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Air Gunner

by W. Carmichael

232 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0682; ISBN 1-4120-0313-X; US$22.00, C$24.00, EUR18.00, £12.50

If you like adventure, romance, humour and history then this is be the book for you. Set in the Royal Air Force during WW2 it tells the story of a young naïve Scotsman trying to survive the war as a Tail End Charlie. Told with great wit and warmth it follows the unlikely hero from the back streets of Glasgow to the mountains of the Himalayas.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book The book is about the adventures of a naïve Scotsman who in 1938 joins the fledgling R.A.F. to escape the drudgery of an apprenticeship in the Glasgow shipyards. Enticed by the recruiting posters he wants to fly, travel and experience a life far from the docklands. He's accepted into the Air Force and survives the trauma of basic training before the reality of war descends on Europe and he is soon accelerated into becoming a rear gunner on the famous Wellington and Liberator bombers. He's posted to the Burma campaign and is involved in the offensive on the Japanese, fighting after VE day. There are many accounts of actual battles, all experienced first hand from the rear gunner's perspective. Throughout the book you will find examples of Force's humour, Scottish wit and barrack room bawdiness. It is a window into history and of the life of an airman on the frontline but it also has a definite human side, which deals not only with the horrors of war but also of a childhood lost and the makings of a man. Many war veterans refuse to talk of their experiences but here you will find an old soldier telling all. Whether you are a military buff or just enjoy a good yarn; you'll find plenty of material to satisfy both in this very engaging and thought provoking book.

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About the Author Bill Carmichael was born in Dundee Scotland in 1920 and died there in November 2000 but moved to Glasgow as a small boy and grew up in Parkhead only 50 yards from Celtic Park and was of course a keen supporter of this great Club. In 1938 at the age of seventeen he joined the RAF as a pre-war regular and in 1943 he began training as an air gunner. His stocky 5'6" frame was ideal for the coveted position in the rear turret. They were affectionately known as Tail End, or Arse End, Charlie's. He served with 99 Squadron, firstly in the UK on Wellington's but then transferred to the American B-24, better known as the Liberator, in Burma. He flew forty-three combat missions, a remarkable feat since the life expectancy of a gunner, particularly a rear gunner, was only eight missions, and established himself as the regular Rear Gunner in The Commanding Officer's crew. He left the Air Force at the end of the war and tried his hand at 'civvy' life but missed the camaraderie and esprit de corps of RAF life and rejoined in 1951, finally retiring in 1965. During this time he served all over the world and represented the RAF at his first love football and at athletics as a fine sprinter. On leaving he ran a successful retailing business in Fife for a number of years before moving to Dundee and then St Andrews where he pursued a second career in the education system. The remainder of his working life was spent in the educational system where his organizational talents and RAF training were better employed. He also used his considerable knowledge of football as a Scout for Crystal Palace FC and as a highly successful coach to the school teams. He retired in 1981 in St Andrews where he pursued his hobbies of gardening, green bowling, walking and writing; his poems have been published in various books and are recognized for their humour and insight into the human condition. He died in 2000 at the age eighty after suffering a fatal aneurysm while watching his beloved Celtic playing their arch rivals, Rangers. He married his wife Grace in 1948 and had four sons: Ian, George, Neil and Alan. Ian followed him into the RAF and retired on promotion to Wing Commander. Whilst serving, he arranged a private visit to the only surviving Liberator in the RAF Bomber Museum. Bill walked down the catwalk and jumped into the turret as if he had done it only the day before. He sat there for twenty minutes before saying 'that was enough' and with a tear in his eye left the plane. One can only imagine the memories, many not so pleasant, which must have flooded back. Towards the end of his life Bill became more sanguine about the war and in particular the conditions in which the British had to endure compared to similar ranks in the USAAF. Always a spokesman for the underdog, there was no finer sight than seeing Bill Carmichael on his soapbox pontificating to any willing audience. He was always proud of his old soldier legacy, and his socialist principles. To all who knew him he will be remembered with great affection and to many, as the epitome of Rudyard Kipling's 'man' in his seminal poem 'If'.

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Sample Excerpts

EXCERPT ONE - THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

Mike Stirling attempted to buck up the courage to enter the building of the RAF Recruiting Office in Bothwell Street, Glasgow.

"Today's the day," he mumbled to himself as he cycled slowly through the morning traffic and steered a course for the recruiting office. He arrived early and the office was still closed. He scrutinized the recruiting posters to pass the time and laughed at one that portrayed an airman sitting on a sand dune, dressed in khaki shirt and shorts. Emblazoned above his head in large letters were the words.

'SEE LIFE FROM A NEW ANGLE.' "That's what I aim to do," he grinned.

He heard the door being unlocked and after waiting a few minutes, climbed some stairs and entered a room with a counter. A notice read 'Ring the bell and wait,' which he did. Suddenly, a large figure appeared startling Mike who was already keyed up.

"Have you any pamphlets on the Air Force?" he stuttered. The figure smiled and Mike noticed the man wore Sergeant’s stripes. He was about thirty-five years of age; roughly five foot eight inches tall and with a weather-beaten yet kindly face.

"Yes son, I've got some pamphlets, but first, come in here and lets have a chat."

He was led through an opening in the counter and ushered into a chair in front of an imposing looking desk.

"So you're thinking of joining the Air Force. Well, lets hear more about you?"

Mike's bravado was quickly deserting him but he gave the Sergeant the small history of himself that he possessed.

"Not bad," said the Sergeant. "However, the entry is very competitive but I think your army training may help you to get enlisted as a wireless operator. It's a very stiff course and your lack of a school certificate could be a stumbling block."

"I'd like some time to read through the pamphlets." Mike said nervously. The sergeant, wise in the ways of youths, smiled knowingly. "Sure lad, that's what you came for," and handed them over. He knew that Mike would take the bait and be back.

Later that evening he read through the pamphlets with his two best friends George and Jimmy. In their eyes, he was already a hero for even thinking of enlisting.

"Do you go to England when you join up?" Jimmy asked.

"Aye, To London first I think."

"Jesus London!" shouted Jimmy in astonishment. To them, London was the big city, which you only saw in films. Mike was restless in bed that night, thinking of what he had read and finally decided that he would return to the recruiters. The next morning, full of tingling excitement, he entered the recruiting office and waited for the Sergeant.

"Oh, you've made a quick decision," said the Sergeant when he appeared. Mike nodded and was quickly ushered into his office.

"Good show, you're in luck. The Medical Officer is here this morning, so just strip off down to your underpants, he'll see you in a jiffy." In a matter of minutes, he was in the Medical Officers room and an hour later emerged badly shaken. He had been given the toughest medical examination of his young life.

EXCERPT TWO

"Stop griping, ye'd better get your bed made up, it's half past nine, lights out is ten o’clock."

They were rudely awakened in the morning at six o’clock with a cry of "feet on the deck" and a rattling of the fire poker in the steel bin. It was Corporal Leach.

"Outside in 15 minutes for Physical Training. Vest and trousers will be the dress. MOVE IT."

"Don't even get time for a piss," groaned Mike.

"Naw," grunted Jim. "Jist tie a knot in it." Outside, the other squads were lined up facing the billets. They were shivering; it was bitterly cold being the end of October.

"Soon warm you up," bawled Corporal Leach, dressed in navy blue trousers and an Air Force sky blue vest. "Running on the spot, GO!" So saying, he set them an example by running on the spot. He kept them at it for five minutes and they were soon gasping for breath.

"You bleedin shower are unfit. We'll soon change that. WONT WE?" He had them stretching, bending, taking deep breathing exercises and other various contortions until he bawled. "Dismiss. Outside in fifteen minutes washed and shaved for breakfast."

"Why doesn't he stick a feather up our arse and then we could fly." Jim growled.

The Ablution hut was a long and narrow building with a door at either end, both open to the weather. Twenty-four wash-hand basins lined one side of the wall. Above each basin was a mirror. On the opposite wall were sixteen WC's and a large urinal. On entering, Mike and Jim found all the basins and toilets occupied and had to wait their turn in the queue that was forming. Mike felt the soft downy hair on his face and decided he could get away without shaving. When his turn came, he quickly splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth and dashed back to the hut. They were marched to the dining hall. Corporal Leach sidled up to Mike, looked at him and snarled; "which little queen didn't shave this morning? I see that bum fluff is still on yer chops." He then raised his voice to a shout. "Yer face will be shaved every bleeding morning and that goes for the rest of yer."

As they ate, big Joe grinned at him.

"Aw Joe, whit chance had we of shaving this morning?"

"You Scotch nit, you should have shaved last night when the ablutions were quiet. I think the Corporal has picked on you as the butt for the squad, it always happens. They need one, so take it your stride kid."

"You could be right Joe. He’s been on my back since I arrived." The rest of the day was spent at the Barrack stores for issue of kit. In single file, they were ushered through the stores, first issue being a kit bag. As they progressed a smart looking Corporal guessed their size with surprising accuracy. "Shirt size?" he growled. "Shoe size?" and the issue was on the table. Mike moved further along the line and a working blue uniform and a dress uniform was handed to him. He put them on and was grabbed by a civilian tailor who made quick slashing marks on the uniforms with a piece of French chalk and moved him on. At the exit, he was told, "Collect uniforms tomorrow, 10 o’clock," and staggered out with the rest of his kit in the kit bag.

"Lucky we're nearly stock size," he muttered to Jim. "The big fellows have to wait a fortnight for uniforms to be made."

"Ach Aye, aw guid things come in wee packets."

EXCERPT THREE

"Fighters 7 o'clock high." He switched his ring sight on to the target. "Range 2000 yards."

"O.K. spotted them," said Robbie. "Keep your eyes on them gunner's." Mike felt the plane climbing. "Getting to operational height," he thought as he heard Doug inform Robbie the target was at 11 o’ clock. The fighters had swung out of his vision but Johnny in the mid-upper had picked them up at 3 o'clock, as they drew closer he informed the crew that the fighters were American Thunderbolts, their top cover. Robbie lost height gradually as he made a slanting run towards the target to put off the Jap gunners as the flak burst around the aircraft. There was a rush of air into the aircraft as the bomb doors opened. Robbie held the kite steady and levelled out as the bomb aimer gave his directions. The familiar lurch came when the first load of incendiaries and markers left the aircraft. They banked away with the flak still bursting around them and Mike looked up and saw the Squadrons make their run-in and bomb on the markers. The Thunderbolts weaved a pattern of criss-crosses above them to ward off the Zeros. Suddenly a Zero dived through the cover with a Thunderbolt in close pursuit heading towards them. Mike alerted the crew and cantered his ring sight under the Zeros starboard wing firing in short bursts. He altered his aim as the Jap closed and then had to stop firing when the Thunderbolt flashed through his ring sight. The Zero had been hit either by the Thunderbolt or the gunners and it spiralled slowly towards the ground.

"Ah say youse guys, Ah wish you'd make up your mind what side your on or I'm going home. Good shooting, although ah guess he's mine."

"You can have him cobber if you keep the rest of them off my tail," grunted Robbie.

There was a chuckle, "See youse guys, out."

They headed for the second and third targets, dropped their incendiaries and flares then circled above watching the Squadrons complete the bombing. "It's a massacre," muttered Nick as they watched Squadron after Squadron flying in close formation unleash their bombs in an area about half a mile square. Little or nothing could survive after such devastation. The sky was clear of aircraft except for the three pathfinders. Robbie fired a flare and they closed up in formation and flew back over the bombed areas taking photographs with their specially fitted cameras. They met with little opposition and turned for home. Mike noticed that two of the Thunderbolts had returned to escort them to the coast. They droned on and as they neared the hills, he could see the clouds building up. He knew they would break formation soon and make their own way back. Sure enough, the fighters saluted by dipping their wings and were off. Robbie waggled the wings and the other two Liberators broke away with the front gunners giving him the usual inverted 'V'. He kept a wary eye on the sky, he knew it was too easy to relax and the Japs were past masters at jumping a lone Liberator on their way back to base.

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Catalogue Information

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