Part III

Classic Chalgrove...a bicycle was usually close at hand! (Lou Cerino)

Our trip southward was also rapid and uneventful. With most of it taking place at night very little was seen of the Scottish or English landscape. Darkness was "black, black, black". This was our first real experience in an environment of rigid blackout conditions. There was nothing but a real black pit outside.

Unlike our railroad journey in the States the British Troop train really moved us southbound. I'm sure we had all experienced much more comfortable rides but I assure you there were no siding delays for Scottish or Northern British tourists heading for a "holiday" at Blackpool or other southern resort centers.

We arrived at Chalgrove, England 29 March 1944 some twenty hours later to become the third member of the 10th Photographic Reconnaissance Group. We had once again joined up with our sister squadrons the 30th and the 31st which, as it turned out, had preceded us by but five weeks and only five days.

With our arrival in the Scottish Highlands we definitely found ourselves in a new and different environment. The effects of the recent "Air War of England" as well as the attempted "U-Boat Blockade" of the British Isles were readily apparent. Our priority troop-train movement; the rigid blackout conditions; the scattered rubble leftovers of recent bombing raids; minimum time restrictions on all the "Pubs"; and bicycles, yes, bicycles everywhere, were all initial clues welcoming us to a whole new "ballgame". It was certain to be a different league from here on out.

Our new "Ballpark" was an English airbase cut from the Chalgrove pasture land in Oxfordshire -- about 50 miles west of London as the crow flies. Originally intended as an RAF bomber base, it was given to the Americans for aerial reconnaissance operations. It was big. Our living quarters, Nissen huts, were located over a mile from the flight line as were the mess halls and other administration facilities. Everything was spread out all over the place. Now, we learned quickly, the value of the bicycles. I still don't know where they all came from or where they have since gone but they sure came in handy in their day. (Charles Scobey recently queried, "whatever happened to the bicycles after the 34th left England?" That's a good question, Charley. Perhaps we should let Ray Beckley our "English Gentleman" in East Sussex, England field this one).

The disappointments at the Port of Embarkation were obviously left behind. The "team effort" so effective at Will Rogers, USA was already returning. Everything was now channeled towards the 34th becoming operational. The squadron was attuned to the day we would fly our first mission; once again, things were coming together. We even received added incentive from Berlin itself. We really knew we had been accepted when "Axis Sal", bless her heart, in one of her scheduled broadcasts aimed to American troops welcomed us to the Isles. At least, we certainly didn't feel slighted that day we heard words to the effect "The Third Reich welcomes Major Donn Hayes and the men and officers of the 34th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron to Chalgrove, England. Our stalwart airmen are anxiously awaiting your expected arrival over the continent." It did happen.

The 19th of April was actually the day. Scarcely a week after the 31st had flown its first mission the 34th was still "shattering" schedules when we became operational.

19-April, 1944 - Safe, sound and with a big smile on his face, Maj. Hayes returns home to Chalgrove having completed the squadron's first operational mission over Nazi occupied Europe. (Harold Vaughn)

I assure you, the "ole' Man" didn't sleep much the night before and until he actually "poured the coal" to those twin allisons of the sweet F-5 early that cloudy morning he was nervous as a cat. But by the time he had broken out of the overcast at 32,000 feet near the French coastline at Cherbourg things had pretty well fallen in place including his "nervous stomach".

Other than the glamour of being the "squadron first" it was a relatively short and uneventful mission. However, I experienced a tremendous feeling of elation when I buzzed the airdrome upon my return. I never knew there were so many bicycles in England, they were lying all over the area. It seemed that not only all of the squadron but a good share of England was on the parking ramp to welcome me back--to me it was the whole world. The first to shake my hand was Garry "Red" Walter and crew chief of the plane I flew. Actually, I believe he was really showing his gratitude for bringing his plane -- #42-67132 -- home unscathed. He was happy that I had not stopped to practice any single-engine procedure enroute. At any rate the 34th had finally arrived; we were now operational.

With the 10th Group Commander's blessing, Bob Jarrell, our Operations Officer, and I each flew a mission a day during the next five days in order to get as much mission experience as possible under our belts. The sixth day, 24 April, we along with the other squadron COs and OPs officers were called to Colonel "Wild Bill" Reed's office and briefed on "Operation Overlord"--the "Normandy Invasion"--and then grounded immediately from further combat flying until just after invasion day.

The 34th was now doing what it had trained for. It soon became an around-the-clock performance; aircraft readiness; camera operational perfection; pre-dawn pilot's briefings even mess hall operation at the damnedest hours--the works.

During the next couple of weeks every pilot experienced flying his initial missions. Creditable first missions rapidly turned into performances in several cases which neared perfection; the excellent mission soon became routine. This was not just due to individual pilot effort--not by a long shot--but because of the close all-out team effort which increased daily throughout the squadron. Our gang was truly dedicated to smoothing out the task at hand.

"Pop" Kerr once again served as a typical example. Welder by MOS but desiring to play a more immediate active role he volunteered to help deliver and pick-up pilots to and from their planes particularly during the initial-mission period. It actually became a phobia with him. Up before dawn and often returning after sun down "Pop" performed his vigilance day after day until all the pilots had performed their initial missions.

19-April, 1944 - Post-mission photo of 34th PRS Commander Major Donn "The Old Man" Hayes (right) and Captain Jim "Tut" Frakes (left). Taken at Chalgrove, England this photo was taken minutes after Major Hayes returned from the squadron's first combat mission. (Harold Vaughn)

By the time each of the pilots had five missions or so under their belts we felt reasonaly well indoctrinated. Not that we were seasoned for any and everything, but for the most part, we now at least, had left our nervous stomachs at home; knew what was propelled from the exploding end of a "German 88" and we did know that the German Luftwaffe was the real thing and not purely a figment of somebody's imagination.

Our flying tactics at this point were fairly consistent with those handed down by our sister photo pilots from the Eighth Air Force and the early Spitfire photo expertise adapted by the RAF: first, get the pix home; secondly in order to accomplish this, fly above the "ack-ack" (normally about 30,000 feet); and thirdly, whenever possible stay either above or below the "con-trail" level to help avoid being spotted by the enemy. After all, the photo "recce" mission was not a success until the "product" was returned "home" and properly processed. Coldly and statistically speaking, the bomber pilot was successful as long as he laid his "eggs" on his target -- even if he didn't return. And as long as the fighter boys safely escorted the "big babies" to their destination they were at least partially successful. But not so with the photo pilot--no stooging around the "air front" with a couple of "pop guns" trying to turn yourself into an "Ace" overnight. The hard cold fact -- "GET HOME". Really, when you think about it, this was a great philosophy and whole-heartedly subscribed to by all photo pilots. I assure you the Thirty Fourth had no argument with this one.

Flying over Continental France the con-trail level -- dependent on local weather conditions -- normally ran at an altitude of about 29,000-35,000 feet, On one mission, however, I remember flying at the corrected altitude of over 42,000 feet to top the con-trail level. (This is in an airplane without the cabin and magneto pressurization advantages of the modern day aircraft -- boy, "what a flying ball of mush.") At the outset all of our early missions were flown at the 30,000 or slightly above altitude but this was soon to change. Actually before long the 34th squadron pilots were literally operating from the ground up.

In the meantime the around-the-clock support operations were being carried out at back-breaking rates. The 34th was learning a lot but there still was plenty ahead of us. To our advantage the Northern Latitude at this time of year was beginning to provide us with a few extra hours of daylight.

Finally the newness began to wear off some and things settled down a bit. "Pop" Kerr began to tire of his double-duty chores and returned to the flight line and more normal routine with the engineering section but not before he had won one of his stripes back. Yes, he was now a PFC -- probably the oldest in the Army Air Corps.

A routine did begin to set it. Passes to nearby Oxford, High Wycombe and even London began to filter through. If you got to the nearby pubs in time you might just latch on to a bit of "warm suds", even a shot of scotch if you were first in line. Yes, the war too was getting a bit closer to hand everyday. Those visiting London were even privileged from time to time to witness a display of Goering's latest version of Henry Ford's Model "T". Only this one was airborne and flew. It was Germany's "Putt-Putt Buzz Bomb". But as ancient as it looked and sounded it made one helluva noise and mess when and where it lit in the London area. During this period we even had reports of German paratroops being dropped in our immediate area near Chalgrove and Mount Farm. Yes, the war zone seemed to be getting closer all the time. Orders issuing weapons to all the troops were even put into effect for a short period.

Once again, the timing was admittedly bad, it was pay day, of course, and "Pop" Kerr was on the loose again; this time, off for the closest pub on bicycle with weapon and all. Several warm brews later and he was reported riding herd through the village bordering our airdrome aboard bicycle and casually shooting up the "O.K. Corral" in true western style. The military police report verified all accounts. The next day while confronting "Pop" with charges of his latest escapade I once again came out second best. His punch line this time: "Major, you have enough other worries so don't concern yourself with me; after all a PFC carries too much responsibility anyway." He was right once again -- no stripes. It did happen.

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