THE HERO BEHIND THE RESURRECTION OF THE ROSELAND SPITFIRE

Aug. 25

In 1999, members of the Comox Air Force Museum, on Vancouver Island, began a decade long project to construct a Supermarine Spitfire IX from the ashes of a former South African Air Force wreck. When finished, this Spitfire will fly in the markings of one that served in the Second World War with the famous and still existing 442 Squadron—based today at Comox. The Y2-K markings it will carry are a tribute to the home squadron and to the Millennium fund that got the project started. During its combat career, Y2-K was flown by many individual pilots of 442, but none came close to the 65 sorties on which it was flown by a man known to his friends simply as Rosey. This is his story.

On the afternoon of Thursday, 13 July 1944, Squadron Leader Harold James Dowding led his 442 Squadron pilots back home across the French countryside after an uneventful fighter sweep behind enemy lines. According to the Calgary Highlanders war diary for that day, the weather was fair and warm with a slight breeze reported at ground level. The loose formation of battle-worn Supermarine Spitfires rose and fell together in the warm air as they made haste for home. The pilots of 442 were always happy to be returning home alive. The heat of a summer’s afternoon beat down on the young men as they watched each other and the skies around them. They had been in continuous operations over enemy territory for more than five weeks since the massive D-Day landings. Dowding himself had been the first Allied pilot to make a two-wheels down landing in France on the 9th of June—an emergency landing. Returning to England by boat, he would soon lead his entire squadron back to Sainte-Croix-sur-Mer, France to a hastily prepared airfield inland from the beaches. It seemed like a lifetime ago for the men of 442 and all had no illusions about the months of killing and sacrifice ahead.

The Canadian boys had just climbed through a 1,000-foot-deep layer of cloud, breaking out into the heat of a summer sun at 4,000 feet on their way to 6,000. Despite the heat inside their cockpits, the steady beat of their Merlins and the closeness of their base on the Normandy coast, their eyes and hearts were alert and fearful. Though they had established a degree of dominance in the skies over eastern France over the past month, they suffered no delusions about air superiority.

Astern of Dowding, Flight Lieutenant Arnold Walter “Rosey” Roseland, 27, led the six Spitfires of Green Section, spread out behind Dowding like a wake. Rosey was a well-loved squadron pilot, more experienced than most, who had been with 442 Squadron when it was called 14 Squadron and flew P-40 Kittyhawks in an altogether different place against an altogether different enemy—the Japanese in the Aleutian Islands, below the Bering Sea. There, the cold and rain had been constant hardships and the hunting had been poor. Here, over France, the heat was oppressive, and the enemy was always near.

Roseland, like all the rest, was a highly experienced pilot with keen eyes, a bold heart and a strong desire to get the war over with and go home. As a Green Leader, he scanned the French sky above and the cloud below for enemy aircraft. Through a gap in the cloud, the sharp light of the sun glinting from a canopy far below caught Rosey’s attention. In an instant he focused on the light, making out a small swarm of German fighter aircraft below the cloud. Informing Dowding that he was going to take them on, Roseland rolled hard over and led his wingman Flying Officer Hugh McClarty (in Y2-T) and the rest of Green Section (Morse in Y2-W, Wright in Y2-V, Burns in Y2-U, and Campbell in Y2-X) down through the gap. Dowding kept his group above the cloudbank in the hopes of getting any Germans that rose up out of its cloak. They orbited above the battle, prowling and watching through broken cloud.

Pilots of newly formed 442 Squadron in 1944. Arnold Rosey Roseland is at the extreme right. Standing in the middle (with the visible striped T-Shirt) is S/L Blair Dalzell “Dal” Russel. The exact time and location of this photograph is not established, but Russel was commanding this squadron between 1 May to 15 July 1944, which gives a hint about the time frame. Photo: RCAF — Pilots of newly formed 442 Squadron in 1944. Arnold *Rosey* Roseland is at the extreme right. Standing in the middle (with the visible striped T-Shirt) is S/L Blair Dalzell “Dal” Russel. The exact time and location of this photograph is not established, but Russel was commanding this squadron between 1 May to 15 July 1944, which gives a hint about the time frame. Photo: RCAF

Below them, 12 grey camouflaged Focke Wulf 190s and Messerschmitt Bf 109s broke their formation the second they spotted Roseland screaming down from above, and made for the cover of cloud. Roseland attached himself and his wingman McClarty to the tail of one Bf 109 following it in and out of cloud trying to get off a shot. In the course of trying to stay on the tail of the German fighter, Roseland lost his wingman McClarty who remained in the fight. Roseland then lost the German in the cloud and radioed his section to rejoin him above the cloud at 7,000 feet.

However, without a wingman to watch over him, and now alone below the cloud, the German fighters turned on him like a pack of wolves. Roseland’s life was down to just a few minutes.

Below, in the fields and farms near Saint-Martin-de-Mailloc in Normandy, French farmers had watched the 12 German fighters making their way across their land. Four years of occupation by the haughty conquerors had not made them welcome, and the French watched their passage with detached hatred. The Teutonic snarl of their BMW and Daimler Benz engines had become commonplace in the skies above their farms in the past few years, but more so in the past month since the invasion. With eyes shielded against the bright haze below the cloud they followed the hated German machines from the eastern horizon as they made their way west, praying that they would continue and not bring death to their doorsteps. But there was another, more distant, sound that could just be made out over the sound of the Germans—far above through a gap in the cloud a few of the French farmers watched as a flight of Spitfires flicked over onto their backs and dove in pairs to attack the Germans. The Merlin engines of the beautiful Allied fighters howled their battle cry as their pilots pushed their throttles to the detents.

French farmers in the region of Normandy had learned the hard way that a vicious dogfight above their heads was a dangerous entertainment. They quickly warned their families and friends to get indoors. Soon the thump and rattle of cannon and machine gun mixed with the howling engines. Red tracer and dirty smoke slashed apart the sullen sky. Spitfires followed Messerschmitts who followed Spitfires. Across the wide French landscape, aircraft rolled and climbed and turned, engines pushed to the maximum, heavy cannon rounds and streams of spent machine gun bullets thudded into the fields of crops, criss-crossing in seeming random gashes, sending up small puffs of soil. From the sky, heavy brass shell casings rained down upon the fields - still smoking and hot to the touch. It was not good to be outdoors—especially when a fighter lost its battle.

As the unknown young men fought for their lives over their heads, the people of Saint-Martin-de-Mailloc, including a teenager named Pierre Behier, watched—some from the safety of houses, some still working in the fields. On the farm belonging to Behier’s future wife, the main house was crowded with 22 men, women and children seeking shelter from the firestorm in the sky. Outside, several men and boys including Behier watched in fear and awe as the battle raged. In particular, they watched as the last Spitfire was set upon by five snarling, black-crossed Messerschmitts.

Round the French landscape, the fight rolled and slashed like a deadly game of crack the whip. Like a moose in deep snow, surrounded by snapping wolves, it was only a matter of time before a deadly blow was struck. The Spitfire pilot was clearly fighting for his life. After several minutes, one German managed to cut the Spitfire with a row of cannon rounds setting it on fire. Now, in its last seconds, it descended in a long sliding fall, trailing smoke—towards Behier, the farmhouse and the 22 souls it harboured. The pilot, according to those that watched, slid the canopy back and seemed to be steering the dying Spitfire away from the farmhouse. At the last second, the pilot emerged from the cockpit and pulled the ripcord of his parachute while Behier watched in horror. The trailing chute caught in the Spitfire’s tail and the pilot followed his burning aircraft over the heads of the young French onlookers and straight into ground not ten metres from the farmhouse. The forward motion from the descent and crash catapulted the dying pilot over the wreckage in the manner of a trebuchet—a full 100 metres further, where his broken body collided with a thick fencepost snapping it in half.

The body, broken and lifeless, came to rest near a cider barn. Pierre Behier and a friend ran to the young pilot who lay warm but lifeless and still attached to his white silk parachute, his eyes staring towards a sky he would never again see. Smoke from the wreck fouled the air. Shocked family and friends streamed from the house, now that the dogfight was over. A small photograph of a beautiful woman was found in the soil of the field that lay between the house and the dead pilot—now surrounded by villagers from Saint-Martin-de-Mailloc. One person found a brass Zippo with the word “Roseland” inscribed upon it.

Within minutes German soldiers, in heavy steel helmets and weapons slung over shoulders rode up on mud-spattered motorcycles to search the body they had seen fall from the sky. They wrenched from it a wallet, ID papers and from the women who had retrieved it from the field, the photo of the beautiful woman. The young German men, who perhaps had witnessed the ferocity with which he had fought his last fight, saluted the body, mounted up and roared off down the dirt lane.

Fast Forward to the future

442 Squadron Spitfires wore the Squadron code Y2 on their sides. That day, anyone who chose to look at the burning wreck more closely would have seen that the Spitfire wore the code Y2-P for Peter. That was an aircraft that Roseland had flown several times, but it was not “Rosey’s” Spitfire. That honour had gone to Y2-K, one of the squadron birds in which he had flown an incredible 65 missions since the Squadron was renamed and stood up in January of 1944. The fate of the Y2-K Spitfire (and it is possible that there were several individual Spitfires with the K code) is not known, but sixty-five years later, volunteers of the Comox Air Force Museum came up with a bold and beautiful plan to celebrate both the coming millennium (Y2-K) and their resident Canadian Air Force squadron—442 Search and Rescue.

A month after Roseland’s death, the Squadron was still operating from temporary airfields in France. Here is Rosey’s Spit, Y2-K, having an engine changed in the field on 14 August 1944. Photo: RCAF — **A month after Roseland’s death, the Squadron was still operating from temporary airfields in France. Here is *Rosey*’s Spit, Y2-K, having an engine changed in the field on 14 August 1944.** Photo: RCAF

There is no doubt that Y2-K was Roseland’s preferred Spitfire—in this typical page from his logbook, we can see that he flew her 16 times in this two-and-half-week period alone. In all he would fly Y2-K on 65 sorties. Photo: Roseland Family Arc… — There is no doubt that Y2-K was Roseland’s preferred Spitfire—in this typical page from his logbook, we can see that he flew her 16 times in this two-and-half-week period alone. In all he would fly Y2-K on 65 sorties. Photo: Roseland Family Archive

This logbook page is the facing page of the previous one, outlining in detail the events of each operation. We can see that on 14th of June, he received a “New ‘K’ ”—possibly a replacement aircraft. Also, the two swastikas drawn in the margin on the… — This logbook page is the facing page of the previous one, outlining in detail the events of each operation. We can see that on 14th of June, he received a “New ‘K’ ”—possibly a replacement aircraft. Also, the two swastikas drawn in the margin on the 30th on his second of 3 ops that day indicate he shot down two enemy aircraft. The detail included in his logbook is far more extensive than most and shows a deep concern for others in his squadron. Photo: Roseland Family Archive

Receiving some seed funding from a Millennium fund, they were able to acquire the collected parts of a former South African Air Force Spitfire IX—literally a crate of corroded, twisted and for the most part unsalvageable former Spitfire parts, the most important being the Supermarine data plate which for all intents and purposes made this pile of parts a real Spitfire.

To describe the importance of the data plate we like to use the “My Grandfather’s Broom” metaphor. The data plate is like the name “Granddad’s broom”. Your grandfather gives the broom to your father and sometime during the years he owns it, he breaks and replaces the handle, then later you inherit the broom. After a few years you wear out the brush and replace this part. Now, while the broom has neither handle nor working end that was there when your Grandfather used it, you can still claim it as your “Granddad’s Broom”. Such is the importance of the data plate. Without it, the line of its heritage is broken and your restoration is not a Second World War fighter, but instead the much less regarded “replica” of a Second World War fighter.

The Comox team invested thousands of hours of their own time and resources to take the pile of twisted metal and bring it to life as a fully restored Spitfire fighter in the markings of Y2-K. The progress was slow, but of the highest quality possible—equal to any restoration extant—and all from volunteers with little experience. Some even took courses in the skills and technology needed to bring it to flying condition. They had an endless supply of skill, energy, time, enthusiasm, knowledge and commitment—but were in short supply of the funds needed to move forward. Nearly ten years after they began their dream the project was at full stop, with no foreseeable funds coming down the tube.

It was possible that their dream of a 442 Squadron Spitfire flying in Canadian skies would soon die and the substantial work (a nearly complete fuselage) packed and sold to the highest bidder—possibly to end up in England or the U.S. Vintage Wings of Canada has stepped forward with a plan that will guarantee their dream of a 442 Squadron Spitfire flying for Canadians to see—a living icon that will teach future generations about men like Arnold Roseland.

The Air Force, the Comox Museum and Vintage Wings have entered an agreement which states that Vintage Wings will acquire the project and the work to date for the symbolic sum of one dollar, with a guarantee that we will invest all the funds necessary to complete the project—an estimated $1.5 million dollars. In addition, Vintage Wings will manage the completion of the project in Comox, using the same cadre of volunteers (under a VW manager who will ensure the timely and forward progress). The wings and engine will be built under subcontract to professionals in England and the U.S., but the completion of the main fuselage and final assembly will continue at Comox. Following completion of the restoration, the aircraft will be flown in the Comox area for a flying season, and then displayed at several locations across Canada. It will then be based close to the pilots with Spitfire experience at the VWoC facility near Ottawa. Here it will join Y2-C (our 442 Squadron Mustang) as well as the Hampton Gray Corsair, the Willie McKnight Hurricane, the Stocky Edwards Kittyhawk, the William Harper Spitfire, the John Moffat/Terry Goddard Swordfish, the Jack Spence Lysander and the John Gillespie Magee High Flight Harvard.

A beautiful machine such as a Spitfire, imbued with the soul of a fighter, needs a powerful name, a name that evokes memory and great sacrifice. Now and forevermore, the Y2-K Spitfire will become for Vintage Wings of Canada the Roseland Spitfire, named for the brave Canadian who gave his life for One God, One King and One Heart. It will teach all Canadians his remarkable story. Roseland will be the man whose heart is the heart of this machine, whose soul lives inside its metal skin. Arnold Roseland and the men of 442 will be the story we will teach our children.

By Dave O’Malley