Recollections of a Corsair Pilot
By C. R. Cartledge
In March 1944 came my posting to the new 1842 Squadron of Corsairs to be formed up at Brunswick, Maine, USA. This
new and powerful fighter aircraft was immediately distinguishable by its cranked "gull" wings. From head
on, with its radial engine, it had an aggressive appearance, but was fast and nimble, its long and horizontal nose
giving it an unmistakable profile. It was faster than the Hurricane on which I had trained and was very responsive
and manoeuvrable, with formidable fire power.
For a crisis it could go into water injection mode for those extra knots, the water tank giving ten minutes of
boost.
We spent two months working up the squadron under Lt. Cdr. (A) Tony Garland, RNVR, and by June we were ready to
complete our preparations by a trip[ down to Norfolk, Virginia, where we achieved the standard three successful
landings on a US carrier. The Corsair was particularly tricky to deck-land due to its long, straight nose, which
blotted out the pilot's vision ahead when the aircraft was adopting the landing position with flaps down. The final
approach had to be made while still turning in order to keep the deck and batsman in sight, straightening out at
the last moment before touch down.
Coming back to the U.K. we were based briefly at RNAS Eglinton (where we lost Sub. Lt. (A) Wheway who flew into
a mountain in the mist) before joining HMS Formidable (Capt. P. Ruck-Keene, RN) in the Irish Sea in August 1944.
We were on our way to the arctic to attack the German battleship Tirpitz, which was sheltering in the Alta Fjord.
Little did we know that some of us were to be used as dive-bombers. Corsair Squadrons 1841and 1842 were on board,
plus 848 Avenger Squadron. Stopping briefly at Scapa Flow, we sailed northwards carrying out flying exercises whenever
weather permitted. Those who had volunteered for dive-bombing, of which I was one, were given practise on towed
targets. We lost another pilot in an air collision, the younger brother of our own ship's surgeon. As we neared
the arctic, we ran into the roughest seas I had so far experienced. There was no possibility of flying. The huge
seas were throwing the ship in all directions and breaking over the flight deck, drenching the lashed down aircraft
with salty water.
As we drew nearer the target the weather improved, enabling four strikes to be carried out on August 22, 23, 24
and 29, involving Barracudas, Hellcats, Corsairs, Avengers and Seafires. These included some dare-devil attacks
led by Lt. Cdr. R. H. Richardson RNZVR and Major V. B. G. Cheesman, Royal Marines, who screamed low over the Tirpitz,
attempting to lob their bombs down the funnels. Richardson lost his life in an attack two days later. We simultaneously
supported diversionary attacks on related coastal targets. These left a trail of damaged or destroyed tankers,
airfields, radio stations, and three Narvik Class destroyers near the islands and neighbouring fjords. In one attack
Richardson, having run out of ammunition, lowered his arrestor hook and tore away the station's radio mast and
aerials from almost zero feet.
In the last strike, the 'dive-bombers' were told that a 1000-lb bomb would be fastened under the port wing, the
central fuselage position being taken up by the extra fuel tank. We were advised to trim the aircraft to give maximum
lift to the port wing in the hope that this would compensate for the bomb. We would only find out when the aircraft
left the flight deck on take-off! As I am writing this article 57 years later the reader can conclude that all
went well. It was a fine and beautiful morning and we approached the islands and main coast line as low as possible
to avoid radar detection knowing the Germans would operate a smoke screen as soon as they received warning. We
climbed as we hit the coast and gained height for the dive-bombing. The view over the mountains and fjords on this
brilliant morning was breathtaking and I could see the whole party of Avengers and the escorting Corsairs of 1841
and 1842 Squadrons. As we approached the Tirpitz, the white puffs of A-A shells started to burst around us and
I lost my No.2, Sub. Lt. (A) French, RNVR. The smoke screen was already across the fjord, but leaving the huge
outline of the Tirpitz just visible through it. I turned, and as I dived, saw one bomb explode close to the outline
of the battleship. I released my bomb and pulled away hard, partially blacking out. There was a lot of flack blazing
away in all directions. I turned and fired into one of the gunnery positions, then broke away at low level along
the fjord. Cruising along just above the water I was admiring the scenery when bullets kicked up the water just
in front of me. My Corsair responded well to some violent turns and twists and I escaped. Several pilots did not
return however, two of whom were from 1842 Squadron. Whilst waiting his turn to land, one pilot ran out of fuel
and ditched alongside the fleet. He was quickly picked up from the icy water. Very few of our aircraft returned
unscathed, causing the maintenance crews a busy time patching up the bullet holes. Although immediate observation
was made impossible by the smoke, we learned as we withdrew southwards that the Tirpitz, such a menace to Atlantic
shipping, was disabled but not sunk. At least it was put out of action until it could be finished off by RAF Lancasters
operating from Russia. It had been a gallant operation and had served its purpose of preventing the German battleship
from sailing out of the fjord on further deadly missions. Major V. B. G. Cheesman was awarded a D.S.O. and I believe,
later, Lt. Cdr. Richardson a posthumous V.C. for their exceptional bravery and determination in the attacks. There
were also twelve D.S.C.'s and a D.S.M. awarded to other squadron commanders and flight leaders of which I was privileged
to be one, which I took as recognition of the gallantry of all the aircrew involved.
The Formidable then set sail for the Pacific. After three months delay at Gibraltar waiting for a new gear wheel
to be sent out from the U.K. we sailed through the Med and on to Columbo, losing three pilots in flying accidents
off Alexandria, Lt. (A) Dunkley, RNVR, Sub. Lts. (A) RNVR Chipperfield and Railton. We finally arrived in Sydney
early in June 1945, and from there we headed north stopping in the Phillipines for provisions and briefing. We
were to join the British Pacific Fleet (B.P.F.), operating on the right of the line of the U.S. fleet. On the way
we carried out regular sorties in pairs, attacking targets on the Sakishima Gunto, a chain of islands between Formosa
and Okinawa. Here we lost our squadron commander Lt. Cdr. (A) Tony Garland D.S.C., who did not return from one
such sortie. It was a shattering blow to lose Tony, who had been such an inspiring and efficient commander since
the squadron's formation. He was replaced by Lt. Cdr. (A) Douglas Parker, RN.
As we came within striking distance of Japan, the Formidable suffered a direct hit on its flight deck from a Kamikaze
pilot, causing casualties around the control tower and killing one of our pilots, Sub. Lt. (A) Bell RNVR. My flight
was airborne at the time, but we never saw the Jap plane. We landed on the Indefatigable for a three-day stay while
Formidable's flight deck was repaired. Early in the morning of July 17 Douglas Parker led 1842 Squadron in the
first British air attack against the Japanese mainland. We were to attack airfields and other targets at Matsushima,
Sendai and Masuda on the East Coast, north of Tokyo.
We came in low through poor visibility, but the Japs were ready for us. As I came across Matsushima airfield targeting
two planes on the ground, my aircraft was hit and its trimming went suddenly berserk as I zipped over the hangars.
I had to apply full right rudder and pull hard on the stick in order to fly straight and level. I could not carry
on with the others, and radioed that I was returning to the fleet. I suspected my hydraulics were damaged, so I
decided to bail out on my return, as deck landing without operative flaps and arrestor hook would almost certainly
be disastrous, especially if I couldn't jettison the extra fuel tank! I climbed painfully to a safe bail-out height
of 5,000ft, and was later relieved to see the fleet coming into sight. The drill for bailing out is to eject the
hood, for which there is a lever. I pulled it, but instead of ejecting the hood it jammed it shut! I would have
to do a deck landing after all (I must have said a prayer or two). The fire appliances were all ready waiting for
me should I crash the barrier. As I made my final approach the batsman waived me on and I received a radio message
to wait while the fleet turned out of wind to regain its correct position. I circled the carrier, waiting for it
to turn back into wind, at probably not more than 500ft, trying to free the hood. At each effort I had to let go
of the stick, continuously losing height.
Then the miraculous happened. As I turned for another effort I flew into the sea. The next thing I knew I was floating,
supported only by a Mae West, with the last piece of my Corsair's wing just disappearing into a wave about twenty
yards away. The impact had knocked off the hood and thrown me out, breaking my safety straps and parachute harness,
yet leaving me more or less unscathed. A friend watching from Formidable's bridge said that my aircraft exploded
on impact and he was amazed that I survived. I was picked up by a destroyer, and was sent back to Australia for
a rest and check-up. While in Sydney, news came through of the atom bombs and Japanese surrender.
Early in September, from the Botanical Gardens overlooking Sydney Harbour, I watched the triumphant return of the
Formidable. Going on board I found many new faces but several old ones missing. 1842 Squadron had lost a further
three pilots. These included Sub. Lt. (A) Jimmy Ross (Canadian), whose aircraft wings folded up on take-off. Of
the eighteen pilots in the Brunswick photo only nine had survived. Total squadron losses were fourteen. Tragically,
half these losses were non-operational and could to some extent have been caused by the Corsair's long, level nose,
which restricted the pilot's view ahead.
Christopher Cartledge
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