Page 79 - The Cormorant Issue 14

Wot! No Engines?
A Personal Recollection of the use of Gliders in World War II
By Air Commodore J F Langer CBE AFC DL JSSC 32, DS JSSC 37
For a young man whose sole ambition in life was to become a fighter pilot and fight for King and Country, I had a very frustrat- ing war. It all started very well when I managed to hoodwink the Aircrew Selection Board into believing that I was a year older than I really was; as a result I was called up in September 1942. After surviving six months of initial ground training I faced my first real hurdle of grading school where we all flew twelve hours in a De Havilland Tiger Moth aircraft after which we were selected for training as pilots, navigators or bomb aimer/air gunners. To my relief and joy I was in the pilot stream.
My good fortune continued when I was lucky enough to be sent for basic and advanced training at one of the British Flying Train- ing Schools in the USA. Despite a wastage rate of 25%, to my delight I was not only awarded my RAF pilot’s wings but also I was commissioned and strongly recommended for operational training as a fighter pilot.
Alas on our return to the UK, everything started to go pear- shaped. We were all sent to Harrogate and assembled in a cin- ema where we were addressed by a wing commander of the admin branch. To cut a long story short, he told us that there was now a surplus of trained pilots and that there would be a bit of a wait for operational training. Those destined to be second pilots in Bomber, Coastal and Ferry Commands would be posted within weeks. Those going on to light bombers, reconnaissance or army cooperation would have to wait a few months, whereas those destined for fighters would have to wait for at least a year.
He went on to say that those of us who had months to wait could volunteer for jobs which would make a vital contribution to the war effort. Then, to our astonishment, he said that there were severe shortages of manpower on the railways, down the mines and on farms. Someone asked what would happen to those who chose not to volunteer only to be told that NCO pilots would be given no option whereas officers would be held at sta- tions doing odd jobs. He then told us to hand in our names and preferences to the orderly room whereupon he left the cinema hotly pursued by a loud babble of disgruntled voices.
I chose not to volunteer so I was posted to a station as an assis- tant adjutant. It was a most frustrating time especially after D-Day and I was beginning to fear that the war in Europe would be over before I became operational. Then there appeared, in station standing orders, a call for volunteers to be trained to fly gliders. I didn’t think twice about it and volunteered on the spot. Apparently the Glider Pilot Regiment (GPR) had been deci- mated at Arnhem where it had suffered 229 pilots killed and 469 wounded. It was therefore no longer able to mount a major air- borne assault without the help of the RAF.
Glider conversion started with a two week course of small arms training, unarmed combat and fieldcraft followed by ten hours flying the light-weight, 45 ft wingspan Hotspur glider. It had been designed to carry eight troops but was now used only for train- ing. It was made entirely of wood and, on entry there was a
plaque which worryingly proclaimed that it had been “manufac- tured by Harry Lebus – Furniture Maker”. Being towed off the ground by a tiny Miles Magister aircraft behind a 300 ft towrope took some getting used to as the Hotspur literally leapt off the ground at about thirty knots, long before the tug aircraft got air- borne. Once released from the towrope it flew beautifully but it was fairly difficult to judge the landing as it had neither flaps nor spoilers and tended to float.
Heavy glider conversion was carried out on the Horsa which was a monster, having a wingspan of 88 ft and seating for up to thirty fully equipped troops. It weighed 15,250 lbs before loading and was best towed by the four-engined Stirling or Halifax bombers. It could be towed by the Douglas DC3 Dakota but only with a much reduced payload. On and off-tow, the Horsa flew like a brick-built outhouse and needed two pilots as its handling was so heavy and unresponsive. However it did have three redeem- ing features. Firstly, it had huge flaps, referred to as barn doors, so it could be dived almost vertically without exceeding its land- ing speed and it could be ‘plonked down’ exactly where wanted. Second, it was fitted with an ‘angle of dangle’ indicator, which displayed the position of the glider in relation to the tug aircraft; thus, it could be flown in cloud or at night. Finally, it was guar- anteed to float for twenty-four hours it came down in the sea – which many did during the invasion of Sicily due to premature release by the tug pilots in the face of heavy flak. It required a longer, 350 ft towrope which was stronger than that needed for the American WACO tubular metal, fabric-covered glider called the Hadrian, which could carry fifteen troops. The last glider was the gigantic Hamilcar which was designed to carry a variable payload of tanks, armoured cars and/or artillery.
Conversion training complete, we were held at RAF Uxbridge until needed for operations and in December 1944, some of us were posted overseas. Nobody would tell us our destination but having been issued with tropical kit and a kitbag, we knew it would be to the Middle or Far East. Six of us were called for- ward and proceeded in utmost secrecy to an airfield in southern England where we boarded a Dakota bound for Gibraltar. We took off at dusk, flying way out into the Atlantic before heading south in order to reduce the risk of interception. The aircraft was loaded with military equipment which filled the fuselage leaving just enough room for six horribly uncomfortable webbing seats along one bulkhead. The aircraft was blacked out, the only light was from the engine exhausts, there was no heating and it was bitterly cold. So we spent just over eight hours either huddled up on the floor or stomping around beating our chests with our arms to try to keep warm.
From Gibraltar we flew to Cairo by day with a refuelling stop at Castel Benito. When we arrived we were put up in a requisitioned hotel in the centre of the city and told we would be there for two days before going on to India. This allowed us to do the rounds of the Shepherd’s Hotel (the unofficial officers’ mess), Groppi’s Ice Cream Parlour and some of the cabarets where we drank cold beers whilst watching the gyrations of wobbly belly-dancers.
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