NICKY BARR
AN AUSTRALIAN AIR ACE

Peter Dornan was educated at Brisbane Boys College. For 35 years he has been a physiotherapist in the fields of sporting injuries and manipulative therapy, working with many international sporting teams, including the Queensland rugby team, the Wallabies and the Kangaroos. He has also been an Olympic Games Advisor and Commonwealth Games physiotherapist.

He is a Fellow of Sports Medicine Australia, and has written two successful books on sporting injuries, as well as designing and marketing a video exercise program. In 2000 Peter was awarded the Duncan Travelling Fellowship to study aspects of cancer, and was also awarded the Commemorative 2000 Australian Sports Medal for achievement in sport.

Peter has studied classical sculpture for more than 20 years and has works displayed in many prominent Queensland and national institutions. Peter has also been freelance writing for some years and his first factional book, The Silent Men, is an account of the Kokoda Trail Campaign and is being made into a movie.

In 2002 Peter was appointed as a Member of the General Division of the Order of Australia (AM).

Peter has been married to Dimity, a speech pathologist, for more than 30 years. They have two adult children, Melissa and Roderick.

NICKY BARR
AN AUSTRALIAN AIR ACE

PETER DORNAN

This edition published in 2005
First published in 2002

Copyright © Peter Dornan 2002, 2004

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Dornan, Peter, 1943- .

Nicky Barr, an Australian air ace : a story of courage and
adventure.

Bibliography.
ISBN 1 74114 529 5.

1. Barr, Andrew W., 1915- . 2. Australia. Royal Australian
Air Force - Biography. 3. Fighter pilots - Australia -
Biography. 4. World War, 1939-1945 - Africa, North -
Aerial operations, Australian. I. Title.

940.544994

Set in 11pt/13.5pt Minion by Asset Typesetting, Bergalia
Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group, Maryborough

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

I dedicate this book to my grandson Oliver Bruijn, and to the memory of QX6275: Ollie’s ‘Pop-Pop’—his great-grandfather— Captain Dick Crist, 2/2nd Machine-Gun Battalion, Ninth Division AIF, a member of Monty’s Desert Eighth Army, both of whom have played a major influence on my life.

HIGH FLIGHT, a war poem

O, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth,
Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagles flew;
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee
(killed in action with the Royal Canadian Air Force)

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Prologue: The Morning Before

1 The Early Years

2 Khartoum

3 Landing Ground 122

4 First Victory

5 Enter the Kittyhawks

6 Senussi Adventure

7 Cairo

8 Gambut

9 Operation Venezia

10 Knightsbridge

11 Battle of the Cauldron

12 Bir Hacheim

13 Sidi Rezegh

14 Mersa Matruh

15 Tobruk

16 Bergamo

17 Lake Como

18 Gavi: The Metamorphosis

19 Bergamo Revisited

20 Germany Bound

21 Pontremoli

22 Abruzzi

23 Goriano Valli

24 The Alpine Route

25 Cutello

26 Normandy

27 Australia

Epilogue: The Years After

Australian Fighter Aces of World War Two

Further Reading

Acknowledgements

I wish to express my gratitude to a number of special people whose assistance in the preparation of this book was indispensable. I have relied heavily on the oral histories given to me by those who lived through the events described. I am extremely grateful to the many fighter pilots, ground staff and RAAF personnel who have entrusted me with precious memories of their experiences.

I would also like to give special thanks to Nicky Barr’s wife, Dot, for her substantial contribution to the book and also for her role as a gracious hostess during my many months of interviewing Nicky.

I owe much to the help and ready encouragement given by Bobby Gibbes and have made consistent use of his autobiography, especially when referring to the Desert Campaign. Lex McAulay’s book Four Aces was also useful.

I am also indebted to the War Memorial in Canberra, the RSL and the librarians at the Royal United Services Institute in Brisbane.

I am obliged to my brother-in-law, David Ryan, who filled in as an enthusiastic, knowledgeable and competent research assistant. A special accolade goes to my patient typist, Carol Jackson, whose comments were always welcome. Also to my fellow choralist Werner Kroll for his invaluable assistance with aviation matters. I must also thank my two editors, Jude McGee and Louise Thurtell.

I am particularly grateful to my wife, Dimity, who was my on-the-spot editor and a critical reviewer of the drafts as they emerged, as well as being my support system and cheer squad when I felt the problems were getting too large.

Even though this story emerges from my pen, I have to thank Nicky Barr for his patience, openness and willingness to share his unique experiences, to relive all which has passed, and allow them to finally take their place beside some of the proudest stories which make up Australia’s military heritage.

Peter Dornan, Brisbane 2001

North Africa, circa World War Two

Italy, circa World War Two

Close-up of the Abruzzi region, Italy, circa World War Two

Introduction

Nicky Barr knew he was grinning; he couldn’t help it. His exhilaration and freedom felt complete as the Tiger Moth responded to his every touch on the joystick. He could feel his throat pulse with excitement as the earth fell away beneath him, joyfully fulfilling youthful fantasies.

His breathing settled as he steadily moved the joystick forward, levelling the plane at 1000 feet. With his left hand, he reduced the throttle to cruising speed. Methodically, he rechecked the instruments, then flew towards the training area.

It was March 1940, and Nicky was undergoing ab initio training—the ‘weeding out’ process—at Essendon Airport in Melbourne as part of his entrance into the Royal Australian Air Force Academy at Point Cook. It was only his third solo flight, and it was still exciting. Green fields and sleepy outer Melbourne suburbs went by down below, although he hardly noticed this incidental scenery, being completely absorbed in his own reverie.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another Tiger Moth closing in on him. Curious, and just a little concerned, he recognised his instructor, Lou Lohse, leaning out the front cockpit of the approaching plane laughing. In his hand, he was holding a wheel. With a shock, and after some pantomime, Nicky realised it was his wheel—the right one.

Nicky’s impish grin faded. The fantasy transformed to gritty reality as he realised he was going to have to land the plane with only the left wheel. He was very aware that aircraft were considered to be precious. Damage had to be averted at all costs, otherwise —out! Banking off, he directed his aircraft towards home, his mind racing as he tried to recall the ‘forced landing’ procedure.

He would have to make a short field landing, banking his plane to the left while simultaneously keeping the tail low, hopefully allowing him to land on the left wheel and skid at the same time. It was going to be risky, and he was relieved to see a stiff breeze was holding the windsock horizontal and beautifully steady; a fact to his advantage, as Tiger Moths are not equipped with brakes.

As he positioned himself downwind, he glanced briefly at the tarmac in front of the Ansett hangar, and noticed his classmates and other ground personnel lining up to witness the spectacle. He was to be the main event. Damn! As he turned to base to land into the wind, he checked his harness, pulling it tight, reminding himself to turn off the fuel and switches just before touchdown.

Throttling back now, he worked to maintain a constant landing speed of 50 knots, feeling the plane drop steadily out of the sky…200 feet…100 feet. He was committed now. His heart seemed to be pounding louder than the motor as the little machine flew over the aerodrome boundary. When he could identify the blades of grass on the field below, he cut the fuel, killed the switches and quickly banked the plane to the left. Nicky braced as she touched, the plane rocked a few seconds, then the right wing dropped, forcing the axle into the ground.

The aircraft swung violently, metal screeching in protest at the sudden rotation. The frame shuddered, and the plane came to rest the right way up. Then silence.

Unscathed, but shaky, Nicky emerged from the cockpit to the cheers of his classmates and onlookers. A few minutes later his instructor landed behind him, slightly damaging his own plane —the humorous aspect evoking more cheers from his classmates.

Thus began the remarkable fortunes of Andrew ‘Nicky’ Barr, Australian Air Ace. If, with twinkling deep blue eyes and an infectious smile, he had set out to court adventure, he could not have orchestrated a more exciting and interesting full-blooded narrative than that which was to befall him, firstly as a fighter pilot in the Middle East during World War Two, and thereafter.

To represent his country at rugby—as Nicky had—would have satisfied most young men. However, Nicky was to far surpass this, shooting down twelve-and-a-half enemy aircraft confirmed and at least three more probables in combat. He was also to be shot down three times, once in flames, and to force land in enemy territory and escape, then to be captured and escape at least three times—once from a moving German train—and then, while behind enemy lines, take part in clandestine activities while helping Allied prisoners of war to escape. Who could ask for more?

As well as becoming one of Australia’s most decorated and legendary fighter pilots of World War Two, Nicky’s exploits earned him the right to claim membership in several select air force ‘clubs’. He qualified for the ‘Caterpillar Club’ (that is, he ‘hit the silk’ and had his life saved by the use of a parachute—his caterpillar had red ruby eyes because his plane had caught fire), three times for the ‘Flying Boot’ or ‘Late Arrivals’ club (earned by those who reach their home bases after forced landings behind enemy lines and then return to operational flying), and three times for ‘the Escaper’ (awarded to flying men who were prisoners of war and succeeded in escaping).

It would be easy to dismiss Nicky Barr’s adventures as classic ‘Boys’ Own’ tales. However, his full story deserves far more attention than a superficial telling of heroic achievements.

Certainly Barr represents a particular heroic image, although this Homeric mantle sits uneasily on his shoulders. His modesty and reluctance to accept this role fully are as much a part of his character as are his blond hair and blue eyes. He is insistent on acknowledging he did little by himself, and is quick to credit other factors for most of his achievements. These revelations inherently provide an insight into the dedication and selfless teamwork of the many individuals and institutions committed to a common goal of ridding the world of a sinister regime.

The story of Nicky Barr provides an insight into human limitations and into the power of the human spirit in its determination to survive. It also explores how this resolve could be utilised for the collective good. When he was called upon, Nicky demonstrated a gift for command. He exhibited a level of personal force and psychological savvy that allowed him to inspire the men in his squadron, and behind the lines, the commandos and escaped prisoners for whom he assumed responsibility through difficult circumstances.

Classically, through strong example, he was a man defined by his actions rather than his words. He could be an action hero with presence, intelligence and lucidity in high pressure situations.

At another level, the story of Nicky Barr also explores some of the deepest concerns of mankind: the relationships of individuals, love, honour, war, the universal pity of death, the terror of mortality and the concept of an afterlife.

To those fortunate people, untouched by war—the carnage, the enslaving fear, the inhumanity—it may be difficult to accept that the impact of a lengthy conflict is shattering. Adjustment requires a re-evaluation of values, beliefs, one’s faith and the very purpose of being.

Like so many service personnel in World War Two, Nicky was directly involved in fighting the enemy. He was one of the people called upon to do the killing or be killed themselves—the bottom line for any war!

Most individuals operational in opposing the enemy in the front-line of war regularly experience periods of abject fear and depression, needing to call upon all their reserves of body and spirit in order to survive. Often the impact on their lives is devastating.

Cumulative and continual exposure to the possibility of a slow and painful death affects even the most hardened of warriors. Situations arise when it seems the option of ‘allowing it to happen’ —to die—merits some consideration when matched up against a continued involvement in the mayhem of a stupid, futile-seeming conflict where you could easily end up dying anyway. Many times, Nicky Barr was placed in circumstances where it would have been easier to choose to die.

Courage emerges at these times, in all its forms and gradations. To have the fortitude, the will and the spirit to persevere, to fight on when the outlook is seemingly desperate, when the perceived odds of surviving are slim, surely requires a special quality.

When no place exists for self-pity, recriminations and hatreds, the complexity of returning successfully to a world of peace is greatly simplified. A lasting detestation of war often comes most forcibly from these veterans who have experienced the ugliness of war and from those called upon to do the killing. As history shows, it seems that with the passing of each generation, the new world has to learn the lessons all over again.

Nicky’s story is timeless, back to the Homeric days and the Heroic Age. Yet there does seem a paradox when you meet the man, knowing the adventures he has been through. He has been able to come to terms with the emotional, physical, spiritual and political events he has withstood, and he appears largely content with life. He carries many scars, emotional as well as physical, yet with a marked degree of humility, humour and wit he demonstrates that he is comfortable with the past. When there is the courage to choose to live there are no regrets, just the reward of contentment and the comfort that you have survived.

Indeed, many such survivors enjoy a quiet, inner calm, a warmth provided by the knowledge they fought as best as they could to restore the world to peace. Yet as Nicky himself observes, anything that establishes a loss of dignity leaves a scar—there is no way you can forget it, it is there forever. It is how you handle it that is important.

Nicky was aware that many factors contributed to his good fortune, enabling him to survive. Initially, he was grateful for the thorough training process he undertook before he encountered an enemy in combat—almost 600 hours logged in all possible situations. Further, his natural athletic ability, honed by gymnastics, springboard diving and rugby assisted him to develop his flying and combative skills to a high level. However, once in combat his fate was often largely reliant on the team of skilled, dedicated support staff, both the air crews who flew with him and the ground crews, who kept him and his planes in the air. The latter were on call day and night, working as long as it took to make the aircraft serviceable, and to ensure a squadron was mobile and ready to move, advance or retreat, and fight at a minute’s notice. This dedication reached its peak on 16 June 1942, when his ground crew, with 12 planes to keep operational while retreating, created a record of 69 sorties in a day. Because of his reliance and respect for his ground crew, Nicky bonded strongly with his personal armourer, Felix Sainsbury, engineer, Ernie ‘Kaiser’ Wehrman, and air frame mechanic, Ray Dunning.

As well, behind the lines, there were whole legions of selfless people, both individually and in underground networks, who assisted him, often anonymously and at great risk to themselves and families.

To stay alive he developed many coping mechanisms, particularly in relation to how he handled fear. Nicky confronted fear many times and knew it as intimately as he knew helplessness, despair, anger, frustration, loneliness, sadness and degradation. However, the thought that motivated him most strongly to persevere, the one which triggered a strong incentive and compelling purpose to survive, was the constant objective to be reunited with his wife, Dot. She was the light and magnet in his soul, his thoughts of her providing him with the spirit and energy to stay alive, particularly while he was languishing in prisoner-of-war hospitals, and later while operating in snow-covered enemy-held territory. His memories of her were with him all the time, during each plane flight and while under enemy attack. She provided the resolve for Nicky to discover hidden reserves in every challenge he encountered. She was—and still is—an integral part of Nicky Barr’s achievements.

Ultimately, theirs is a story of enduring love. Now, some 60 years after exchanging their marriage vows, Nicky and Dot have been brought closer together than ever. Relishing the time they have for joint projects, they are settled in retirement in a beautiful villa on Queensland’s Gold Coast. They have their extended family around them, including six grandchildren and one great-granddaughter. In Nicky’s words: ‘It is a wondrous thing to be part of an everlasting love story.’

Time now to experience the real Nicky Barr story.

PROLOGUE
The Morning Before

In the half light of the dawn, the austere beauty of the desert helped soothe the senses of the lone airman. Squadron Leader Nicky Barr would regularly stroll in these cool, early hours, appreciating the gentle wind playing around the sand-filled wadis. Today, as much as any, he needed the solitude of the surrounding ancient wilderness. It was 26 June 1942, and Nicky was tired—very tired. He had been in action in the Middle East for nine months rising quickly through the ranks to become, at 26, squadron leader of No. 3 Squadron RAAF.

The entire Allied Forces in the North African Desert—the British Eighth Army—had been in desperate withdrawal for some months, sorely feeling the pressure from Rommel’s heel as he unleashed his consistent blitzkrieg offensive. The Battle of the Cauldron was behind them, leaving the Eighth Army reeling and now set up in defence at Mersa Matruh.

Nicky’s handsome, boyish features were drawn, his face lined and etched from long hours squinting into the unforgiving Sahara sun and from coping with unrelenting battle tension. Any youthful exuberance or misdirected enthusiasm for war had long been snuffed out by the desert khamsins.

On the tarmac behind him, a dozen or more Kittyhawks of the squadron were nestling in the early morning haze. Ground crew were working frantically to improve the serviceability numbers for the day’s operations. Highlighting the squadron’s nomadic existence, tents of all sizes were spread within the camp’s perimeter.

As the shimmering sun, magnified by the haze, reflected its first rays of light from the planes, Nicky knew it would be another hot day—and eventful. As surely as the ancient Egyptians knew the sun god Ra would bring life, Nicky knew that today would bring glimpses of terror and sudden death. The war was no longer a rousing adventure, but a reality that challenged and forced a man to seek, then exploit, opportunities for deadly advantage, a situation to confront mortality and to test principles of altruism and gallantry, even to the supreme sacrifice.

Today, although he did not know it, he would be tested like never before.

Nicky continued to meander around the perimeter, breaking his meditation now and then to encourage any ground crew he came across. The planes had been mauled considerably after yesterday’s strafing mission west of Mersa Matruh. Repairs to the ailerons of one plane were being completed, while on another an airframe rigger polished the leading edge of the fin with beeswax to cut air friction. Nicky moved back to his two-man tent, refocusing his thoughts on the day’s coming operations.

After breakfast, he briefed the remnants of his squadron. Nicky stood at the front of a circle of faces, many of them bronzed by the sun, deep lines etched on most of their features. They were the faces of fighters; visages which could relax into grins or hearty laughter, or just as suddenly become stony masks above guns which flamed death. Eight planes could still fly. Their first mission of the day, he informed them, would be to take off at 9.00 a.m. and to seek, then strafe and bomb, Rommel’s Spearhead. There were much easier missions.

The temperature was already climbing to sticky hot, and Nicky was grateful to be wearing khaki shorts and shirt. Incongruously, he wore regulation flying boots with fur fringing the opening. He rolled his sleeves up, then climbed onto the wing of his Kittyhawk, smiling wryly to himself as he glanced at his personal insignia painted onto the nose of the fuselage—a cheeky black devil holding a trident. It was somehow comforting. His ground crew assisted him into his parachute, then he moved into the cockpit.

With the Sutton harness, he strapped himself into the seat, stabilising his body very firmly into his fighting position. He plugged the radio transmitter and oxygen outlets into their sockets and switched the radio on. He carried out the routine cockpit drill, leaning out to check on movements of ailerons, rudder and elevators, then he looked around to await signals from his squadron that all was ready.

Almost as one, along the line, the big 12-cylinder Allison engines coughed and burst into a healthy staccato roar. Within seconds, they were humming like hornets, ready to sting. He counted the two groups of four planes, neatly lined up in straight formation, gave a quick wave to the ground crew for ‘chocks away’, pushed the throttle firmly to full ‘revs’, steadied the aircraft with the rudder, and then, with a throaty barrage heralding a blast of dust, the eight planes moved forward as one. Pebbles sprayed under the fuselage, there was a strong smell of dust and fuel intermingled with an adrenalin buzzing sensation of speed. Then, suddenly, the squadron was airborne.

As usual, soon after he began flying, Nicky gave a customary burst of the six .5-mm machine-guns to ensure they were firing; it was too late to find they were not working during combat. Nicky glanced quickly outside his cockpit. With height, the desert seemed on fire with the early morning sun.

The responsibility of leading a squadron in the air always weighed heavily on Nicky, as he was well aware that poor leadership could easily result in disaster. However, to Nicky, the situation never completely distracted from that moment of pure existence that flying generates—no past or future, just the pulsepounding present. There is a rapture of freedom, motion and speed that is intoxicating and for a compelling few moments the collective spirit of the squadron is charged with primitive tribal bonding, emotions which must have emanated long before the days of chivalry, knighthood and charging cavalries.

However, the desert landscape quickly tarnished the romance as, down below, it displayed the folly of war, a harvest of burntout tanks, trucks and smoking vehicles. Crumpled, distorted steel and iron fragments were all that remained—and there was one of their crashed Kittyhawks, a funeral pyre of black smoke curling from it as a sentinel. There was still some distance before they would reach the front elements of Rommel’s army and, after some minutes, Nicky’s tiredness, the sighting of the downed Kittyhawk, and the steady throbbing of the planes’ engines caused him to meditate over the fate of many of his squadron friends. The faces of the dead danced before him now as he matched characters, names and events to them. To his despair, the list had been growing almost daily. He knew some had perished with their planes in flames, and he knew some had also parachuted to relative safety and were most likely prisoners of war—some small consolation.

The constant drone now rolled his reveries further back to Dot, his family and a more peaceful life in Melbourne. It seemed a millennium away.

ONE
The Early Years

Nicky Barr remembers very little of his first six years of life in New Zealand, where he was born in 1915. But he has warm memories of growing up in Melbourne after his family moved to Australia.

Nicky and his twin brother John were extremely close, and, as is often the case with twins, their sensitivity to each other could be disarming. They were somehow innately aware of the other’s situation, regularly registering similar reactions without the stimulus of contact. Eventually, Jack, as his twin was known, became an engineer and secured a job with Beaurepair Tyres, while Nicky attended Swinburne Technical College to study building construction. But this didn’t last and he remembers the excitement of his first real job as a Bradford Mills wool buyer, particularly when he was selected to do a wool-classing course.

His cadetship at Bradford Mills involved part-time university study, working towards an economics and accounting qualification. However, he soon realised there were more wool classers than sheep, and he reflected how fortunate it was that the study he’d been doing was enough to gain selection with Australian Estates Limited. He eventually earned a diploma in accountancy attending a Hemingway and Robinson course part-time.

Nicky had always revelled in the competition of sport, winning the Victorian Schoolboys’ 100 yards championship three years in a row—in 1926, 1927 and 1928—while attending Kew Public School. There were other events and certain institutions which also influenced him, such as the Kew Methodist Church, where he enjoyed the gymnasium, fellowship classes and other non-religious activities. He also became a member of the YMCA where he gained assistance with his athletic training.

However, the most impressionable event in Nicky’s young life was an invitation to join the Lord Somers Camp and Power House organisation. This was founded by the Governor of Victoria, Lord Somers, in 1929. When Nicky joined in 1931 as a 15-year-old ‘runner’ to the camp chief Dr C. G. McAdam, he became the youngest member. The camp system was modelled on a movement begun in 1921 by Prince Albert, the Duke of York, in England, in an attempt to bring together boys from the workforce with public school boys in the hope that they would develop a common understanding and a sense of mutual appreciation and loyalty.

The Somers camp, situated at Victoria’s Western Port Bay, was only part of the process. Probably the more important function of the movement found expression in the institution known as Power House. It was here that a boy began to fully learn the spirit of service and duty and to understand that he had responsibilities, both to himself and others.

To Nicky’s delight, the Power House institution possessed many thriving sporting and social clubs, a number of which he joined, including the rugby club. Nicky believes that most of the challenges of this time shaped the pattern of his life for the immediate years ahead.

Nicky possessed and capitalised on a strong desire to win, and even though he excelled at diving, swimming and gymnastics, it was football that really fired him. He had played all his early football under the Australian Rules code, and actually gained first grade representation with the Hawthorn club.

However, towards the end of 1935, he took part in a fateful rugby union game to oblige a friend from Power House club, whose team was a man short. He found he enjoyed the all-out contact, the fulltime involvement, and the discipline of the game, to the extent that he changed codes.

As he could sprint in football boots over the 100 yards in 10.4 seconds, he remembered with satisfaction how he forced his way into the Victorian team the next year. Although thought to be too light for the position, he played hooker, a position in which, remarkably, he continued to represent Victoria up to 1939, playing against the Springboks, New Zealand, New South Wales and Queensland.

Towards the end of 1938, Nicky’s life changed irrevocably when he was introduced to Dorothy Gore on a blind date at the theatre. He was immediately entranced by her pretty face, good figure and lively conversation. For Nicky, the evening moved as if in a dream. After the show, he offered to take her home. He was determined to see her again.

‘Where do you live?’ he asked her.

‘At Malvern.’

‘That’s funny. So do I.’ Nicky winced. It sounded like a line.

‘Really?’ Dot smiled, raising her eyebrows in mock disbelief.

Nevertheless, he convinced her it was the truth. He did take her home. He was so pleased to be with her, he had to make sure he could see her again.

‘Would you like to go to the dance at Power House, next Saturday?’ he asked.

‘I’ve never heard of Power House.’

Nicky wasn’t deterred, and eventually won her over.

This was to be the beginning of a long romance. Nicky found that Dot danced delightfully, she mixed with his friends, and easily became one of the group. There was no turning back for him.

Overall, Nicky admired Dot’s straight talk and appreciated knowing exactly where he stood with her. She warmed to Nicky and encouraged and supported him in all aspects of his life, including his rugby, which had become increasingly important to Nicky.

Nudging 6 feet and weighing in at 80 kilograms, Nicky worked at improving his rugby game with the incentive of being given the chance of touring with the Wallabies—Australia’s national rugby team—in 1939.

This extended tour was to be for ten months—one of the great prizes of the sporting world—playing a large number of matches with tests against England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. The team was also to play games in several other countries, including Canada, the United States, France and New Zealand.

When the team was announced, Nicky was thrilled that his name was on the list. In fact, the selection of Nicky, Stan Bisset and Max Carpenter symbolised the pinnacle of achievement for Power House, as only a handful of Victorians had ever played rugby for Australia.

In late July, amid cheers and sad farewells from friends, the Wallabies boarded the P&O Liner Mooltan. To assist team bonding over the six-week sea voyage, Nicky, who played the piano accordion, and Stan Bisset, an outstanding baritone, were commissioned by the team captain to write a team song. As well as training and socialising on board, these extra activities kept Stan and Nicky busy and they led many concerts during the voyage.

All members of the team were aware that war clouds had been settling over Europe for some time, and there was a certain unease as the ship approached European waters. Hitler had recently invaded Poland and the world was watching as he stalked France. After docking at the French Mediterranean seaport of Marseille, the ship was required to be blacked out. Though no more than a nuisance to the boys, the experience was nonetheless a niggling, sinister shadow.

They crossed the English Channel, disembarked in Southampton and were driven to the seaside town of Torquay in Devon, where they stayed at the Grand Hotel facing the ocean.

They had been there only a few hours when Prime Minister Chamberlain informed the nation that Britain was officially at war with Germany. It was 11.15 a.m., on Sunday 3 September, and everything was about to change. The shadow became a reality. Within minutes of Chamberlain’s speech, Londoners experienced their first wartime air-raid alert. In Paris and Berlin, sirens sounded later the same day, and the citizens of all three cities took to their shelters.

To the boys the news was shattering, not least because the authorities decided to abandon the tour. To Nicky, the announcement rankled his sense of fair play. The team spent two weeks at Torquay filling sandbags to place around the hotel, preparing for an expected Nazi invasion. They then travelled to London, where anti-aircraft balloons floated over the city and sandbags bolstered walls and stairways. The city was blacked out and everyone was carrying a gasmask, as it was expected poison gases would be released over target territories.

Nicky and Stan Bisset were so incensed they made enquiries about joining the air force and army respectively. Nicky had always considered that if war was declared, he’d like to be a pilot and preferably a fighter pilot. With this in mind, he volunteered for the Royal Air Force (RAF), hoping for an arrangement whereby he could fly with an Australian squadron. However, to his frustration, he was told it would be a long time before he saw an aircraft, as a lot of Englishmen were also volunteering, but he could have a commission as a pay officer in administration.

Nicky certainly didn’t intend that to be his fate, so he sought out Lord Somers, who was now living back in England. With Somers’ help he was able to withdraw his application for the RAF in preparation for returning to Australia where he intended volunteering.

The day before their return to Australia, the team was received at Buckingham Palace by King George VI and the Queen. This was rather precious to Nicky and the other members of Power House as in 1921 the King (then Prince Albert, the Duke of York) had founded the movement on which Lord Somers had modelled his Somers Camp Organisation.

The team left England on the ship Strathaird facing a hazardous trip back to Australia, zigzagging to avoid possible submarine attack.

Back in Australia, the Minister for Air was developing a flying training program which was to become known as the Empire Air Training Scheme. On his return, Nicky volunteered for the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) and was accepted into the final cadet course before the Empire Air Training Scheme commenced.

When he was advised of his selection to the scheme, Nicky immediately bought a book entitled How to Fly in Five Easy Lessons. He read it eagerly, and became very excited at the prospect of putting his new-found knowledge into practice—he couldn’t wait! In March 1940, Nicky commenced his ab initio training in Tiger Moths at Essendon Airport, and by the time he went up for his first dual flight with an instructor, his excitement had reached its peak. His greatest thrill was to be told he could go solo after the first ten hours of learning the basics.

His first solo flight was supposed to last 15 minutes but Nicky was so entranced he stayed up for over 30 minutes. It felt so natural and thrilling to be behind the controls—touching the joystick, pushing the rudder, banking, rolls off the top, trying sideslip left and right—he became oblivious to time and lost awareness of those waiting for him. This wasn’t the last time he would get into hot water.

Nicky’s independent streak often rebelled in the RAAF’s environment of conformity. He was a determined young spirit who sought the freedom of the air, but often found himself in front of command for minor misdemeanours. Accumulatively, his instructors tagged him as displaying elements of devilry. Among other punishments, he particularly resented being made to do unreasonable numbers of push-ups by drill sergeants.

After some time, and many misadventures, Nicky’s fellow cadets attributed his independent and unconventional nature to some Machiavellian spirit related to the devil. His given name ‘Andrew’ was forever lost to be replaced by ‘Nicky’, as in ‘Old Nick’, the name given by the Puritans to the devil. (The Puritans believed that Saint Nicholas—Santa Claus—and Christmas were Pagan notions.)

In the meantime, Nicky’s twin brother Jack had become frustrated with his lot. He had tried to join the army, but was restricted from enlisting by his work at Beaurepairs. The Australian Government had requested Beaurepairs make cables, and Jack’s expertise was considered vital for this project. As the work was designated an ‘essential service’, Jack was effectively rendered ineligible for military service.

While at Essendon, Nicky interceded on Jack’s behalf and rang Frank (later Sir Frank) Beaurepair. Nicky knew him quite well, as he had earlier taught Nicky and Jack how to swim. However Beaurepair could not be swayed, saying,‘He’ll be all right here.’

Nicky was pleased to be graded ‘above average’ when he graduated in August, then he moved to the RAAF Base Point Cook, the Air Force Academy not far from Melbourne, for completion of the course. To the 40 cadets, Point Cook was a challenge from all aspects. It possessed no airstrip, only a paddock that wasn’t well maintained. The ground was often under repair with boggy patches delineated with sticks, forming an extra obstacle for the cadets.

Point Cook trained both bomber and fighter pilots, and even though Nicky had every respect for the Anson bombers and the teamwork and discipline that was necessary to form an efficient crew, he tried desperately to be selected to fly the fighter planes. He believed even at this stage he was something of a loner, a characteristic which apparently suited the make-up of a fighter pilot. He deliberately slew the bombs away from the target while on the Ansons and was not unhappy to record a below average rating.

On the other hand, he loved the Hawker Demons with their open cockpit. These were marvellous, albeit obsolete, biplane fighters. Nicky revelled in aerobatics and tested the powerful Rolls Royce Kestrel engines through all essential skills. Night flying was particularly challenging. The exhaust stubs on either side of the motor would glow red to white hot. It was difficult to land at night as, looking forward, there was not much vision of the landing strip, so Nicky learned the trick of looking sideways, unlike day flying. Some of the men couldn’t cope with this part of flying and had to drop out of the course.

The cadets crammed a great deal into those few months, normally a one-year course. The intensity of training, however, didn’t stop the normal high jinks of young men. Nicky had become engaged to Dot by now after courting her at the Saturday night Power House dances that he had helped organise and run. On one occasion, desperate to see her, he hid in the boot of a friend’s car and was caught, which resulted in him being confined to barracks.

His closest friend at Point Cook was Freddy Eggleston, whom he shared quarters with. At 28, Freddy was some years older than the rest of the recruits, and was something of a daredevil. Like Nicky, he also played the piano accordion. A brilliant student and pilot, he actually topped the course but on the final day he and five other spirited cadets took a joy flight in an Anson piloted by one of the other cadets, and buzzed every paddock between Wonthaggi and Point Cook. It created a major uproar, cows bolting through fences and some calving out of fright, causing the local farmers to complain. The young men were bawled out in front of the Commanding Officer in a military court appearance and, instead of graduating as pilot officers with wings, they became sergeant pilots. Nicky, who was second on the course, had to reluctantly accept first place. Nicky graduated to ‘wings’ standard in September 1940, rating above average as a pilot and in air-gunnery, average-plus as a pilot navigator and, unashamedly, below average for bombing.

Proud of his new commission, Nicky was posted to the City of Brisbane No. 23 Squadron based at Archerfield in Brisbane. The squadron’s prime purpose was the defence of Brisbane, but its main activity was the training of its pilots in war-type operations. The squadron was the supply source for replacement pilots to operational units, and consisted of two Wirraway and one Lockhead Hudson Flight.

The Wirraway was Australian built, and was a single-engined training aircraft. It had a reliable radial engine and was pressed into service as a fighter, reconnaissance and dive bomber, carrying an air gunner (or observer) perched in a seat behind the pilot. Nicky began his conversion flights in December 1940 and, even with 222 hours of previous experience, found the machine a handful.

One of its real problems, he found, was that it could lose its lift characteristics very quickly, stall, then degenerate into a spin. The experience, although challenging, served to rapidly hone Nicky’s flying skills and to sharpen his survival instincts.

Such was Nicky’s desire to be a proficient pilot, he regularly pushed himself and his plane to the limits. His air observer, 21-year-old Peter White, sitting in the rear seat, often blacked out as Nicky threw the plane around the sky. Multiple G-forces drained the blood from his brain as the Wirraway was forced into tight turns, loops and savage pullouts during dive bombing practice.

On one occasion, during a meteorological flight while breeching at 12 000 feet, Nicky told White he was going to find out the terminal velocity of the plane. With that, he rolled the Wirraway over into an almost vertical dive, put the throttle to full power and set the propellers at fully fine—that is, he adjusted the propeller pitch to give it maximum revs.

The plane screeched downward at an ever-increasing speed until the motor could take no more and seized. With some strength and skill, Nicky fought with the controls for some time, then manoeuvred the plane into a perfect ‘dead stick’ landing, coming to rest right in the middle of the aerodrome.

When the two young men examined the plane later, still somewhat shakily, they noticed that the fairings—the aluminium coverings on the undercarriage—were either stripped off or severely bent. All the fabric surfaces on the fuselage were ripped and torn, and the aluminium-covered wings had actually rippled.

Although the action displayed elements of youthful exuberance, even bordering on recklessness, the exercise did help to define both the plane and the pilots’ limits, something a fighter pilot has to know.

Meanwhile, overseas, the war was developing. The pilots of No. 23 Squadron had followed Hitler’s occupation of most of Europe with some frustration and were incensed when Italy, after conquering Ethiopia, sided with Nazi Germany in June 1940. Germany’s thirst for oil to keep her tanks, aircraft and submarines fighting increased the strategic importance of the Middle East. The North African desert was developing into a major battleground. Italy had advanced towards Cairo, as Egypt and Libya were the south-western gateways to the Middle East’s oil supplies.

To counter this, the Australian Sixth Division entered the war at Bardia in January 1941 as part of the ‘Desert Army’ and soundly defeated Mussolini’s Italians, pushing them westward to Cyrenaica (Western Libya) beating them in successive actions at Tobruk, Derna and Benghazi. By March, however, the Italians were being reinforced by a small German force under the command of General Erwin Rommel, and were regrouping for what everyone knew would be a major offensive by the Axis armies in the desert.

Further, the air force graduates had witnessed the young pilots of Britain engage in an heroic stand over the skies of England in late 1940, as the Battle of Britain raged. As stories of the epic dogfights between the English Spitfires and the German Messerschmitts reached the ears of the young men of the RAAF squadrons in Australia, the shortcomings of the Wirraway as a modern air combat aircraft became quickly obvious.

However, Nicky patiently continued his training and settled into Brisbane life, utilising the time as efficiently as possible. He quickly became accepted into the establishment, particularly after his commanding officer found out he was an accountant. Group Captain Walters explained that No. 23 Squadron supplied other squadrons in the field with replacements, and when the pilots left for overseas service, they threw a monumental party. As a result, the squadron owed money all over Brisbane. He appointed Nicky to take over the duties of Mess Secretary ‘to look at the finances, sort them out and tell me where we’re going’. Juniors can never refuse.

Nicky instituted a plan which, over some months, slowly refilled the coffers. Levies were imposed on all officers, parties were paid for in advance, and he negotiated with suppliers for extended credit. Often this personal communication and enlightenment was all suppliers needed to waive the bill.

The CO was impressed. Later, he asked Nicky if he would act as honorary aide-de-camp (air force) for the Queensland Governor, Sir Lesley Wilson. This entitled Nicky to the temporary rank of flight lieutenant for official occasions—but with no extra pay—a new uniform and duties which included picking up and taking the governor to RAAF functions in the government car. There were other duties around Government House that Nicky enjoyed as he learned to move in different levels of society, making contacts and many new friends.

He was also aware of the honour carried with the position, although he was becoming concerned this might be the extent of his war—‘standing one pace to the side and two steps to the rear’, carrying an umbrella instead of a gun.

While these duties and his flying schedule filled his official hours, there were plenty of other activities to fill his leisure time.

His love and talent for sport was highlighted as, during the year, he won the high diving championships for the RAAF in Service sports, and also captained the RAAF rugby team. He still has strong memories of the final moments of a championship game between RAAF and an Army XV, captained by Bill McLean, a friend and one of his fellow Wallaby teammates from 1939.

A free kick had been awarded to the air force on their own goal line. The finish bell rang and RAAF were leading by a point. All Nicky had to do was kick the ball into touch and the game was over. By rugby standards he was entitled to do that, but Nicky elected to keep the ball in play, giving Army a sporting chance to win. They failed.

The press made a great deal of Nicky’s chivalrous decision and praised his sportsmanship. However, at the time, Nicky realised his character and his decision-making processes had been mainly influenced and imbued with the philosophies espoused at Power House through its club motto: ‘It’s only the game that counts.’

During his time with No. 23 Squadron, the stability of Nicky’s position at Government House induced him to phone his fiancée Dot in Melbourne, to talk about convincing her parents it would be all right to get married—‘now that I am working for the Governor’. The situation worked in his favour. With some insight he realised Dot’s parents weren’t about to let their daughter marry someone who was probably going to leave for war, and it could be construed that as an ‘aide-de-camp’ of the governor he might have to stay in Australia.

As fate would have it, his call up for overseas duty came soon after completing these negotiations. In August he was accepted as a reinforcement for No. 3 Fighter RAAF Squadron serving in Northern Africa.