Flying Officer Richard Bastow

I was compelled to pull out of the dive as my hatches flew apart.

Richard 'Dicky' Bastow 1941
Richard ‘Dicky’ Bastow 1941

Dicky Bastow experienced four dramatic air incidents, including the one that killed him in May 1943.

His first actual combat was with 125 Squadron on 27 June 1942:

Dicky took off from RAF Fairwood Common on the Gower Peninsula just before 8 o’clock in the morning, flying a Mark II Beaufighter. He and his RO Clifford George were accompanying Squadron Leader Hughes, sweeping the Southern Irish coast for German intruder aircraft. Some two hours later they were vectored onto a ‘bandit’ 15 miles ahead of them and were lucky enough to get a visual sighting of it a long way ahead crossing cloud. They were at 15,000 ft and the German 3,000 ft lower, and they were pursuing with the sun behind them. The gap was quickly closed – 2 miles, a mile, half a mile – and then Hughes identified the bandit as a Ju88. Hughes attacked from 300 yards, then firing from 200 yards: ‘a long burst of at least 4 seconds’. The Ju88 was hit on port engine and fuselage, and a large piece broke off from its starboard side. In the meantime, return fire whizzed over the top of Hughes’ aircraft. Hughes fired again from his cannon, now from 150 yards, and finally at 50 yards with his machine guns. No return fire was coming now, and the German aircraft began a climbing turn to port, glycol pouring out of its starboard engine and it went into a diving turn to port, spiralling as it went.

At this point, Dicky Bastow closed in, putting his Beau into a dive and making another attack on the doomed Ju88 as it spiralled down. A large piece of its tailplane (or possibly fin or rudder) fell off it. The plane made one aileron turn, before bursting into flames and hitting the sea at high speed.

Sqn Ldr Hughes claimed one Ju88 destroyed, and Dicky Bastow wrote a corroborative statement:

“As S/Ldr broke off his attack, I saw the enemy aircraft turn away under him. I then dived on the E/A and gave it a 2 second burst from 250 yards. I was compelled to pull out of my dive as my hatches flew apart. I saw E/A dive into the sea in flames”.

Richard ‘Dicky’ Bastow on the left, next to Bryan Wild, on the day they were awarded their ‘wings’, 21 Feb 1941

Further combats to follow

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Friendships in Moose Jaw


“By now we had discovered that ten of the twenty-two pilots at Prestwick had failed the course; the twelve of us left from Prestwick stuck together, but three of us became particularly firm friends—myself, Jimmy Ward and a Geordie, Tommy Hunter. We used to call him the ‘Chinese Ambassador’ because we thought he looked a bit Chinese, but he assured us he was English.

“On the night of December 15th, the three of us met a small man in Moose Jaw in a large fur coat. He stopped us as we came out of a café and in a Yorkshire accent asked us if anyone came from the land of the White Rose. I told him I was born in Sheffield. That was good enough for him! He introduced himself as Mr Baxter, a Post Office worker, and said that he and his wife would be pleased to look after us during our stay in Moose Jaw. Before the evening was out we had been invited back to his cedar-wood bungalow and been introduced to his wife, his daughter Edna, her husband, Ed, and several other relations. There was a particularly pretty girl with whom Ward, at ease with any girl, had formed a firm friendship. On the other hand, I was a bit wary of the opposite sex, mainly because over the last few years I had not had much opportunity to socialise. And Wills was positively shy when confronted by some of the attractive girls who turned up at the Baxter’s home during our regular visits to the bungalow. These kind people entertained us royally for the rest of the tour. They escorted us to local shops and cafes and generally took us under their wing. No one could possibly meet nicer people than the Baxters and Co. Many a night we spent in their house, singing songs round the piano, and alwaysfinishing up with an excellent meal. And Mrs Baxter couldmake Yorkshire pudding!”


12/02/2019 · 10:15 pm

Moose Jaw on the prairie 1940

Tommy Hunter, Bryan Wild, Jimmy Ward, Moose Jaw Dec 1940

“It was a fine, bright day but terribly cold, and we realised at once why they had issued us with beaver hats, fur-lined gloves and special boots. We had been warned that venturing out without this type of protection could lead to severe frostbite, especially at night.



Moose Jaw aerodrome 1940

Moose Jaw aerodrome 1940 (Keston Pelmore’s photo)

Moose Jaw aerodrome showing triangular formation (Keston Pelmore’s photo)

The whole camp looked bleak and functional, probably because the buildings had been erected on a tight budget. As far as the eye could see it was flat, flat, flat. It was clear why the ‘powers that be’ had chosen the prairie sites to train pilots and other aircrew. The weather was excellent for flying (heavy snowfalls had finished by December) and the flat prairie landscape was of course free of obstacles. Furthermore, there was no blackout and so night-flying was easy to organise in terms of lighting, with plenty of runway lights and no problem in using powerful floodlights. The three of us stopped near one of the runways to watch a large machine equipped with giant rollers moving slowly along pressing down the snow. We nodded our approval; we had wondered how the loose snow was treated to allow an aircraft to take off safely.”


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Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan December 1940

Moose Jaw lit up at night

No black out in Moosejaw!

Moose Jaw Main Street by day

Moose Jaw – dome of City Hall visible

“We eventually arrived at the small town of Moose Jaw at 7 o’clock at night. We had to stop and gaze at the brilliantly lit streets, a rare sight after the black-out arrangements back in UK.

Moose Jaw car on frozen river

The river even supported a motor car

“As a result of the delay on the arrival of the Harvards, we had ample opportunity to visit Moose Jaw in the evenings, approximately five miles away. It was a small town, but most interesting and so different from the English towns we knew. There was one long main street and all the others branched off at ninety degrees. There were plenty of excellent cafes which cooked anything from steak and chips to ham and eggs, and also offered marvellous desserts such as apple pie and ice cream, which came as a completely new combination to me. The shops too were stacked with goods of all kinds; no shortages here! We could get anything and everything we wanted, it seemed. After the austerity of Britain this was an eye-opener to us all. And open, free, ice rinks!   Whilst skating at night under floodlight, I fell and knocked out a front tooth and damaged another, so I spent some weeks there without smiling! When I went to see the station dentist, whose surgery was in a small room in one corner of a hanger, I was alarmed to see that his drilling equipment was simply operated by a foot pedal like one of the old Singer sewing machines. We were also amazed to find that the river here had frozen hard enough to support a motor car”

Moose Jaw – where Dad and his fellow u/t pilots had a whale of a time in 1941-42

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Canada and the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, 1940

Canada was the go-to place to get your training as an airman in the Second World War.

“In December 1939 an agreement was signed by the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand to form the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, answering to a desperate need to match the production of warplanes with trained airmen to fly them. In Britain this was not to be achieved by using the operational aerodromes under pressure at home. A similar agreement was set up with South Africa.

“Canada was the primary location. It was not too far from the theatres of war, but provided dedicated aerodromes, ideal weather conditions, wide open spaces for flying unhampered by enemy action, and readily available resources such as fuel and industrial facilities in both Canada and nearby America for production and maintenance of aircraft. For Canada, this was seen as their major contribution to the war, and it was a huge operation, involving 94 schools in over 200 sites across Canada, nearly 11,000 aircraft and over 100,000 ground organisation personnel. Many Canadian young men also joined up to the RCAF and 55% of BCATP graduates were Canadian. Overall the BCATP trained almost half of all Allied servicemen in the various air forces, constituting a significant factor in establishing the Allies’ air supremacy in the conflict.

“Bryan Wild was one of over 130,000 air crew to graduate through the system in Canada.”


‘Flying Blind: The Story of a Second World War Night Fighter Pilot’ :
by Flt Lt Bryan Wild and Elizabeth Halls

Introduction to Chapter 3: “Wings Over Moose Jaw”

Header photo shows Untrained Pilots Tommy Hunter, Bryan Wild and Jimmy Ward enjoying the cold weather at Moose Jaw, Canada, 1940, courtesy of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan.

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Tiger Moth

Prestwick, October 1940

“Just before two I put on my flying gear and parachute. While Allan was signing the Flight Record book in the hut, I walked out to the aircraft to climb into the rear cockpit and spend a few minutes looking round and getting used to the confines of the cockpit, as the Sergeant had suggested. I looked down at the floor and gently tapped it with the sole of my flying boot. God! It seemed paper-thin. Would I fall through? Would I be sick? I glanced along the wings: ribs, struts, wires, the gravity-feed petrol tank above and central on the upper wing. Up front, the nose and the large wooden propeller, leather edging round the top edge of the cockpit, small windscreen, smell of petrol and oil.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable, nervous and overheated: the fur-lined Irvin flying jacket was rather stifling, but I knew that once I was airborne the clothes would be essential. Even my hands felt clammy inside the gloves. I sighed, then looked down to the control stick between my legs. I held it gently and moved it to gauge its mobility. I noted with some satisfaction that the ailerons and the elevators moved up and down. I then tested the rudder bar: OK, too.”


And here am I in 2015 sitting in THE SAME cockpit Dad sat in all those years ago – not the very first he flew that day, but one of around 8 in which he trained in those weeks: BB814, now G-AFWI

“Then came the starting-up procedure dealing with tail-trimming, ignition switches, throttle, fuel and so on. The mechanic responded to the ‘contact’ routine and the propeller was swung. It fired after the second swing. I experienced immediately and for the first time the cool slipstream from the prop and instinctively brought the goggles down to protect my eyes. The engine was making a regular pulsating noise while it was warming up, and I liked the rhythm of it….

“The aircraft slowly surged forward as the throttle was opened. At first the stick was held back, but as the speed increased the stick was moved forward to bring the tail up. I could now see ahead beyond the front cockpit and at about 60 mph we were riding on the surface of the grass with hardly a bump. I suddenly realised that my nervousness had evaporated. I was simply thrilled at this new experience and felt on top of the world even though we were still on the ground. I looked to one side and saw the parked aircraft, buildings, petrol bowsers flashing by. And then, as if by magic, we were airborne. Speed … around the 70 mark. The climb straight ahead was gentle while airspeed was gained. At a height of 1,000 feet we levelled off and into a straight and even flight path. Speed … around 100 mph. Allan asked me if I was enjoying it, and I said I was. I was surprised to find that I wasn’t feeling squeamish in any way.”

'Dad's' Tiger Moth

BB814 (G-AFWI) – a typical log book entry covers spinning, sideslipping, precautionary landing, steep turns.

Flt Lt Bryan Wild and Elizabeth Halls, (2014) Flying Blind: The Story of a Second World War Night Fighter Pilot. United Kingdom, Fonthill Media.

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Prestwick 1940

“I opened the door and found myself in the well-lit main room where three other U/T pilots were lounging in wicker chairs. They turned out to be my close friends from Cambridge, Jimmy Ward and Bernard Wills, and a stranger, Dave Smith, a South African. I took off my wet coat and flopped into a chair, revelling in the warmth emanating from the cylindrical stove in the centre of the room. I had been in one other such Nissen flight hut before and this was much the same: curved, corrugated metal roof, metal window frames, the ubiquitous stove, desk, tables, umpteen chairs, and the whole room littered with the aircrew’s flying gear, parachutes and other accessories. I wrinkled my nose; a faint musty smell pervaded the place.

   I had hardly settled when a door opened at the rear of the room and Sgt Allan emerged in standard blue battledress. I had met him briefly on arrival the day before. Stocky, fair haired, rather fine features; about twenty-five years of age, I guessed. Allan called, ‘Wild—I’ll see you first’. He turned, retreated, and I followed. This room was small with a desk and a few chairs. As soon as we were seated, Allan smiled and said, ‘Welcome to “A” Flight.’ He paused to consult some papers. ‘Now then, let me see. You spent a month at RAF Finningley, as an Air Cadet plonk doing various chores, and then you were posted to Cambridge ITW, where you were genned up on armaments, navigation, etc., before arriving here yesterday. Before I go on, have you managed to get home?’ He glanced at the file. ‘You live at Bolton?’

   ‘No, Sergeant. Actually I’ve not been home since joining.’


Adamton House, Dad’s billet – photographed in 2015 on my visit. This part could still have been the same, and shows why he remembered it as such a great place to be!

‘Bad show. Hopefully you’ll be able to visit before too long. And your billet, Adamton House? Your first kip there last night. OK?’


   ‘Yes, great. I slept like a log. And the food was first-rate.’

   He grinned. ‘You’re lucky. Better than our mess.’”

My own experience of Adamton house was completely different from my father’s. Terrible place, terribly run. ‘Fawlty Towers’ was on everyone’s lips. I shiver now at the memory of that bare room at the top of the building with a rusty old fire escape outside my window. Hope it is looking better now.


I hope Dad’s view in October 1940 was better than mine in 2015


My room was clean but depressing, and frighteningly high up in the building!

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Young and Keen



“I was young, but very keen. The medical was thorough, and during the lung test the Corporal had to bully me to hold my breath long enough to hold up the mercury in the tube. I was tallish, rather pale, and on the thin side. To my utter delight, the man whose job it was to gauge my fitness shook hands with me and wished me luck. I was in. The date was 3 June 1940 and I was eighteen”

So began Dad’s RAF career. And before he was out of those shorts, and before he had even climbed into a plane, he had two close shaves with death:

 “On 27 July I was posted to RAF Finningley in Yorkshire where my duties were mainly on duty crew, flare path, and fire picket; for this was a bomber station with mainly Whitleys and Halifax. I was billeted with the station service police, but found them a nice bunch of chaps. I managed to learn Morse code in my spare time. I also had a narrow escape here; the first of many. I changed my mind in the last minute of accepting a flight in a 106 Squadron Hampden, which crashed near Scunthorpe. It is thought that the pilot lost control after being dazzled by searchlights on what was described as a Training Flight. All four crew were killed.

   “During August I was posted to Babbacombe recruiting depot on the south coast of Devon, prior to going to Initial Training Wing for aircrew (ITW). The place was crawling with RAF personnel, mostly young and untrained, like me. On our very first night, we were greeted with bombs, and one hit our billet directly. Fortunately, we weren’t in at the time, but it felt like a near do. This was my first experience of the ‘shrieking’ bomb, with whistlers attached to the fins, and, boy, it was frightening. Every bomb coming down appeared to have my name written on it.”

From ‘Flying Blind: The Story of a Second World War Night Fighter Pilot’ by Flt Lt Bryan Wild and Elizabeth Halls, with Joe Bamford, (2014) Fonthill Media.  ‘Flying Blind’ is available on Amazon here  or if you would like to buy direct from me and have £1.50 donated to the RAF Benevolent Fund, please go to my Facebook page: and message me

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Bryan Wild with ‘Fritz’, 46 Squadron 19

Charlie Peace had acquired a Dachshund, left behind by the retreating Germans, which he named Fritz. Fritz was good company, and I often took him with me on these swimming expeditions.” wrote Dad in 1943, pictured with Fritz, right.Fritz was a firm favourite in the Squadron, and obviously enjoyed his time in the Mess, as can clearly be seen by his wagging tail and expression in the photo.

After Charlie was killed, missing in action in March 1944, Fritz became Dad’s charge until Dad went back to Blighty in April. Dad told me later that Fritz was friendly but a ‘one-man dog’. It must have been hard for the little chap to be transferred from one owner to another. I wonder where he ended up eventually, and hope he was OK.



Bryan Wild standing at the back, next to ‘Sheriff’ Muir, and Doc MacDonald on piano. Charlie Peace with ‘Fritz’ on his knee. 46 Squadron 1943


Dad left, and Charlie (in shorts) with Fritz. Charlie also has Timbaki the cat on his shoulder – you can see the paw coming down!


Acting Sqn Ldr Owen Hooker with Fritz

Flt Lt Bryan Wild’s full memoirs are published by Fonthill Media (2014): ‘Flying Blind: The Story of a Second World War Night Fighter Pilot’

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Sqn Ldr William Kemp DSO DFC

One of Dad’s friends in North Africa was a character-and-a-half from New Zealand called Bill Kemp. Dad knew him because Bill was a Flight Commander with 227 Squadron, who were also based at Idku in Egypt alongside 46 Squadron and the two Squadrons sometimes flew together on operations. Dad flew with Bill a couple of times, most notably when Dad and Dave Crerar shot down the Heinkel over Leros, and two 46 Squadron Beaufighters were lost in action. Dad thought Owen was a great companion, a great deal of fun, and a great fighter.

Bill’s citation reads thus:

Distinguished Service Order

Acting Squadron Leader William Papillion KEMP (NZ 403550), Royal New Zealand Air Force, No 227 Squadron

During operations in North Africa this officer took part in very many sorties, involving attacks on targets ranging from El Alamein to Tunisia; his successes in that theatre include the destruction of a small supply ship and a Junkers 88. More recently, Squadron Leader Kemp has completed many sorties over the Aegean Sea and has achieved excellent results. In January, 1944, he took part in an attack on an enemy vessel escorted by 2 armed ships. During the operation, his aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft fire which rendered all the electrical equipment unserviceable. Nevertheless, Squadron Leader Kemp, who had sustained a wound in the foot from a piece of shrapnel, continued to attack until the operation was successfully completed, all 3 ships being hit and set on fire. Although in much pain and suffering from the loss of blood Squadron Leader Kemp refrained from informing his leader of his injury. Displaying great fortitude and resolution he maintained formation throughout the homeward flight. Not until base was reached was anyone aware of his hurt. Squadron Leader Kemp displayed great courage and devotion to duty setting an example of a high order.

After the war, Bill retired to Australia, where he pioneered crop spraying and advised the Government on the subject.


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