Handsome Brute: The True Story of a Ladykiller (26 page)

In 1947, the Air Ministry commissioned a report,
Psychological Disorders in Flying Personnel of the Royal Air Force Investigated During the War 1939–45.
This study is a fascinating context in which to examine Heath’s actions and behaviour at this point, exploring as it does the particular pressures that pilots suffered.

The physical fatigue of flying a heavy bomber is limited to the pilot who, as captain of the aircraft, has an added mental load. There was agreement that big men [like Heath] found these planes easier to fly than small men of slender build, and one station commander thought that there should be special selection for these heavy jobs.
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The report goes on to say, based on the evidence of flight crews throughout the war, that the incidence of neuroses was highest in Bomber Command, this being almost twice the incidence in Fighter Command, and that the crew members most affected were pilots of bombers. Psychologically, fighter pilots had to concern themselves solely with their own safety. Fighter planes were also both more agile and better armed than bombers. Bomber pilots had a much less manoeuverable aircraft, slower and more vulnerable to attack by enemy fighters. Crucially, bomber pilots felt responsible not just for their own lives but for the lives of the rest of their crew.

Flying for long distances, often in the dark, affected all flight crews. Fatigue and frostbite were common and lack of oxygen sometimes resulted in blackouts. It was not unusual for a pilot to suddenly wake after a period of unconsciousness in the air. A pilot staring for hours at his instrument panel might also suddenly find everything he saw upside down – normally the human eye sees objects inverted and the brain corrects this, reversing the image. All of these symptoms were brought on by changes in physical conditions during flights.
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The psychological neuroses exhibited by aircrew were collected under six headings: anxiety, hysteria, depression, fatigue, obsession and schizophrenia.
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RAF neuro-psychiatrists established that the most important cause of neuroses in aircrew was, not surprisingly, fear.
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Many young airmen, paralysed with terror at the prospect of their own violent deaths, were equally burdened with feelings of responsibility for the carnage that they caused in the towns and cities of Germany. Frequently they would drown their fears off duty in alcoholic binges and it’s alcohol that Fielding-Johnson identified as one of the causes of Heath’s abnormal behaviour, if not the root of it. But it’s also true that airmen had access to other stimulants that could be as addictive and damaging. RAF medical officers regularly distributed ‘wakey wakey’ pills to aircrew who were suffering from fatigue and who would need to keep awake for raids that could last for up to nine hours. This was the amphetamine known as Benzedrine. Officially doctors were only supposed to offer it to pilots, gunners and navigators on missions, but in practice it was readily available on RAF stations to aircrew, ground crew and even WAAFs. Airmen became accomplished at acquiring large quantities of the drug and storing it up for their own recreational use. They’d take the pills not only on operations when they needed to keep alert for several hours, but also at off-duty parties and drinking sessions. Joan Wyndham, a self-confessed addict, remembered the casual use of Benzedrine by WAAFs and aircrew: ‘I really love the clear, cool feeling in my head and the edge of excitement it gives to everything you do.’
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Benzedrine usage was widely abused, and, like all amphetamines, highly addictive. It is the chemical base of the popular clubber’s drug, MDMA (Ecstasy). The body quickly develops a tolerance of it, encouraging higher dosage. Side effects from long-term use of Benzedrine include hyperactivity, grandiosity, euphoria, increased libido, irritability, paranoia, aggression and psychosomatic disorders. The most severe symptoms of chronic amphetamine abuse can result in psychotic behaviour that can be indistinguishable from schizophrenia. Heath would certainly have had access to Benzedrine at the time and in combination with his alcoholism it might explain some of the more extreme behaviour observed by Fielding-Johnson.

Towards the end of October, 180 Squadron had made three daylight bombing attacks on the town of Venlo in Holland and were then ordered to make a fourth. Venlo had both a road and a rail bridge over the River Meuse and the Allies would make a total of thirteen attempts to destroy the bridges in order to cut off German supply lines and to block the retreat of German troops across the river. During the attacks on the bridges, from 13 October to 19 November 1944, 300 people were killed. Despite their best efforts, Allied attempts to bomb the bridges would fail and eventually retreating German troops would blow them up themselves in an effort to halt the Allied advance.

At this time, certain members of Heath’s crew began to confide in Fielding-Johnson that they were not keen to go out with him at night off duty, though they would not give detailed reasons for their objections other than to say that he encouraged them to spend too much money. There were no complaints about his performance as a pilot. Fielding-Johnson took it upon himself to monitor Heath’s behaviour from then on and actively encouraged other members of the crew to share with him anything that Heath might do or say which might be detrimental to their morale. This in itself was an extraordinary state of affairs as the tight fraternal bonds between bomber crews were thought to be crucial to their survival.

The fourth attack on the Venlo bridges was to take place on 29 October. Aircrews would hear after breakfast if they were due to fly that day. After the mission was announced, Heath’s top turret gunner approached Fielding-Johnson and told him that he felt unfit. He didn’t want to fly and had lost his nerve. This was known within the RAF as ‘lack of moral fibre’ (LMF), a bureaucratic euphemism for cowardice. It was recognized by senior officers that such cases had to be dealt with quickly as ‘one really frightened man could affect the others around him’.
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The threat of being branded LMF was used as ‘little short of a terror tactic’
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over all aircrew and many men carried on flying scared out of their wits because they were more frightened of being called a coward than they were of flying.

It wasn’t so much the admission of fear and loss of self-respect that deterred men from going LMF, it was the awareness that they would be regarded as inadequate to the pressures of war in a country totally committed to winning the war. In this atmosphere, the man who opted out was a pariah, an insult to the national need. He was conscious of bringing shame to his family, and that most of his friends wouldn’t wish to recognize him, or at best they would be embarrassed and awkward on meeting. Nobody cared about the explanations of the psychiatrists about stress-induced illness.
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On this occasion, as senior officer and an experienced rear gunner, Fielding-Johnson volunteered to take the gunner’s place. Not only would the crew be able to take their part in the operation and the squadron could fly intact, but here was an ideal opportunity for Fielding-Johnson to watch Heath working under pressure.

The preliminary briefing took place a few hours before take-off in the briefing room hut. Some 120 members of the squadron filed into rows of chairs, having been checked in by RAF police. Cigarettes and pipes were lit immediately as the crews waited for the squadron commanding officer and the station commander. In some squadrons, a map of the target was propped on a stand, hidden by a blackout curtain to be dramatically revealed by the station intelligence officer, who generally led the briefing. In others, every available inch of the walls and desks was covered with large-scale maps and photographs – a mosaic of information about the ‘target for today’, for the attacks of the Venlo bridges were to be in broad daylight. The position of balloon barrages, ground defences and hostile fighter bases would be marked by blobs of purple ink. Threads stretched across the large maps to indicate the route the bombers were to take. The blinds were then drawn as an epidiascope projected large images of the target on the wall. On some stations, the padre would then say a prayer before final preparations began – and a medical officer would be on hand to distribute Benzedrine.

The squadron then headed to the mess for their pre-operation meal, usually bacon and eggs, a luxury in days of rationing. They were then sealed off from the outside world. Phone calls to wives and girlfriends were forbidden as they waited nervously to see if the weather was favourable, chain-smoking and reading paperback books to distract themselves. It is during these long hours of waiting that Heath first began to read the adventure stories and thrillers he liked so much: Peter Cheyney’s Slim Callaghan novels, John Buchan’s Hannay books or James Hadley Chase’s
No Orchids for Miss Blandish
, a well-thumbed copy of which seemed to be in every RAF mess. The sense of anticipation and anxiety steadily grew from the time crews were briefed until take-off. Guy Gibson felt that this period was the worst part of any bombing raid: ‘Your stomach feels as though it wants to hit your backbone.’
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Vomiting and diarrhoea were common and men were prone to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. ‘All this,’ Gibson said, ‘because you’re frightened, scared stiff.’
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When it was confirmed that the weather was favourable and the sortie was on, ninety minutes before take-off the crews got ready, pulling on their parachute harnesses, fastening life preservers (‘Mae Wests’) or adjusting the electric tubes of their hot suits. The kit was awkward and bulky, much of it to try and combat the freezing cold they would encounter flying at such high altitudes – for every 1,000 feet they climbed, the air temperature dropped 2.5 degrees and after 8,000 feet, oxygen masks were needed.
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They had a whistle attached to their collar to call for help if they fell into the sea, and dog tags stamped with their name and service number made of a material that could withstand the most intense furnace. Many airmen carried some sort of lucky charm around the neck, or pocketed close to the heart, a rabbit’s foot, or a rosary, letter, St Christopher, coin, photograph, playing card; anything to fend off the overwhelming fear of a violent and painful death.

The final briefing took place in the crew room where the meteorological expert gave up-to-the-minute information about the weather. Provisions were handed out for the trip – a thermos flask of coffee, energy pastilles, chewing gum, raisins, chocolate.
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They were also given an escape kit in case they fell into enemy territory. These consisted of local money, phrase sheets and compasses as well as maps of France, Germany or Belgium printed on squares of silk. These could be secreted or sewn somewhere in their uniform. As a last precaution, all crew members then emptied their pockets and were given two different coloured pouches in which to put the contents. One of these would be sent to their next of kin if they did not return. The other would be sent to clandestine girlfriends.
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The aircrews piled into lorries, were driven to their waiting aircraft and assisted into them by the ground crew. Last cigarettes were smoked and many crew members urinated against one of the aircraft’s wheels – a final ritual to bring good luck. Heath signed the F700, accepting the aircraft from the ground crew. He declared that all was in good order and handed the form back to the ground crew who then stood down. From a training that had now become instinct, each member of the crew busied themselves, cramped in their allotted action stations. The navigator of Heath’s crew – a former teacher called Freddie Silvester – laid out his chart in preparation. Despite Fielding-Johnson’s seniority on the ground, in the air, the pilot was always in command of the aircraft, so Heath was very much in charge. He checked the bomb load before ordering the bomb doors to be closed. He then started the port and starboard engines which gave the aircraft electrical power so the crew could carry out the rest of their checks. The Mitchell bomber was a safe and sturdy machine, but the engines were also extremely noisy. The sound was deafening as the engines began to roar. The wireless operator tuned up his set as the engineer checked the instruments. Heath then carried out a cockpit check. The wind from the power of the engines flattened the grass around the aircraft as the ground crew removed the vast chocks. Heath taxied into position for take-off. Mitchell bombers took off in pairs. Once a flight of six was in the air, they flew into correct formation and circled until the rest of the squadron had taken off. Then the whole squadron set course for the target and headed for Holland.

As pilot, Heath’s role was to get the aircraft to the target, Silvester’s job as navigator was to find it. However tense the approach to the target, nothing matched the terrifying minutes of the bombing run itself. The crew would steel themselves for flak if they were picked out by enemy guns.

Once they reached the bridges at Venlo, the bomb-aimer took over. He lay face-down in the perspex nose of the aircraft, exposing the full length of his body to the flak from the enemy bursting around him. When they were above the target, he ordered the bomb doors to be opened. A blast of freezing air filled the fuselage. Checking the lens of the bomb-sight, the bomb-aimer called corrections over the intercom to Heath, who was constantly holding the aircraft steady, all the time trying to avoid enemy fire. Finally the bomb-aimer pressed the button that released the bombs, shouting, ‘Bombs gone!’ The aircraft would then lurch and rise abruptly by 200 to 300 feet as 10,000 lb
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of high explosive and incendaries dropped on the target. Heath ordered the bomb doors to be closed. Though the mission was complete, the crew were still vulnerable as they made for home.