Quote:
Originally Posted by Mike Cecil
Gp Capt Clive 'Killer' Caldwell is supposed to have received a big black mark on his record for being sprung running booze into Moratai in the wings (ammunition bays) of his Spitfire
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You're quite right Mike, it was certainly a big black mark - he was court-martialed and busted down to Flight Lieutenant! Likewise Bobby Gibbes, former 3 Sqn Ldr and fighter ace, who from memory held the rank of Wing Commander at the time. However you have to wonder how much it had to do with their booze running, and how much was retribution for their part in the Morotai Mutiny, which severely embarrassed their superiors and led to a number of them being sacked. I believe it was widely viewed that way by the public at the time and reported in newspapers as a witch hunt. Certainly seems like very harsh treatment for such highly decorated servicemen, and I imagine it would have put paid to any post war career aspirations they may have had in the RAAF.
Speaking of Spitfire ammunition bays, and diverse use thereof, I'm reminded of my father's little jaunt after the close of WWII in Europe, when he found himself with a personal Spit IX at his disposal, along with other pilots in his squadron, and proceeded to make the most of it by touring Italy by Spitfire, even getting to Rome I believe. He described their activities in his letters home, which may be of interest/amusement here:
I'm now back in Italy, having vacated Jugland - allegretto! I managed to travel by my favourite means - by air. It's really good. All I have to do is pack my kit, pull down the tent, pile them all on a truck and forget about them. Then we wait till all the transport sets out on its dusty, bumpy, unpleasant journey to wherever it's going, and congratulate each other on not being with them. After which I pack my toothbrush and a change of clothes into the ammunition bin on the wing of my kite and we all set off. After a short and not very arduous trip we arrive, disperse our kites, put our kit under a tree, and proceed to disport ourselves on the beach for a day or so until the transport arrives. Simple, isn't it? And what's more, we get paid for it! Very useful things these aeroplanes, you know. In the next day or so, Rodge and I are going off on a trip with the C.O. to a town where there is a NZ Club. There we'll leave our kites at the drome, nip smartly into town and buy what we can in the way of tinned food to supplement our rations. The Kiwis have tinned butter and quite a few other things - even oysters at times!
(next letter) In keeping with my recent policy of moving madly all over the map, I could hardly let a week go by without dashing off somewhere. This week it was a grocery run that occupied us. There is a NZ Forces Club in Bari......so Rodge and I dashed off smartly in a kite each one morning, stayed the night, and returned the following day with the ammunition bins in the wings of our planes filled with such delicacies as tomato juice, tinned honey, coffee, toothpaste, and various other things which are in short supply in this part of the world.
No mention of liquor of course but we can draw our own conclusions!
I'll dig out some pics of the Spit IX (any excuse to post Spitfire pics is a good one!)