which the TVT company had booked us for the night on the A505 some six miles from RAF Duxford. A strange but comfortable place, immediately adjacent to the main road so there would be no problem the next day when we set out for the aerodrome.

What readers may not understand is that as a result of my hip operation I have to contend with walking about with a catheter strapped to my leg and this stays with me in that position twenty fours a day. It can become very uncomfortable and needs draining at regular intervals. On top of that I have to contend with a regular dosage of drugs and as I no longer have self-Medication the Carer is responsible for such disciplines. Not unnaturally these two factors played on my mind during the journey and such worry rather tended to block out enthusiastic thoughts as to what lay ahead on the morrow. But I need not have worried particularly as I had overlooked the fact that Matron was an ex RAF Prince Mary Nurse. In the hours ahead at the hotel I was accorded the highest skilled nursing and was able to fall asleep in a totally relaxed state of mind enjoying my anticipation being reunited with a Spitfire.

During breakfast on the Thursday morning Matron received a telephone call from Thea asking her to ensure that Bird was not taken anywhere near the runway during the morning as there was a surprise being organised. This news of course only served to increase my mounting enthusiasm for what lay ahead. As breakfast was finished soon after 10.a.m I suggested to Matron that she might like to see the aircraft museum which I had visited some ten years previously. When we entered the museum an attendant recognised that I was wearing my medals and immediately indicated there were no entrance fees for veterans. Not only that, but also the self-same attendant conducted us through all floors of the exhibition pointing out the various aircraft and even taking photographs for us. It was an hour of galvanising stimulation as a prelude to the next stage of our day and when returning later to the minibus we met this helpful attendant and were able to express our thanks for the extensive information he had imparted to us.

Next Matron drove the minibus to a certain part of Duxford where we were scheduled to meet Thea and amazingly her car drew up alongside our vehicle within seconds of the agreed time. She led us down to the airfield and I immediately caught sight of a Spitfire gracefully sitting there. No reader will ever experience the degree of thrill I felt inside me at that moment and it boosted my resolve to overcome my disabilities and get airborne. But there was much to do before that moment was upon me. I could see crowded around the Spitfire a dozen or more cameramen together with a lot of other people who I was later to discover were pilots and aircrew of various descriptions. I was deposited on the step of platform ladder by two burly RAF personnel and for the next minute or so the assembled company around me introduced themselves. I replied that it was very unlikely that I would remember all their names but as subsequent events developed that proved a false forecast. Immediately to my left stood John Nichol who I recall being shot down in the first Iraq war as a Tornado Navigator. He proved to be a very friendly person who asked a lot of questions about the war. Alongside him was an Australian Pilot by the name of Matt Hall who again was full of questions and a lot of warm support as I told various stories. At one point in the stories that I was telling one of the cameramen asked me to repeat the story because on the first occasion that I had told the story I had described a German ambulance driver as a pilot! That at least showed me that all the interviews I was giving to the assembled camera men and RAF personnel was being closely absorbed which was a boost to my morale.

At the conclusion of my long question and answer session some airman appeared with a flying suit and helmet. Of course I knew what that meant and shortly afterwards Matron took my Blazer into safe keeping and the airman started to the struggle to get me into a flying suit which quite remarkably he succeeded in doing. This was followed by three hefty Pilots bodily lifting me to the platform at the top of the ladder and guiding first one foot into the cockpit and then my other. At this point I lowered myself onto the parachute which was already in position on the seat and the pilot leant into the cockpit and helped to do up first my parachute harness and then my seat harness. What I didn’t realise at that moment was that the pilot was none other than Air Marshall Sir Cliff Spink and of course when I later learnt this I felt unimaginable pride. Not knowing that I was talking to such a high powered officer on the aircraft radio I might have been less forward in demonstrating to him that I was quickly becoming re-acquainted with the instrument panel by pointing out that the oil gauge on my panel was showing only 20° whereas it should have been 50° before engine warming-up had been completed. He replied “Not bad for a 90 year old memory!!” I was later alleged to have said, and in front of everybody (including Sir Cliff!!) after landing, “I didn’t find the landing of especially high quality” which brought gales of laughter, including from Sir Cliff.

Now a few words about my emotions as Sir Cliff opened the throttle and the wonderful sound of the merlin engine filled my ears. As I watched all the instruments my thoughts went back seventy years to the early morning when I took off on my first operation over the German lines and like that far off morning when I had no nerves so it was as I gazed down at the Cambridgeshire countryside. When we returned to the ground I did summon up sufficient courage to point out to Sir Cliff that on one particular turn he did he skidded!! - I could tell this from the Slip and Skid Instrument on the dashboard. Fortunately he was highly impressed that I had remembered so much about the instrument panel and I must admit it added a lot of pleasure to the trip that I found all the instruments so familiar. One final recollection of the trip which brought back wartime memories concerns the low level flight (about 50 feet) which we did over my party on the ground - something one quite often did during the war when returning to base from a sortie. I gather from Matron that she was trying to video tape us but the noise was so loud she had to duck and of course the camera went with her.

When the engine was shut down I wound back the hood and undid my safety straps just as I used to do in wartime. In a sense I was very disappointed that the trip had only been for twenty minutes but nonetheless I was grateful to the authorities for having such an opportunity at my age. It was very re-assuring to me to discover that there was no question of experiencing any nerves either before or during the flight which only goes to show you can develop an unerring appetite for flying. Readers who have read my article “A first operational sortie” will realise that at the age of nineteen I was flushed with nerves as I sat at the end of the runway awaiting instructions to take off and that immediately I was airborne those nerves had evaporated never to return. Thus it was no surprise to me at Duxford that once the Spit was in the air I felt no nervous emotion at all.

Having been extracted from the cockpit (no easy task for someone as old and disabled as me) I was re-joined by the pilots and cameramen who engaged me in questions and answers before the flight and now the inevitable post flight dialogue took place before I was escorted to a nearby refreshment room . In this said refreshment room I sat by a Squadron Leader who was interested enough to read through my Log Book. He was kind enough to compliment me on the fact that I had been awarded several plus A marks at the time of my Wings Exam and also he commented on the fact that my first solo in a Tiger Moth at Sywell was achieved in 8 hours. He thereupon indicated that he was based at Sywell and he would try to organise for me a reunion flight in a Tiger Moth. This was another example of the kindness and thoughtfulness shown to me by everybody at Duxford. It is a strange thing that I experienced the same emotion at Duxford as I did last year when attending a dining in night at RAF Odiham - a feeling of being entirely at home amongst fellow airmen and as I said to the assembled company and the urge to want to re-join the Air Force immediately despite my age!!

At about 4.30.p.m my special day was over, except for the business of getting back to Mais House, and so there followed much contemplation of the events I had experienced. This was a hugely pleasant task as Matron sped the Minibus southwards. Here it is very relevant to interpose some comments about the part Matron played in the two days. I have no shadow of doubt that nobody could have provided the care and support she gave to me at every twist and turn of the two days.

She faced difficult and unusual situations with a professionalism I have rarely seen before and she is deserving of the highest commendation. Her last act of the two days was to drive me one hundred miles home to Mais House where, despite the tiresome traffic jams at the Dartford Crossing, we arrived at 7.15.p.m. My eternal thanks Chris.