10 April 1940 has remained in history as "the great panic day". The reason for this designation is the panic that spread through the population of Oslo, after the rumors of the British bombing of the capital had spread. Here you can see how the Oslo people rush out of town on foot, on bicycles, in trucks and buses. The clip is without audio.

From NRK via the excellent RealTimeWWII. (The caption has been run through Google Translate and tweaked by me so it makes more sense, so I can't vouch for its accuracy.)

This one of the many things I didn't know before. I can't find much about it on the web in English; Wikipedia says:

The same day [10 April 1940], panic broke out in German-occupied Oslo, following rumours of incoming British bombers. In what has since been known as "the panic day" the city's population fled to the surrounding countryside, not returning until late the same evening or the next day. Similar rumours led to mass panic in Egersund and other occupied coastal cities. The origins of the rumours have never been uncovered.

It's interesting that the rumours named Britain as the aggressor. Of course Germany bombing a city it already occupied wasn't particularly plausible, so given that the rumour existed it would have to attach itself to Britain. The Altmark incident (and the planned mining of Norwegian waters, though I assume that was not publicly known as it was interrupted by the German invasion which was publicised shortly before the panic) might have suggested that the British were prepared to go further and attack Norway to achieve their own ends. I don't know much about airmindedness in Norway before the war (apart from the ghost flyers) either but in recent months civilians in two small, nearby nations had already suffered aerial bombardment, namely Poland and Finland (and let's not forget China and Spain in 1938) so to that extent the panic was not unreasonable.

I received this request for assistance from Jean Dewaerheid, a Belgian writer who is working with Peter Haas and Pierre-Antoine Courouble to track down wooden bomb eyewitnesses:

Three authors (from Belgium, Germany and France) have been working for years on a bizarre subject: the dropping of dummy wooden bombs on wooden airplanes.

In order to deceive the Allies during the Second World War, the Germans built fake airfields on the continent, often with runways and sometimes with buildings, but always with fake wooden planes, called "Attrappen". Strange stories can be heard in which allied airplanes made fun of them by dropping wooden bombs on which they had sometimes painted remarks like "Wood for Wood".

The French writer, Pierre-Antoine Courouble devoted himself to a structural inquiry to unearth the facts behind this vague legend. His investigations resulted in 137 testimonies from resistants, former employees on German basis, and pilots of the Luftwaffe. His research has been condensed in the book The Riddle of the Wooden Bombs, published at the "Presses du midi" and translated in four languages. He found original sources on this matter in the form of testimonies of servicemen, pilots and veterans' children. He met a dozen witnesses who had personally seen the famous bombs, two of whom were eye witnesses to their droppings. Today, these wooden bombs can be found on the internet. We bought them.

Peter Haas, the German translator of the book, found a pilot from the Luftwaffe named Wern Thiel, who happened to be stationed in 1943, on the fake airfield nearby Potsdam in Germany. He is the living witness of the dropping of a dozen of wooden bombs, with the mention Wood for Wood! At the end of the filmed interview (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_tGOxoIhIE) he addresses the allied pilot who had that typically peculiar sense of humour.

Today we are confronted with a difficulty named TIME! The men who survived (they must be aged between 75 and 95) are very hard to find via internet (we tried!). As the official (mostly British) authorities still deny the existence of the droppings (war is not a game, it's an urban legend, etc.) we eventually decided to explore another possibility.

As we notice that most of the testimonies are American, a basic idea started growing. Couldn’t this typically peculiar sense of British humour not simply be an example of AMERICAN sense of humour? This would explain lots of things and is the reason why we try to contact pilots or members of the American Forces stationed in Europe during WW2 who could have been involved in the dropping of these wooden bombs.

In the meantime we are working on the French-American project to produce a documentary film about the subject. Olivier Hermitant, from « Route07 production », (http://vimeo.com/11526361) is offering his services in order to find the rare bird, a veteran of WW2 who was witness or perhaps actor of the dropping of these wooden bombs on German targets.

Could you help us in our quest finding the rare (American) bird? We would be extremely grateful if you could inform your members about this riddle of the Second World War.

I hope Dewaerheid, Haas and Courourble do succeed in finding new eyewitnesses. I did argue in my review of Courouble's book that the focus should move to searching for documentary evidence in operational records and other archives, but I suppose they aren't going anywhere whereas the veterans are. (But I'd note that it's not the job of 'the official (mostly British) authorities' to confirm or deny the wooden bomb stories, somebody has to go into the archives themselves and do the actual research.)

I'm dubious, though, about this new theory that American airmen were the ones who dropped the wooden bombs. In part this seems to be thanks to the new witness mentioned above, Wern Thiel, a Luftwaffe pilot stationed on a decoy airfield near Potsdam during the war. He does specifically say he'd like to meet the American pilot who dropped wooden bombs on his dummy aeroplanes. But in the brief excerpt shown, he says that when the air raid in question took place (in October 1942 according to the video caption, though it's 1943 above and I can't actually hear him saying the year) that they 'activated the light beacons' which implies it was a night raid. Aside from the question of identifying the nationality of aircraft at night, the Americans of course very rarely carried out night bombing.

It would also need to be explained why the majority of the stories claim it was the British -- even when told by Americans? It could perhaps be claimed that this is a later accretion to the story, but then that puts us back into urban legend territory. Perhaps that's not a problem, as the wooden bomb story clearly is an urban legend as well as (probably) a true story; maybe cross-fertilisation took place.

And then there's the fact that the wooden bomb stories predate American involvement in the war. William Shirer recorded one version in his diary in November 1940; and there are other examples too. Obviously these can't be attributed to Americans.

It does seem odd that it's so hard to find accounts from Allied airmen who dropped wooden bombs, as opposed to accounts of Allied airmen who dropped wooden bombs. This, along with the wide variation in details from story to story, suggests to me that most of the wooden bombs were urban legends, rumours or just jokes. But given the evidence Courouble and his colleagues have come up with, I think wooden bombs were really dropped, sometimes, rarely. Whether reality inspired rumours or rumours inspired reality may not be possible to determine now.

My main interest in this series about the RAF Displays at Hendon has been in the set pieces with which they ended. But as this is the last post it's worth looking a bit at the organisation of the Display itself. Flight had some useful articles for this in its preview of the 15th Display, held on Saturday, 29 June 1935. Above is a map showing the aerodrome, the seating arrangements, car parks, access roads and Colindale tube, which opened in 1924 and was a major boon for visitors to the Display. (For those who have been to the area more recently -- say to the RAF Museum or British Library Newspapers -- it's interesting to compare how the area has changed.) We can see from the seating plans some of the groups the RAF was trying to impress: there are boxes for the House of Commons, the House of Lords and public schools -- presumably with an eye to future officer recruitment. Private boxes seating six could be booked for between £4 and £7 (depending on location?); at the other end of the spectrum the groundlings could buy tickets for the least exclusive enclosures on the day for 2s., or a spot on a hillside overlooking the aerodrome for 1s. Attendance peaked in 1931 at 169,000 (bringing in £27,585 6s. 11d.), though including onlookers sitting in places where they didn't have to pay the figure came up to around 500,000 (or so Flight reckoned). The organisation of the Display was a year-round affair, with the 'display office' being closed only for a couple of weeks in August. The programme is 'usually settled fairly exactly by the beginning of the year', but by whom is not clear. The whole thing is overseen by a 'Display Committee' headed by Air Chief Marshal Sir Robert Brooke-Popham; the 'Flying-Subcommittee' chaired by Air Vice-Marshal Joubert de la Ferté handles the exciting bits; and the 'General Purposes Committee', of which Air Commodore B. C. H. Drew is secretary, organises everything else -- ticketing, liaison with transport and police, construction, etc.

Another reason for talking about the organisation is that this year there was no set piece, only a fly-past. Flight's correspondent wasn't sure why:

In past years the final item of the Display has, as everybody knows, been a "set-piece" in which a fort, munition works, aerodrome, ship or other objective belonging to a nefarious enemy has gone up in flames, smoke and terrific noise, to the general delight. This time, for some reason best known to the organisers, the finale took the form of a fly-past by nine squadrons of machines which had taken part in the display.

This, it was thought, was 'unimpressive, either by comparison with the finales of previous years or with several items the same afternoon'. It would be interesting to know why there was no set-piece; perhaps for some reason such play-acting was no longer acceptable given that tension in Europe was rising and the RAF itself was rearming.

Whatever the reason, the set-piece was back for the next Display (held on Saturday, 27 June 1936). Indeed, there were a couple of mini-mock battles earlier in the programme -- one involved Bristol Bulldogs bombing and strafing marauders from 'an unknown race of white savages' ('in some quarters it is thought less reprehensible to bomb white savages than to employ similar tactics against black men'). The set-piece itself involved a much more industrialised target:

Southland's power station -- a most solid and convincing edifice on the far side of the aerodrome -- was the objective of Northland's bombers.

The 'brightening-up' of this year's programme included broadcasting radio transmissions from the participants over loudspeakers for the crowds to hear. So they were able to listen in to 'Southland's operational headquarters receiving raid warnings from ships and the Observer Corps, ordering up its defending fighter squadrons [...] to patrol the expected avenues of attack, and calling on the A.A. guns to stand by in readiness'.

Northland first sends in a Hawker Hart to shoot down the observation balloon; 'the latter, apparently preferring death to dishonour, burst into flame before the Hart was within range'. The commander of one of the defending squadron reports 'we are now engaging the enemy', more Harts, who appear 'out of the heat haze with the defenders and diving in and out among them, and in a few seconds the unlucky power station's volts, amps and ohms are being split into atoms in a terrific welter of smoke, flame and noise'.

And then the guns are told to stand by for a second raid which will be "here in three minutes -- as you were, in one minute." This time the attackers are two squadron V's of Heyfords; they are engaged by No. 17's Bulldogs, and one descends "in flames," doing a genuine loop -- amazing sight -- in the process, and going down out of sight behind the trees in realistic fashion. But the power station suffers again.

A Heyford looping would have been very impressive indeed, as it was a big twin-engined machine, the last of the RAF's biplane night bombers. It does sound like Flight's correspondent found the set-piece quite exciting:

Then we learn that the first raid is turning to reopen the attack, and soon the Harts are approaching in echelon, to fall away one after the other in a steep bombing dive.

A bit oddly, though, the set-piece ends with Southland resigning 'itself to waiting for "another raid at 10 p.m."', even though the power station is already ruined. I'm not sure what this was meant to convey to the audience. That the times of air raids can be predicted? That targets will be bombed over and over again until the rubble is turned into dust? That they should stick around for an encore show that evening?

The eighteenth RAF Display was held on Saturday, 26 June 1937. Again, some of the earlier events had scripted scenarios (strafing some river pirates, for example) but the main attraction was again the 'old favourite -- the Set Piece. This year it was more theatrical than usual, and well staged'.

The erection represented Port Hendon, complete with lighthouse and a ship in dock. The broadcast came from the control room of the Fighter Command, and one heard the reports coming in of a Blueland raid flying inland very fast and evidently making for Port Hendon. The A.O.C. ordered up No. 3 (Fighter) Squadron to meet it, and we saw the Gladiators (Mercury engines) leap into the sky and make off for their patrol line. Then came in reports of a second raid, and yet a third. After waiting a moment to make sure of its direction, the A.O.C. sent up No. 601 (County of London) (Fighter) Squadron to deal with it, and off went the Auxiliaries in their Demons (Kestrels).

The first wave of bombers were Bristol Blenheims, which easily dodged the Gladiators, though 'Archie' got one ('Bravo the Territorial Army!') Hawker Hinds were intercepted by the Demons, but the port took some damage (as seen in the Pathe Gazette newsreel above).

Meantime some Vildebeests of No. 42 (Torpedo Bomber) Squadron, very proud of their new sleeve-valve Perseus engines, came in low and torpedoed the lock gates, to the discomfiture of the ship inside.

The coup de grâce was delivered by five Vickers Wellesleys ('very shapely'!) and five Armstrong-Whitworth Whitleys ('impressive').

When they had finished, Port Hendon was a sorry mess, but everyone was tremendously cheered to hear that our own bombers had just demolished the chief aero engine factory of Blueland. "That," remarked the A.O.C., "will keep them quiet for a while." The reflection did not seem to console the O.C. Port Hendon, but it did rub it in that after all British bombers are our defenders.

Yes, take that the Fighter Command and also pacifists!

The eighteenth RAF Display was also the last. In January 1938 the Air Council announced that it would no longer be held. The reason given was that the faster aeroplanes now in service meant that it was now too hard for Hendon to be the 'culminating point for the training of squadrons stationed in this country':

A large part of the attraction of the display has been the presentation of intricate evolutions in a comparatively confined space within clear view of all the spectators. The advent of new aircraft of greatly increased power and speed has led to the development of new technique [sic] in training and tactics. If, therefore, the display was to maintain a real connection with the Service training of the Air Force, its character would have to be radically altered. The aircraft taking part would need to manœuvre over a much wider area, and its attractiveness would thus be greatly diminished. For these and other reasons, Hendon is obviously unsuitable.

These 'other reasons' may have included the need to focus more squarely on preparing for war; and perhaps also a feeling that, after Guernica and the other air raids on civilian targets in Spain, mock bombing wasn't suitable entertainment for the masses.

I'll probably write another, more reflective post on the Hendon set-pieces. But not today!

The week before the 1932 RAF Display, Flight's editor commented on the rationale behind the theme chosen for the finale:

Sometimes the story composed for the set piece has been framed with some object, such as to obviate the criticisms of pacifists. Thus at one Display the enemy were called Pirates, so that nobody could object to their flaming end. This year we are to have a battle piece, pure and simple, which is the best thing of all. The R.A.F. exists to defend us, so we may as well get some idea (so far as sham fighting can give it) of what our aircraft would do to those who may attack us.

But on the day (Saturday, 25 June 1932), the set piece seemed to disappoint Flight's correspondent. The set-up (above) was described as follows:

The scene this year represented a main aerodrome of the Enemy, situated alongside a disused fort in which large quantities of bombs were stored [...] The Enemy squadrons having been somewhat worrying, it was decided to carry out a heavy air attack to destroy this base.

A squadron of 'our Single-Seater Fighters' strafes the aerodrome, drawing off 'the Enemy Fighter Squadron' in pursuit. Reconnaissance aircraft (Hawker Audaxes) report the scene to be clear, and so the bombers (Hawker Horsleys and Fairey IIIFs) are sent in.

After shooting up the enemy kite balloon,

out Bombers came on the scene, accompanied by bursting shells from the anti-aircraft guns. The Bombers made several journals across the Enemy 'drome, dropping a salvo each time, and now and again one of our machines would fall out of the formation "in flames."

Why the disappointment? For one thing, the spectacle was not spectacular enough:

For all this, however, the amount of destruction appeared to be comparatively small -- the hangars, it was true, were burnt out, but the flags remained fluttering in the breeze, and that store of bombs remained as silent dawn breaking [sic].

But the lack-lustre scenario also was deemed to blame:

Although the "plot" laid for the Set Piece this year was very much more war-like than the semi-peaceful ones of the last few Displays, somehow or other we were not particularly thrilled by this event. Personally we were much more excited when our aircraft swooped down upon hordes of many-coloured "Wot Knotts," scattering them in all directions, and then blowing everything up with terrific bangs.

Clearly the writer hailed from the G. A. Henty school of airpower.

The next Display, held on Saturday, 24 June 1933, was even more disappointing, though this time that was due to the continuous rain and poor visibility. The show still went on, though I think the set piece itself was cancelled. Flight's online archives appear to be missing the first half of 1933, but The Times's aeronautical correspondent, E. Colston Shepherd, wrote a preview of the set piece, so at least we know what was intended. It sounds similar to 1932's scenario, except the aerodrome is now a submarine base:

Redland is the villain of this piece. She has ignored her covenants and opened war on Blueland. To Blueland sea communications are vital. Her food must come in by sea, and the lives of her people depend on the merchant fleet. This fleet is threatened with extinction by the submarines of Redland. On the principle that submarines, like aircraft, are best dealt with before they set out on their offensive voyages, Blueland organizes an air attack on the submarine base.

Despite the base's defences (fighters, anti-aircraft, observation balloon) it is caught by surprise when three Blueland bomber squadron arrive at high altitude; the Redland fighters go up to intercept but miss them in the cloud. (Shepherd noted that the set-piece 'admits the argument that no place can be made secure with absolute certainty against bombing raids'.) Blueland fighters shoot up the aerodrome (and the balloon, of course) from low level and the bombers start to do their work.

There is a stiff fight eventually over the submarine base, and there are casualties on both sides, but the defending aircraft are outnumbered and the object of the raid is fully achieved.

This was the first RAF Display after Hitler became Chancellor of Germany; but although Shepherd's analysis certainly harks back to the German U-boat offensive against Britain in the First World War, there's no evidence that I can see that he interpreted this set piece in light of a renewed threat from Germany. Rather he talks about the number of submarines currently in commission (110 for France, 80 for Japan, 75 for Italy and 69 for the United States), making the point that whoever the next war is fought against, Blueland will need the 'controversial bomber' to meet Redland's 'submarine threat'.

Unlike the fourteenth, the fifteenth RAF Display (held on Saturday, 30 June 1934) was blessed with brilliant sunshine and half a million people turned up to watch it. But despite this success Flight seems to have gotten a bit weary of it all by now, devoting fewer pages to its Hendon review than usual -- well, it's not quite as good as it was in the 1920s, you know. The set piece this time was an attack on a weapons manufacturing and storage facility (the Pathe Gazette newsreel above has some good footage):

Unknown to Geneva [...] an imposing building on the far side of the aerodrome was a busy hive of industry -- producing and storing high explosives. It was, in fact, a magazine (not the good kind you read, like FLIGHT, but that in which gunpowder, shells, and stalacite and such like high explosives are kept).

The bit about Geneva (i.e. the League of Nations) being unaware of the weapons being made and stored in the magazine seems to me to be a clear reference to the secret German rearmament which was widely assumed to be taking place. Whether that was intended by the Display's planners or is just the interpretation of Flight's writer isn't so clear, though. Probably the latter.

The magazine goes into high alert -- the above Bristol Bulldogs taking off in defence -- as enemy bombers arrive: light bombers (Fairey Gordons, Westland Wallaces) 'dived on to their objective, a salvo of bombs causing some damage' and heavy ones (Handley Page Heyfords) inflicting 'slightly severer punishment'. After casualties on both sides,

Again the bombers came over, this time causing considerable damage, the heavy bombers finally blowing up the complete volume of the magazine.

Oh, and they blew up a balloon too, this time described as part of a 'balloon apron' rather than an observation balloon. It's a wonder Britain had any left by the time the real war started!

I may or may not have been right in guessing that the Soviet Union was the pretend enemy in the 1928 RAF Display set-piece, but as we shall see I think I'm on safer ground with the next year's edition (for some reason held slightly later in the summer than usual, on Saturday, 13 July 1929). The tenth 'Grand Finale or Set Piece' had an unusually elaborate geopolitical backdrop and an unusually elaborate set. The scene was 'Hendon Sea Port' AKA 'Hendon-by-the-Sea', which

represented a foreign defended port overseas, and consisted of a harbour with a quay terminating at a fort at the seaward extremity and various buildings at the landward end. Alongside the mole with waves rippling against its sides (these waves, by the way, were the silk of old parachutes, pegged to the ground and fluttering in the wind), was an imposing troopship, with smoke already issuing from its black and orange funnels; troops were embarking and stores were being transferred from lorries.

Outside the harbour various vessels, complete with waves, cruised about, while other craft, including an ammunition lighter, were anchored inside. This was the "peaceful" but active scene we looked upon at the start, and one could hardly believe it was not real.

It's clear that the RAF put a lot of effort into these sets which were destined to be blown up (see the British Pathé newsreel above), even allowing for the fact that they were built from scrap metal and old parachutes.

This attention to detail was matched by the plot:

The British Government was in diplomatic correspondence with this foreign power in relation to the disputed boundary of a British overseas possession, and had referred the question to the League of Nations. Without waiting for the report of the League of Nations, the foreign Power committed a definite act of aggression against this country, and intelligence reached the British Government that following up this act, the foreign Power was despatching an expedition from the port against British territory.

As a result, the Government despatched a force of heavy bombers, together with an aircraft carrier, to British territory within range of the port to resist the despatch of the expedition.

That's a lot for the watching public to soak in, and it's quite possible that they didn't and instead merely enjoyed the spectacle. This included: an Atlas army co-operation aeroplane reconnoitring the port and radioing back target information (and providing loudspeaker commentary for the crowd); the obligatory launching of an enemy observation balloon; and the equally obligatory shooting down of said balloon, on this occasion by carrier-borne Fairey Flycatchers which then proceeded to strafe the port.

A squadron of enemy fighters ("Siskinskys") next arrived, and matters began to get exciting, for in the distance we saw a squadron of British bombers [Hyderabads] approaching in formation. Before they got over the harbour the enemy fighters attacked, resulting in losses on both sides -- but the bombers got in a few "pills" with good effect.

So 'Siskinsky' = faux Russian for Armstrong-Whitworth Siskin, which seems to identify the enemy here pretty clearly. After a bit (or a lot) more of this, the RAF gained air superiority, following which a squadron of Fairey IIIFs 'neatly tidied up the port, including transport, mole, and buildings, and then gracefully retired'. Finally, an enemy 'ship' entered the harbour then retreated, laying a smoke screen for cover and drawing a curtain over proceedings. All in all, this set piece involved elements of seven squadrons (plus the School of Balloon Training) and must have been the biggest to date.

For some reason the set-piece for the eleventh RAF Display, held on Saturday, 28 June 1930, substituted the gritty realism and excitement of failed arbitration by the League of Nations with pirates! Yes, pirates! Flight described the plot as 'almost Edgar Wallacey -- but not quite':

These pirates, the crew of a vessel carrying munitions and aircraft, had seized the ship and taken refuge in a sparsely populated part of British Colonial territory. Having installed themselves in a planter's house (and murdered the planter and his staff!) they proceeded to erect the stolen aircraft with the intention of conveying (and ultimately disposing of) the booty to various destinations.

The RAF is sent in to put a stop to this with a mixed force of fighters, bombers (the Horsleys are seen above), and troop carriers.

As one of the pirate aircraft (impersonated by "Hyderabads" from Nos. 10 and 99 Bomber Squadrons) took off, the British fighters appeared on the scene and attacked the pirate aircraft in the air and on the ground. As a result some of the pirates forthwith surrendered, rushing out into the open and waving white flags.

Bombers 'effectively destroyed' the remaining buildings, after which 'the troop carriers (Victorias, above) arrived and deplaned a small force of irregular regulars, who made prisoners of the surviving pirates and recovered the booty'. I'm not sure that the possibility of air piracy was really something the Air Staff had ever given much thought to; but really this is pretty much one of the earlier air control set-pieces with a fantastic scenario slapped over the top.

The next RAF Display was held at Hendon on Saturday, 27 June 1931. Flight seems to damn the set piece with faint praise, calling it 'a straightforward story well told'.

War had broken out, and a long-range gun -- Big Bertha's little sister -- was cleverly hidden amongst deserted farm buildings alongside a small wood, together with shelters, ready-use ammunition dumps, decauville [sic] railway, etc. This gun has been shelling an important military base, which it threatened to make untenable. Its position, however, was discovered, and a bombing attack was prepared to destroy it.

The story is straightforward. The defences consist of two fighter squadrons (both with Siskins) and an anti-aircraft battery. Interestingly, the attacking bombers (Hyderabads -- above -- and Harts) have no fighter escorts, but despite some losses still manage 'to unload their missiles and complete the destruction of Big Bertha's little sister, the ammunition dump, the farm and Uncle Tom Cobly and all'. The clearly European setting is also intriguing; perhaps increasing instability in Germany made another nearby war seem more likely. Or maybe it was just Europe's turn for a Hendon set-piece again.

The seventh RAF Display was held on Saturday, 3 July 1926. By now it was, as Flight noted, 'amongst the foremost of the functions of the London social season'. Their Majesties the King and Queen were in attendance, along with representatives of three other royal houses (including the King, Queen, Infante and Infanta of Spain, possibly drawn by the appearance of the Cierva autogyro), 'Several Indian Princes', nearly one in three of the combined Houses of Parliament, and about 150,000 less exalted guests. (The graphic above shows the growth of 'Miss Popularity Hendon' since the beginning.) The main feature of the day was massed formation flying: at one point, six fighter squadrons comprising fifty-four aircraft in total were in the air. The set-piece seems to have suffered by comparison. Flight's description seems rather muted when compared to previous years:

After this came the Set Piece -- during which the Royal Party made a tour of inspection of the machine park. The "Story" this year was the combined attack on a hostile aerodrome by fighters and day bombers. It commenced with a low bombing attack with light bombs by the fighters, which followed up with a machine-gun attack to silence the ground defences. Next came along, higher up, the day bombers, with the fighters above them in attendance. The bombers then very effectively finished off the aerodrome and previously-damaged aircraft.

That's all; you'd need to read the photo captions to even find out that the aircraft involved were Gloster Gamecocks and Fairey Fawns. This year's Pathé newsreel also did not feature the set-piece very prominently, though that may be because the surviving copy looks like unedited footage (the action starts around ten minutes in):

Perhaps the 'Story' was lacking? A straightforward attack on an enemy aerodrome lacks the drama of, say, the rescue of a beleaguered garrison. And the apparent lack of a named enemy probably didn't help either: the previous time the set piece featured an aerodrome it was clearly a German one, but this is now the Locarno era and it wouldn't do to pick on Germany. Then again, the RAF organisers may have wanted to downplay the set-piece this year for some reason; unusually they scheduled another event afterwards (a competition between flight instructors representing RAF flying schools) which was itself followed by the arrival of the first night bombers to finish a 500-mile cross-country air race which had begun earlier in the day. If the set-piece was intended to be the climax to the Display it was poorly placed in the programme.

Maybe I wasn't the only one to think so, because in 1927 the set piece was back to its usual form. In a pre-show commentary, F. A. de V. Robertson noted that 'advance stories of [the set-piece] have aroused the indignation of various bodies who decline to believe that non-Europeans could ever display unkindness towards missionaries', but predicted that the crowd will 'none the less enjoy the banging of the guns and bombs, and the glorious flare-up of the village of the disappointed gourmets'. Robertson may have got his story wrong, or perhaps the RAF bowed to its critics, for on the day (Saturday, 2 July) the set-piece seems to have been slightly different: the scene is 'the Eastern village of Hunyadi Janos, in Irquestine' but there are 'European settlers' in it alongside the indigenous inhabitants. Irquestine sounds like Iraq plus Palestine, both areas under British control, but the name of the village suggests Eastern Europe. Perhaps something can be read into the fact that that Hunyadi was a great (European and Christian) commander who held off the (Islamic) armies of the Turks.

Anyway, the Europeans in Hunyadi Janos come under attack for some reason:

as the white women and children (quite healthy youngsters, the latter) escaped into the open, No. 12 Squadron (Fox bombers) flew over from Andover and commenced a repeated series of attacks on the village and natives.

As 'the Europeans, hard pressed by the pretty-coloured natives, were starving', provisions are dropped to them from DH.9as via parachute.

While the Foxes continued to bomb the village -- by now well alight, even to the "mud" fort -- three "Queen Victorias" (as per loud speaker) arrived on the scene, deplaned reinforcements with machine guns, emplaned the women and children, and flew off with them to a place of safety. The sounding of the "Cease Fire" by R.A.F. trumpeters, and the departure of Their Majesties marked the end of a perfect day.

British Pathé this time featured the set-piece prominently in their Hendon newsreel:

So it was both an exciting drama and served as the end of the day's entertainment. Interestingly, it did have a competitor in the form of a mock 'air battle or daylight attack on London', which Flight described as 'splendidly "staged," and immensely thrilling'. The bombers (DH9as and Hyderabads) did not get through the Grebe fighter defences. Advance publicity for Hendon (in the form of a newsreel -- check out the special effect searchlights!) promised that 'The supreme thrill will be an "Aerial Battle in the defence of London"' and showed aircraft flying at night, so perhaps this is further evidence of a late change to the programme.

I don't think the above was official advertising for the ninth RAF Display: it doesn't have the date, Saturday, 30 June 1928, on it, which would be pretty poor event planning. It's on the cover of Flight's own souvenir programme which formed part of the issue published just before the Display. They clearly went to a lot of trouble over this (there are large photographs of all the aircraft involved, one to a page, so that spectators can identify what they are looking at), and it was doubtless their highest-selling issue of the year. Hendon by now was the biggest event in the airminded calendar, even if crowds seem to have plateaued at 150,000.

The bombing attack on London was repeated this year, though Flight doesn't describe it as such in its account. Perhaps that's because, as Robertson noted before the event, that the air defence exercises held around and over London the previous summer had shown the public that their defenders were all too easy to evade.

In any case, the actual set-piece received star billing, even if it didn't quite live up to its advance publicity. This was, as seen above, a mock attack on an oil refinery. So this immediately tells us we're back in the realm of total war, rather than air control. The role of Fleet Air Arm aircraft seems to have been bigger than in the previous naval-themed set-pieces, suggesting that co-operation has trumped substitution, for now. (Although the FAA was still part of the RAF.)

An oil refinery containing the enemy's supply of fuel was the objective of a British aircraft carrier, which despatched ships' fighters (Fairey "Flycatchers") to attack the adjoining anti-aircraft defences so as to disorganise them whilst the bombing machines arrived. An enemy observation balloon sighted them and gave warning, but it was attacked and shot down in flames, the observer, "Miss November," descending by parachute.

Sadly it seems that the burning balloon set the refinery on fire before the bombers could do it,

but the tanks themselves still required annihilating, and when the Fairey III.F reconnaissance machines arrived from the aircraft carrier they were partly blown up. D.H.9a's from a shore base then appeared, dropped their loads, and the whole destruction was thoroughly and neatly completed.

While in some ways this is a reversion to the aerodrome set-piece of 1926, at least there is a bit more of a narrative, and some human interest in the form of 'Miss November'. Although I must say I don't understand this reference. Why a female observer in the balloon? Why is she called 'Miss November'? Maybe it is meant to be a hint that the enemy in the set piece is the Soviet Union: I'm thinking of the Women's Battalions formed in Russia in 1917, though they were not Bolshevik units, and that the October Revolution took place in November in the Gregorian calendar. But maybe I'm reading too much into too little; it's probably just some obscure pop-cultural reference which would be obvious to all then and nobody now.

The fourth RAF Pageant took place on Saturday, 30 June 1923. The 'turn of the afternoon', as in the previous year, was 'another little Eastern drama, based on actual happenings during the War'. Once more the Wottnotts were the enemy, and once more the co-operation of air and ground forces was the theme. The main difference with 1922 was that this time the RAF was coming to the aid of a besieged garrison:

On the centre of the "stage" one saw an impressive railway bridge and sundry buildings. The small military garrison protecting this post was suddenly attacked by our old friends (or enemies?), the Wottnott Arabs. The garrison, being outnumbered, W.T.'d for help, which, before you could say "Jack Robinson," appeared in the form of three Vickers troop carriers, escorted by five Sopwith "Snipes."

But something had to be be blown up, and so the troop carriers are used ferry troops who destroy a bridge and thereby save the day.

The troop carriers landed beside the bridge, small parties of machine gunners emerging from their interiors and rushing to the assistance of the garrison. In the meanwhile the "Snipes" hold back the Wottnott Arabs with machine-gun fire, whilst the garrison emplanes in the troop carriers, and a demolition party charges under the bridge for the purpose of its utter destruction. When all was ready, the guard blew his whistle, and the troop carriers sailed away for safety. Then the bridge blew up, which so annoyed the Wottnotts that, after all falling down dead, they got up and made a dash, to the accompaniment of wild yells, for the public enclosures.

What remained of the spectators after the horrible slaughter then witness the final event of the day [the usual smokescreen-laying].

There was a change of scenery in the final for the next year's Pageant, held on Saturday, 30 June 1924. Spectators were invited to make believe that the grass at Hendon represented the sea, upon which were two enormous 'ships', essentially flat stage props cunningly painted to give the illusion of three dimensions (at least from where the spectators were standing):

One was 'an English cargo ship, the "John Henry" of Newcastle, and the other a peaceful-looking, but armed enemy merchant cruiser, the "Slevic".' The scenario here was that the Slevic ordered the John Henry to stop and prepare to be boarded. Luckily, a RAF Supermarine Seagull appeared on the scene and radioed for help. This came in two waves. The first consisted of three Fairey Flycatcher 'ship's fighters', which strafed the Slevic and put its guns out of action.

Then the second wave arrived:

Suddenly, five Blackburn "Dart" torpedo 'planes arrived on the scene, and making for the "Slevic" launched their torpedos. The latter were observed to fall one after the other and travel a short distance towards their object before finally disappearing from view in the grass (sorry! sea!!). Then a few awful moments passed, when, suddenly, with a loud boom a column of smoke and "water" shot high up into the air at the "Slevic's" bows, exposing to view, immediately after, a huge ragged hole in her bows. Almost at the same time the other torpedoes found the mark, one right amidships. There was a terrific explosion, a mass of dense black smoke mixed with flying fragments of "Slevic" following by a column of what appeared to be a mixture of smoke and steam. Gradually this cleared away -- and the "Slevic" had completely disappeared!

Thus concluded what in Flight's opinion 'was, undoubtedly, the best scenic display the Pageant has yet given -- equal to any other we have seen'. British Pathe liked the sinking of the Slevic too, choosing it to open their newsreel coverage.

So successful was it, in fact, that the finale to the next Hendon -- held on Saturday, 27 June 1925, and now renamed the RAF Display -- was very similar. The commerce raider this time was found sheltering in a tropical river rather than sailing on the open sea, so the RAF didn't send in torpedo bombers. Instead, the Seagull and the Flycatchers reprised their 1924 roles, and then:

After a short interval a fleet of heavy bombers, consisting of three Avro "Aldershots," and nine Vickers "Virginias," arrived on the scene from a base conveniently situated close at hand, and with few Oh very direct hits put an end to the cruiser's nasty bad habits.

If there's a theme to these set pieces, it's substitution: i.e. the substitution of airpower for military power and seapower. Anything the Army and Navy can do, the RAF can do better. It can patrol the Empire's reaches more efficiently and more effectively, bringing greater force to bear more quickly than can even tanks and battlecruisers. (Indeed, another Hendon standby at this stage was the bombing and destruction of a tank.) Certainly, as Major F. A. de V. Robertson, noted, 'The public probably never stopped to inquire how nine "Virginias" and three "Aldershots" [based in Britain] arrived off the coast of Africa, or wherever it was'. But that's precisely why the Hendon spectaculars made such powerful propaganda for the RAF.

I recently said that I've been meaning to write about the spectacular and dramatic set pieces which usually marked the climax of the RAF Pageants, held at Hendon aerodrome every summer from 1920 to 1937. So here goes! The themes chosen for these set-pieces tell us something about what ideas about airpower the RAF wished the public to absorb. Flight had good coverage of the pageants, and where possible I'll reference British Pathe newsreels. As there were so many I'll have to make this a series.

First, a bit of context. In 1910, Hendon (or London) aerodrome was established on the outskirts of London by Claude Grahame-White as a place where pioneer aviators could come to build, to train and to fly. But it was also the site of hugely popular aerial derbys and flying displays for the public, who came up from London in their many thousands to watch Grahame-White and others stunting over the airfield: the so-called 'Hendon Habit'. During the war, Hendon was requisitioned by the RFC for the purposes of training, test flying and occasional air defence. Grahame-White never got it back after the war, but he did manage to convince the government to allow it to be used once more for airminded propaganda: the Aerial Derby was re-established there in 1919.

The following year, the RAF itself got into the act by staging the first Hendon Pageant. This was held on Saturday, 3 July 1920. The crowd was estimated at about 40,000. While the programme was chock-full of aerobatics and mock combats, by comparison with later years the set-piece seems underdeveloped. In fact, it's hard to find one. The 'event of the day' is described as 'the strafing of Herr Von Rupert', an old kite balloon, by 'Flight-Lieut. Hazell, D.S.O., M.C., D.F.C. (34 Huns, 16 balloons)' flying a Sopwith Snipe. But this was followed by something which sounds more elaborate (photo at the top of the post):

A formation of five Bristol Fighters, flying in line, dived to about 300 ft. towards some "trenches," firing rounds from their machine guns at the same time. When over the trenches (about!) the Bristols "let go" their bombs -- which dropped so fast we could not see them fall -- and up went the trench and away flew the Bristols. It was a very impressive display.

But even this was followed by another display of aerial warfare:

By way of a finale, we were given a sort of aerial firework display; first of all a Handley Page [O/400?] discharged three artificial-cloud producing bombs, the resulting effects of which were really beautiful and convincing. Then some 1,300 small incendiary bombs were dropped from about 1,000 ft. These burst into bright white flames on striking the ground and remained burning for some time. They, also, were very convincing! Yes, these last few events made many think pretty hard on the matter of the next aerial war.

All of these were indeed spectacular, but they don't sound dramatic in the sense of telling a story. They aren't really what I'm talking about here.

The second RAF Pageant was held on Saturday, 2 July 1921. The crowd was more than twice the size of the first pageant. After the usual aerial action (including the downing of another observation balloon, henceforth manned by Major Sandbags), the finale was the destruction of the village of 'Scrappa Plain', built from scrap metal (photo above).

It was supposed that enemy headquarters, under Gen. Blitzenscooter, were quartered in this village -- we certainly observed quite a number of persons in grey-green uniforms foregathered round the Public Libeery [sic]. Several gaily dressed fräuleins were to be seen promenading about, whilst mechanics pottered about an Albatros biplane.

As the following British Pathe newsreel shows, Bristol Fighters appeared over the village. The soldiers leapt to their defences, the civilians 'took to flight', and General Blitzenscooter took off in his Albatros.

Soon the Bristol Fighters swooped down, firing bursts from their machine-guns, scattering the remainder of the occupants of the village, and as they passed over the village "released" their bombs [...] the Bristols made a second attack on the by then merrily burning village and pretty-well wiped it out. Seen from our point of vantage the whole effect was terribly realistic.

A Handley Page next flew over, dropping smoke bombs to screen a hypothetical infantry advance, and then, to close off the pageant, laid on a regular 'Brock's Benefit', i.e. an air-dropped fireworks display.

The next RAF Pageant, somewhat dampened by rain, was held on Saturday, 24 June 1922. The finale by now seems to be established as 'the event of the day', with corresponding effort made by the RAF to make it as memorable as popular. This time it was 'an Eastern drama, depicting the attack and destruction of a desert stronghold [...] intended to illustrate the work that was done by the R.A.F. in the East'.

The "plot" of the drama was quite thrilling, and was well carried out by the "actors". A machine (Bristol Fighter) returning from a reconnaissance, had to make a forced landing near the stronghold, which opened a fierce attack on the disabled machine. [...] Fortunately an armoured car section, returning from a raid, happened to be near at hand, and rushed up to the rescue, keeping off, with heavy machine-gun fire, numbers of gaily clothed Wottnotts, who had emerged from the stronghold.

A RAF bomber squadron then appeared on the scene. One machine lands by the stricken Brisfit bringing 'a spare air-speed indicator', and they are soon in the air again. (Photo above.)

In the meanwhile the bombing squadron attacked the stronghold, under heavy fire from an enemy anti-aircraft battery, mounted on motor lorries, situated some distance away. The bombs soon began to take effect, and after a few salves the stronghold was in flames, and the garrison was observed fleeing in all directions.

This was followed by the usual smokescreen-laying Handley Page.

Of course, the need for spectacle at least partly dictated the need to be destroying something, but what was chosen for destruction is surely significant. The 1920 and 1921 finales clearly look back to the late Great War (in the latter case a somewhat humorous attack on a village housing a German military HQ). In showing the destruction of a village of aggressive Wottnotts (yes, really) in the 1922 set piece, by contrast, was much more up to date: the RAF had earlier that very year assumed overall military control of the Iraq mandate, where it was attempting to use bombers and armoured cars to bring the area under air control. Hopefully it will be interesting to see how these finales evolved over the next decade and a half.

Update: I've added the advertising poster for the 1922 pageant ('Bombing a desert stronghold'); I found it at Onslow Posters.

Der Spiegel has a lengthy article based upon a new book by historians Sönke Neitzel and Harald Welzer called Soldaten (no English version yet, unfortunately). It's based on the transcripts of secret recordings made of the conversations of German POWs captured by British and American forces in the Second World War. They would have talked about many things, but the article focuses on the war crimes which the soldiers, sailors and airmen discuss quite candidly among themselves, as perhaps they never did again in their lives. It's quite horrifying reading. But as far as the German army is concerned, the details of the war crimes committed in the East and elsewhere, while shocking, aren't all that new. It's more unusual to see evidence of the war crimes carried out by the men of the Luftwaffe. I've extracted those particular transcripts from the article.

This conversation was recorded on 6 March 1943. Budde, a pilot, talks about operations over Britain:

Budde: "I flew two spoiling attacks. In other words, we shelled buildings."

Bartels: "But not destructive attacks with a specific target, like what we did?"

Budde: "No, just spoiling attacks. We encountered some of the nicest targets, like mansions on a mountain. When you flew at them from below and fired into them, you could see the windows rattling and then the roof going up in the air. There was the time we hit Ashford. There was an event on the market square, crowds of people, speeches being given. We really sprayed them! That was fun!"

Bäumer and Greim, also pilots, perhaps also on the same date?

Bäumer: "We had a 2-centimeter gun installed on the front (of the aircraft). Then we flew down low over the streets, and when we saw cars coming from the other direction, we put on our headlights so that they would think another car was approaching them. Then we shot them with the gun. We had a lot of successes that way. It was great, and it was a lot of fun. We attacked trains and other stuff the same way."

Greim: "We once flew a low-altitude attack near Eastbourne. When we got there we saw a big castle where there was apparently a ball or something like that being held. In any case, there were lots of women in nice clothes and a band. We flew past the first time, but then we attacked and really stuck it to them. Now that, my dear friend, was a lot of fun."

Pohl, another pilot, on 30 April 1940. This time the target is Poland:

Pohl: "I had to drop bombs onto a train station in Posen (Poznan) on the second day of the war in Poland. Eight of the 16 bombs fell in the city, right in the middle of houses. I didn't like it. On the third day I didn't care, and on the fourth day I took pleasure in it. We enjoyed heading out before breakfast, chasing individual soldiers through the fields with machine guns and then leaving them there with a few bullets in their backs."

Meyer: "But it was always against soldiers?"

Pohl: "People too. We attacked convoys in the streets. I was sitting in the 'chain' (a formation of three aircraft). The plane would wiggle a little and we would bank sharply to the left, and then we'd fire away with every MG (machine gun) we had. The things you could do. Sometimes we saw horses flying around."

Meyer: "That's disgusting, with the horses…come on!"

Pohl: "I felt sorry for the horses, not at all for the people. But I felt sorry for the horses right up until the end."

These conversations remind me of British press reports during the Blitz, of German aircraft flying low and strafing towns. I was a bit sceptical of these; they seem more plausible now.

But they also remind me of accounts by German civilians of being strafed by low-lying Allied aircraft, for example during the Dresden raids of February 1945. In an appendix to his book Dresden, Frederick Taylor fairly convincingly argues that these are mistaken (possibly misinterpretations of a dogfight between USAAF and Luftwaffe fighters over the city).

But Allied fighter-bombers did range over much of Germany at a low level during the last months of the war, shooting up anything that moved. Is it likely that British and American (and Canadian and Australian and...) pilots were immune to the same psychological impulses which led their German counterparts to take pleasure in shooting civilians to pieces? Or do we believe that the corruption of moral values and strictures by the Nazi regime was responsible for the criminality of their armed forces? (And maybe it's not either/or, and maybe there's a continuum of barbarism. Or just a continuity.)

In lieu of a more substantial post, here are some flying aeroplanes. Clicking the above picture will take you to a British Pathé newsreel issued on 7 July 1938, showing 'Britain's latest air fighter', also known as the Supermarine Spitfire Mk I. Unfortunately the narration is missing, but I think this is the first production Spitfire, K9787 (at least, I can make out a -87 serial number in places), which first flew in May 1938. That looks like Jeffrey Quill in the cockpit about a third of the way through. A photo on page 18 of the 28 June issue of The Times shows a Spitfire in flight, noting that it was 'undergoing acceptance trials', and the newsreel footage was presumably part of the same Air Ministry propaganda exercise. Other newsreel companies produced similar items.

This was the British public's introduction to the Spitfire, at least on a large scale. The prototype, K5054, was on display at the 1936 RAF Pageant, but it took two years to get into production, and in those years biplanes still formed the air defence of Britain. I'm surprised that the British government didn't make more of their fast new fighters (the Hurricane debuted only a little earlier) in propaganda terms in late 1938. Of course, there weren't very many of them yet. But just the sight of them cavorting across cinema screens might have increased public confidence in Fighter Command, and weakened support for appeasement. On second thoughts, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised after all.