[Brian]

Hi Michal

This is what he wrote (he has recently died)

I am Austrian, grew up in Prague, where I attended German schools. My native language is German but I know Czech because it was a required subject in school and was needed on the street, in stores, and with the servants at home. I came to the US before the war and studied electrical engineering at MIT. When the war broke out in Europe (September 1939), I was in Pittsburgh with Westinghouse.

My family had always been opposed to the Nazis. Although we're not Jewish, the family was quite prominent - my grandfather had founded an industry in Prague that employed some 40,000 in its heyday. They financed a lot of anti-Nazi endeavors. As a result, I lost many relatives in concentration camps.

I didn't want to fight a war for Hitler, so I tried to enlist in the US Forces, but was told that as an enemy alien, I could be drafted but could not enlist. I found out that the British took people like me, so I enlisted at the British consulate in Pittsburgh.

I was sent to Canada, and attached to the RCAF for basic training: Saluting, marching, etc. I took my flight training at RAF stations in Alberta on DeHavilland Tiger Moth, “Cornell” (PT-19), Stearman, “Harvard” (AT-6), and Miles Masters. I started flying in England in August 1940, during the battle of Britain. I first was with the “International Squadron” for a couple of weeks. It took the overflow from the national squadrons, and had pilots from Norway, Poland, Czechoslovakia, the Netherlands, France, Belgium, India, etc. The language in the mess was German because some of those pilots did not know English, but they all knew German.Then I joined 312 (Czechoslovak) Squadron.

I flew Hurricanes during the Battle of Britain, in Greece, Crete, and North Africa. When we returned to England in late 1941, we were issued Spitfire IIs, later Vs and IXs. The latter was a high altitude fighter; it had a four-bladed prop, and elongated nose and wings.

(This gun-camera photo depicts a Focke-Wulf 190 as it was being shot down by the author. Although he's quite modest about it, he admits to at least two kills).

Some of my experiences included ditching in the English Channel in February 1944, after my Spit was shot up by ground fire. I spent over 30 hours in a rubber dinghy, was located by a Wellington (medium bomber) of Coastal Patrol, and picked up by an RAF Air-Sea rescue launch. They put me in a deck chair, wrapped me in blankets, and fed me so much rum on an empty stomach that they had to carry me off the boat in Harwich. After a night in hospital for observation, I was sent back to the squadron.

After I finished one tour of operations, I was sent to Canada for a year, specifically to 34 S.F.T.S. (Service Flying Training School) in Medicine Hat, Alberta, as an instructor on Harvards (AT6s). I had trained there myself, so I had some local friends in town. The Rockies were only some 100 miles away to the NW, and we liked to fly in them. I don’t remember the service ceiling of the Harvard but it was considerably lower than the Rockies, so we had to fly through the passes.

When I was posted back to England after my stint at “The Hat,” I stopped over in Pittsburgh to marry Jacquè, my present wife of 55 years, whom I had met there when I worked with Westinghouse. This was on 5 September 1944.

A few months later, I was shot up again. I was at 30,000 ft. A hole had been shot into a radiator under the port wing, which I couldn’t see. I was losing coolant, the engine temperature kept climbing until it caught fire and seized up. Not wanting to go into the drink again, I thought that I would crash land on a beach, but it turned out to be vertical because of cliffs, so I crash-landed in a heath. The elevators were full of holes, I couldn’t get the nose up, the radiators caught on the ground, and the Spit went end-over-end, landing me in the hospital for about 3 months. I got out in time to be on sick leave in London at V-E day, 7 May 1945.

Cheers
Brian