The Arab-Israeli War had started. I went to the South African Zionist Federation in Cape Town to meet Sammy Levin, who at the time was in charge of the organization for recruiting volunteers to serve in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). When I told him what I had come for, he said that the Federation was only interested in volunteers who had previous military experience, so when I told him that I had both infantry as well as air force experience as a pilot, all he wanted to know was how soon I would be able to leave for Israel. Two weeks later I was on my way, landing at Herzlia airfield.
Prior to my departure for Israel, the volunteers used to go by whatever means of transport was available. Some really had it rough. For example, the “Drom Afrika I,” a fishing vessel, took a few guys to Israel as crew members. The owners intended to use the vessel for starting up a fishing business in Israel. Some of the guys flew light civil aircraft – Fairchilds, Rapides and Bonanzas –across the whole length of Africa to Israel. It was amazing that they succeeded in reaching their destination.
I was very lucky. A small airline under the name of PAAC (Pan African Air Charter) which operated three Dakota passenger aircraft was established by two South African Jewish businessmen, Keyser and Cowan. Some of the aircraft had bucket seats lined lengthwise in the main fuselage. Others had the regular passenger configuration which accommodated about 19 passengers. However, the latter seating arrangement was not too popular with the Israel Air Force as it was inconvenient to have to take out the seats when the IAF “borrowed” the planes for bombing purposes. On stopovers in Israel, the crew would take a few days off for rest and recreation, and the aircraft, ostensibly being serviced, were then used as night bombers and for transporting military and civilian supplies to settlement which had been cut off by the Egyptian Army.
We took off in a PAAC Dakota from Palmietfontein, the international airport close to Johannesburg. We flew to Italy, where we spent the night in a small hotel in Rome.
Early the following morning we set course for Haifa. Everything was going very smoothly until we received a message that Haifa was bristling with United Nations personnel. We got the feeling that the U.N. had been tipped-off about our arrival, so Captain Nobby Clark altered course for the Herzlia airfield where we landed on 16th August.
At Herzlia (101 Squadron’s base) I got the most wonderful surprise I could have wished for. As I stepped off the plane, the first two guys I saw were Syd Cohen and Arnold Ruch, both of whom I knew very well. They had already been with the squadron for a few months. In fact, during World War II, Syd and I had flown in No. 4 Squadron in the SAAF, and Arnold was stationed at the same base in No. 40 Photo-Reconnaissance Squadron. Anyway, what a welcome, and I immediately felt at home. The next person I met was Ezer Weizman, and I quickly became one of the family. The pilots came from South Africa, America, England, Canada and Israel. There was also a Russian by the name of Richard Brown (the name on his passport), and last but not least, Abie Nathan, a Jew from India and a former pilot in the Royal Indian Air Force. (What a pity that the United Nations couldn’t get on as well as our squadron’s United Nations).
At that stage the air force was equipped with a small number of aircraft which included Avia S-199s (modified ME 109s), B-17s, C-46s, DC-3s and light civil aircraft.
If I remember rightly, the IAF had acquired a total of 25 Avia S-199s from Czechoslovakia which had to be disassembled and crated in Czechoslovakia, and then transported to Israel in C-54 and C-46 transport aircraft. These were Israel’s first fighter aircraft and were delivered over a period of about six months. The transport flights took off from Zatec in Czechoslovakia, about 80 to 100 kms from Prague, and landed at Tel Nof airbase in Israel.
In the initial stage of the war, the Egyptians and Syrians had air superiority and were able to attack Israel with impunity, but with the arrival of the Avia S-199s and then the Spitfires, the IAF gained the upper hand.
101 squadron’s commanding officer was an Israeli by the name of Modi Alon who had received his training in the RAF. Modi was a born leader and commanded the respect of all concerned. The squadron had about 20 experienced fighter pilots at any one time, as well as excellent ground crews and support personnel.
I had been in the squadron for about a month when I received a message to report to Air Force Headquarters in Jaffa. I was introduced to Sam Pomerance with whom I subsequently became very friendly. Sam was an American Machalnik, an outstanding pilot as well as an aeronautical engineer.
At a later stage in the war, the Israeli government bought 50 war surplus Spitfires from the Czechoslovakian government. Sam and I were assigned to get the Spitfires to Israel as soon as possible. We had already been booked on Swissair for the next day on flights to Zurich and Prague. The Israeli Embassy in Prague organized hotel accommodation for the night, and early next morning we were on our way to Uberske Hradiste in Moravia, which was about 80 kms southeast of Prague. The airfield where we would be working was at Zatec, just a short ride from the village. Needless to say, Sam and I didn’t waste any time. The Spitfires seemed to be in pretty good condition, but they needed a complete engine and airframe service. Under normal flying conditions, the Spitfires had a range of only about one-and-a-half hours, but in order to fly the planes to Israel via Yugoslavia, we had to devise a plan to keep the planes airborne for at least six hours in order to cover a distance of 1200 miles (1,900 kms) on the flight from Yugoslavia to Israel.
Sam and I discussed possible options. The first thing we had to do was to lighten the plane considerably. Out came the armor-plating, guns and cannons, camera and oxygen bottles (which restricted the pilots to a maximum flying height of 10,000 to 12,000 feet). The next thing was to remove the radio which was situated just behind the pilot’s seat, and to fill the space with a special 79-gallon petrol tank. We then managed to fit a 62.5- gallon cigar-shaped tank on the bomb racks under each wing, and a 90-gallon long-range tank under the belly. A breather pipe was fitted to each of the wing tanks, and a small booster pump would pump the fuel through to the long-range tank under the belly which was fitted with a fuel gauge. The extra tank that had replaced the radio also had a fuel line leading down to the long-range tank. All these fuel modifications had increased the fuel capacity from a normal 85 gallons to 379 gallons (606 liters).
Sam was responsible for the engineering modifications. A ground crew completed servicing and prepared the aircraft for testing, and I had to test-fly each machine. Needless to say, I wasn’t satisfied unless every machine was 100 percent – not only that the planes were flying well, but also that all the extra fuel tanks were working perfectly. I must say that everyone involved in the operation, including the manager of the air base, the American flight engineer Norman Novak, Bob Dawn a master technician as well as the Czech ground staff, gave us all-out support. They were all right behind us and praised our mission.
On 22nd September, when the first six aircraft were ready for the flight known as “Operation Velvetta,” I and four South African pilots – Syd Cohen, Boris Senior, Arnold Ruch and Tuxie Blau, together with Modi Alon (an Israeli who was O.C. 101 Squadron) – were flown out to Czechoslovakia to fly the six Spitfires back to Israel. By now we had managed to get permission from Yugoslavia to land at Niksic, for which we were very happy and relieved, as this would enable us to top up with fuel for the long leg to Israel over the Mediterranean Sea.
The six pilots for the first flight were Syd Cohen, Sam Pomerance (the leader), Modi Alon, Boris Senior, Tuxie Blau and me. Although Arnold Ruch was a very experienced pilot, Boris wanted Tuxie Blau to take Spitfire No. 6, so Arnold went back to Israel in the “mother ship.” On 24th September we took off from Zatec in Czechoslovakia for Niksic in Yugoslavia. The weather was bad. We flew over Hungary and eventually Niksic airfield came into view. Here we had our first disaster, as Tuxie forgot to lower his undercart for landing. He sustained only slight injuries, but the plane had to be abandoned until a later date when it was disassembled and flown back to Israel in a C-54.
We certainly had known far more sophisticated airfields than Niksic which was just an open field with no runways, a number of tents, a small river flowing through the field, and an American Airacobra fighter that had been shot down in World War II lying upside down in the stream with its wings being used as a bridge. We were forced to stay at Niksic for four days, as our Yugoslav friends of yesterday suddenly became cooler to us. Russia was getting second thoughts about helping Israel. The base, such as it was, was under the charge of the Yugoslav Red Army, whose guards were not permitted to fraternize with the men from Israel. However, all facilities were made available to us while repair work was being done on the DC4 navigator “mother ship.” In the meantime we removed the Yugoslav markings that had been painted on the planes with water paint, replacing them with the Magen David. During this short period in Yugoslavia, if our guys didn’t feel the chill of being virtually under open arrest, it was due mainly to the irrepressible humor of Syd Cohen and Arnold Ruch.
During the four-day waiting period we discussed which were the longest hops ever undertaken by Spitfires. We also had time to rehearse a very thorough briefing for the flight to Israel. After departure on 27th September from Niksic in Yugoslavia on the 1,200 miles (1,900 kilometers) leg to Israel, the route would be over Albania, with a change of course after passing Turkey, and just to the right of Rhodes Island. At the time there was a civil war going on in Greece and that country had to be avoided. Another C-46 carried dinghies and other rescue equipment and Israeli naval patrols were supposed to be cruising in the Mediterranean waters, but we never saw them. The DC-4 “mother ship” led the formation, with the Spitfires maintaining visual contact. Not having radios, the only way we could maintain a semblance of contact was by using (yes, don’t laugh) walkie-talkies. They certainly left a lot to be desired, but they did serve a purpose. Cyril Steinberg, our navigator on the DC-4, did a wonderful job of keeping us filled-in on our position.
When we were flying between the islands of Rhodes and Cyprus, Modi Alon called Cyril to say his long-range tanks were empty and he had gone onto the main tank. It didn’t take Cyril long to work out his position, and to realize that Modi could not make Israel with the fuel he had left. So Modi was instructed to turn back and land on Rhodes. “Shalom,” came over the air from the departing Modi. A few minutes later a similar dismaying report came from Boris Senior, and he was also instructed to land on Rhodes.
So now, from the original six starters, we were down to three. I kept trying to figure out what went wrong with the fuel system on these two planes. I had noticed that the fuel gauge on my long-range tank was not going down and so I presumed the fuel gauge was faulty. I decided just to keep flying until my engine cut, and then start up again on the main tank, switch on the wing tank booster pump, and go back to the long-range tank. Eventually, I saw the long- range tank reading had gone down quite appreciably, and so I waited until the engine cut. I tried to pump the wing tank’s fuel to the slipper tank and was amazed to see how little fuel came across. When I eventually went on to the main tank, we only had about one hour of flying-time before reaching Israel. A happy, but yet a sad thought passed through my mind. We had succeeded in our mission, but we had lost 50 percent of our planes in the operation.
And now we were over Israel. Our “mother ship” said her “goodbyes” and headed for Ekron (Tel Nof), and the three Spitfires nosed their way to Ramat David air base in the north. We had made the trip in just over six hours. Sam landed first, followed by Syd, and then I came in. Amidst great excitement, a welcoming ceremony had been prepared. Leading personalities of the new nation and its armed forces were present. When we managed to get out of our cockpits after sitting tightly strapped-in for so many hours, we could hardly stand up straight, but we still had to join in the celebration which included the usual Israeli dancing.
Syd, Sam and I then had a “postmortem” to determine what had gone wrong with the fuel system, which caused the loss of two planes. Considering the fact that all three of us came up with the same fuel gauge problem, we came to the conclusion that the trouble lay in the wing tanks. By a process of elimination we put the blame on the breather pipe. The angled-cut-away end of the pipe was facing forward and the pressure of the wind was apparently strong enough to force the fuel through to the long-range tank and thus keeping it full. When Boris and Modi didn’t believe the fuel gauges and switched on the wing booster pump, and with the long-range belly tank appearing to be full, they were simply pumping the fuel overboard. I actually landed with forty-five gallons still in my main tank. However, now we knew what we had to look out for in Operation Veletta ll. We also found that the inspection of our parachutes had to be far more thorough. The chutes had not been checked in Czechoslovakia, and the harnesses of some of them had been eaten through by rats.
During ”Operation Yoav” in mid-October, the most interesting operation in which I participated was the attack on El-Arish airfield, the most forward Egyptian air base from which air attacks were made on Israel. Flying fully bombed-up Spitfires, Syd Cohen, Rudy Augarten, and I took off from Ramat David airfield. Flying at deck level over the sea, we turned inland at El-Arish. Here we really went to town. First we bombed the runways, putting them out of commission, then we strafed the planes that were on the tarmac, and from almost ground level we continued to fire into the hangars. One thing for sure, El-Arish air base was put out of action for quite some time. Following the damage which we had inflicted, the army went in and finished the job.
Following “Operation Yoav,” Sam and I were flown back to Czechoslovakia to prepare 12 more Spitfires for a flight to Israel.
Before going any further, I must mention that right from the beginning of Velvetta I, Sam and I had a non-Jewish American mechanic by the name of Bob Dawn. Bob hailed from Little Rock, Arkansas, and was really worth his weight in gold. Not only was Bob very good company, he also happened to be an outstanding technician.
When we arrived back at Zatec we wasted no time. A few Spitfires were ready for testing, so I got on with the job of test-flying them and getting rid of “bugs.” This time round it was much easier, as we now knew what to expect. Like in Velvetta I, anything of weight including the radio had to be removed. Eventually, when all 12 planes were ready, Israel sent over ten more pilots. Arnold Ruch and I were the only South Africans in this group. The other pilots included two young Israelis, Moti Fine (Hod), and Danny Shapiro (both of whom had only recently checked out on Spitfires), and five Americans – George Lichter, Bill Pomerance, Aaron Finkel, Caesar Dangott and Bill Schroeder; and two Canadians, John McElroy and Lee Sinclair; and another Israeli, Sandy Jacobs.
To our dismay, the Yugoslavs once again refused our request to be allowed to use Niksic, which put the fate of Veletta ll in the balance. Several Israelis in the technical and engineering team believed that without Niksic the flight would be suicidal. Their concerns were not only related to the perils of distance, but also to the winter conditions with its snow and winds. Nevertheless, Sam and I were adamant that we could get through. Fortunately, the issue was settled when the Yugoslavs finally agreed to open the airfield once again.
The weather was now beginning to get bad. In fact, on 18th December when the first flight of six planes led by Sam took off, it was already snowing quite heavily and getting progressively worse. With no oxygen, it was imperative to watch our altitude very carefully. Then tragedy struck. On route to Niksic, Sam Pomerance lost the formation in cloud over Yugoslavia. We assume that he tried to climb above the weather and that he blacked out through lack of oxygen and flew into a mountain. The crash was confirmed by the Yugoslav authorities. Bill Pomerance had to make a forced landing on a beach near Zatec, and John McElroy returned to Zatec with an engine problem.
On 19th December, six Spitfires led by me took off to Yugoslavia and then on to Israel. Six more aircraft left Zatec on 20th December, four more on 23rd December, and the last batch of six planes left on 26th December.
Because of my experience, I took the worst plane in our flight of six aircraft. She behaved reasonably well in the beginning, but when we were over the sea, I had the most uncomfortable flight of my life. The violent vibrations of the whole instrument panel mystified me, and in case I had to bail out, the icy waters of the Mediterranean sent shivers down my spine, but I drew comfort from the fact that I had never heard of a Merlin engine letting anyone down, and thank heavens that mine also proved to be reliable. All the same, I was deeply thankful when my wheels hit the tarmac at Ramat David. Nine of us landed in quick succession, but one Spitfire was damaged on landing. I discovered that the cause of my uncomfortable flight was due to two dud cylinders in my engine.
I now had the sad task of breaking the news of Sam’s death to Elsie, his widow, a task made all the more difficult because of the fact that in Czechoslovakia I had been very close to the couple. Elsie was a really down-to-earth non-Jewish woman, who embellished life with a rich sense of humor. When I told her the sad news, she just stood shocked, and after recovering her composure she said, “If Sam had to go, I am glad it was this way – for a cause in which he believed so passionately.”
After a brief stay in Israel, I returned to Zatec in Czechoslovakia, where Bob Dawn had been preparing the remaining Spitfires. Once again I did all the test-flying, and when the aircraft had been fully serviced and test-flown, they were crated and shipped to Israel (Velvetta III). During my stays in Czechoslovakia a middle-aged Czech acted as my interpreter. He hated the Communist regime and pleaded with me to allow him to be “crated” with one of the planes. As much as I would have liked to have helped him, I had to refuse as he would never have survived the trip to Israel by sea.
I would like to mention that Czechoslovakia was a Communist-run country, but from the information I had received at the time, only about 10 percent of the country was behind the Communist Government, and the other 90 percent was governed by fear. Bob Dawn had married a Czech girl, and we managed to smuggle her out of the country as a nurse on a refugee train.
On my arrival back in Israel I couldn’t wait to get back to the squadron. All the time that I had been in Czechoslovakia preparing the Spitfires for the Velvetta Operations, the guys in the squadron had been having all the fun and games, but I did manage to get back in time to get involved at the tail end of the War of Independence.
In March 1949 the command of 101 Squadron was handed-over by Syd Cohen to Ezer Weizman, and I was appointed operations officer of the squadron, an honor which I had never expected.
About mid-1951 I learned that my father was ill, and so I decided to return to Cape Town. It took 22 years before I was able to visit Israel again.