Orders, Decorations and Medals

Sold by Order of a Direct Descendant

‘Flight Lieutenant “Blondie” Walker was daring, glamorous and unconventional. He was in his element when at the controls of his Hurricane. He went to war when he was 23, and returned with two Distinguished Flying Crosses, having flown 169 operational sorties, been shot down three times and seen many of his flying companions killed in action. He lived on the edge as a fighter pilot and went through life in the same manner ... He loved fast cars, fast skiing and beautiful women.’

An obituary notice, refers.

The impressive Second World War Mediterranean and Adriatic operations D.F.C. and Bar group of six awarded to Flight Lieutenant A. E. “Blondie” Walker, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, who gained his first victory in a Hurricane of No. 94 Squadron over Suez in September 1942 - he later met the enemy pilot ‘who appeared to be glad that his war was over’ - just one of numerous close encounters documented in his memoir A Fighter Pilot’s Reminiscences: but it was his subsequent exploits in Hurricanes of No. 6 Squadron - a.k.a. ‘the flying tin-openers’ - that gained him wider acclaim, not least in respect of his low-level anti-shipping strikes: rocket attacks that were invariably delivered from 20 feet and not before he was 200 yards from the target

After shooting up an enemy destroyer in a harbour off Elba in June 1944, he was lucky to clear the cliffs: his ground crew had to fish out assorted leaves and twigs from his aircraft’s radiator when he returned to base.

Having moved to the Balkan front in the following month, his Hurricane was badly hit during another shipping strike and he had to ditch in the sea a mile off the Yugoslav coast: an hour or two later he was picked up from his dinghy by an American flying boat - under fire.

Two weeks later, his Hurricane was again hit as he closed an enemy vessels sheltering beneath a cliff. This time he was compelled to bale out and ended up on an uninhabited island. Five days later, having existed on a diet of barley sweets and Horlicks tablets, he was once more rescued by an American flying boat, the crewman exclaiming as he hauled him aboard “Not you again!”: it was the same crew that had come to his rescue a fortnight earlier.

Distinguished Flying Cross, G.VI.R., with Second Award Bar, the reverses of the Cross and Bar both officially dated ‘1944’, in its Royal Mint case of issue; 1939-45 Star; Africa Star, clasp, North Africa 1942-43; Italy Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45, together with his original embroidered Goldfish Club uniform badge, good very fine and better (7) £4000-5000

D.F.C. London Gazette 8 August 1944. The original recommendation states:

‘Flight Lieutenant Walker of No. 6 Squadron has during the last three months flown 32 sorties against enemy shipping and land targets. In all his attacks he has shown the greatest courage and determination.

During April this officer was engaged in attacks at close range, first against enemy shipping in the Ionian Sea, and later, operating from Corsica, did excellent work against such day shipping as could be fond off the Italian coast and in harbours, claiming hits against six surface craft, a Radar Station, rolling stock and enemy mechanical transport.

He took over command of a Flight of the Squadron on 27 May 1944, at which time the question of operating rocket Hurricanes at night against enemy shipping was under consideration. Flight Lieutenant Walker pursued this object with a fine spirit and utter disregard of the difficulties. It involved perfecting at short notice, night flying which his unit had not previously done on operations, and developing tactics that would make use of the moon path, and overcome the intense glare caused by firing rockets at night, and the attendant dangers when firing close to the surface of the water.

On the night of 1-2 June, he and another pilot carried out two separate sorties against a small convoy of light craft off the Italian coast, he personally sinking an ‘F’ Lighter and probably sinking another. On the following night he operated with three other pilots and found a convoy of approximately ten small craft which they attacked at very close range in spite of intense flak, with excellent results. Not content with that, he returned to base, rearmed, and again led the same three pilots to a second attack on the convoy, and again a third time before dawn, returned and continued the attacks until the convoy was completely destroyed, the craft being blown up, sunk, beached or on fire. The following night, after little rest, he and his pilots again found a convoy, and again pressed home their attacks in two separate sorties each, again causing extensive damage to the convoy, and damaging two E-Boats found in the vicinity.

The courage and determination displayed by this officer in effecting the maximum amount of damage to enemy shipping during the favourable moon conditions in spite of fatigue by successive night operations and the hazardous nature of their operations, was an inspiration to his flight, whom he led to similar acts of courage and endurance.

I strongly recommend Flight Lieutenant Walker for the award of the Distinguished Flying Cross.’

Bar to D.F.C. London Gazette 14 November 1944. The original recommendation states:

‘Since winning the immediate award of the D.F.C. in July, Flight Lieutenant Walker has continued to display the greatest courage and determination in R.P. attacks against enemy shipping. He led a formation of Hurricanes in an attack on a 5,000 ton enemy ship Italia which resulted in its complete destruction. In addition, he has sought out and destroyed a very large number of enemy small shipping along the Dalmatian coast and has led and pressed home his attacks with great skill and a complete disregard for his ow safety.

On many occasions his aircraft has been hit by flak and on 18 July 1944, he made a successful ditching off the enemy coast sustaining head injuries.

After a short rest period he resumed operational flying, carrying out a night sortie on 3-4 August. he sighted two enemy schooners which he attacked with R.P. Again his aircraft was hit by flak and he was forced to bale out. He remained for over 12 hours in his dinghy in a very rough sea and by sheer determination reached an uninhabited rock where he survived for nearly five days on his emergency rations before being rescued by a Catalina.

In spite of many extremely unpleasant experiences and severe strain, Flight Lieutenant Walker has maintained the highest possible standard of operational efficiency and his fortitude and endurance have been an excellent example to his Flight.’

Arnold Edgar Walker - always known as “Blondie” - was born at Warley Edge, Halifax, Yorkshire in April 1917, the son of a stonemason and builder. Educated at Heath Grammar School, he left at the age of 15 years to join his father’s business - an early start that equipped him well on his father’s death three years’ later. Although in a reserved occupation at the outbreak of war, he was ‘mad keen on flying’, and enlisted in the Royal Air Force.

Having completed his pilot training in Canada under the Commonwealth Air Training Plan, and been commissioned, he converted to the Hurricane and was ordered to the Middle East, where he joined No. 94 Squadron.

North Africa - No. 94 Squadron

Shortly after his arrival, the Squadron took delivery of four new Hurricanes donated by Lady MacRobert, whose three sons had died in the service of the R.A.F., one of them with No. 94; their names and coats of arms were painted on the noses of the aircraft, Walker being allocated “Sir Roderic”, in which aircraft he flew during the North African campaign.

On 2 September 1942, while patrolling over Suez, Walker was vectored on to a Ju. 88. In his own words:

‘I hit it with my first shots from my 20 millimetre cannon, which were armoured with one ball, one incendiary, one explosive and one armour-piercing shell in rotation. The pilot turned away, put his nose down and started to pull away from me. I kept my engine at full bore and by the time we had got to the Nile (he was trying to make the desert on our Western Front) I was level with him again. I came alongside him and pointed the aeroplane down. His rear gunner opened fire on me again, so I went underneath him and shot his starboard engine out completely. He put it down wheels up on the sand (between the two lesser pyramids) by which time all my three fuel tanks were showing red. I climbed to about 2,000 feet and asked someone where the hell I was and if they could give me a homing to the nearest aerodrome. Luckily they came up straight away and gave me a homing to an aerodrome, El Wahn, which was on the other side of the canal and so I went there. They told me to do a right hand circuit, I said I had no chance at all because I had no fuel left, so I came down, landed on the runway, downwind and half way down the runway my engine cut out because I was out of fuel. They had to send a tractor out to pull me off the runway.

I was having a beer in the mess there and the Group Captain came along to me and said, “Congratulations, Walker. I understand you've shot down a Junkers 88. Now I have a little single engine machine out there, a Magister; and if you want to, you can fly it back there and land alongside him. It’s reasonably flat where he’s put down and the army are there interrogating the pilot and the navigator who aren’t hurt.” So I took off from this aerodrome and landed alongside the Junkers 88, which was battle scarred where I'd hit it with my shells. The tail plane and wings were riddled and scarred by my 20 millimetre strikes.

I spoke to the pilot through an interpreter. He said that hey had a clapped out bloody aeroplane and that if they had given him a good and serviceable Junkers 88, I would never have caught him. This was quite true because a Junkers 88 can leave a Hurricane standing at ground level and in the dive. However, he said he’d had enough. He’d come from the Baltic and he’d done about three or four years flying, so he was quite pleased to be taken a prison of war. So we shook hands all round.’

In late October, Walker was vectored on to another ‘bandit’ which was moving towards one of our convoys. The cloud was heavy but he caught a glimpse of the aircraft on a reciprocal course and went in to attack:

‘As my eyes came level with the wings, at an angle of about 45 degrees, I saw what I thought was the white marking on the edge of the black German cross on what I could see of the fuselage. I opened fire and then broke away sharply to my right to avoid any return fire. My Number 2, who hadn’t had time to open fire, said, “Good shooting!”. I’d shot his wings off and he fell straight into the sea.’

Tragically, however, it transpired that his victim had been an American aircraft: at the subsequent Court Martial he was completely exonerated, as the American aircraft was 150 miles off course and had failed to display the mandatory identification codes.

In April 1943, owing to engine failure, Walker had to make a forced landing in the desert, where he was marooned for two days before the arrival of his mechanics to undertake the necessary repairs. A rough strip having then been made, he was able to take-off and return to base.

No. 6 Squadron - low-level, point-blank range specialist - D.F.C. and Bar

His tour nearly expired with No. 94, Walker pressed for another operational posting rather than being appointed an instructor and, in September 1943, he joined another Hurricane unit, No. 6 Squadron, in Tunisia. It was working up in readiness for active deployment in Italy and beyond.

The unit, widely known as the ‘flying tin-openers’ on account of the destruction of numerous enemy tanks, was then taking delivery of new armour piercing rockets, a weapon which Walker was to use with devastating effect against enemy tanks and shipping over the coming weeks and months:

‘In actual operations, we fired the 25 pound rockets from 150 yards, twenty feet from the ground because if they hit anything they went straight through and left the burning cordite inside the tanks. It used to melt the inside so that was quite efficient, and with shipping it had the same effect.’

He also mastered a new method of delivering night attacks, although an early effort on that front - using the heavier 60 pound rocket - nearly ended in disaster; they blew up the enemy ship and he ‘came back with a steel bolt 15 inches long welded into the radiator and holes all over the bloody place’. Thereafter he favoured the lighter 25 pounder rocket.

By the summer of 1944, Walker and his comrades were operating flat out. His flying log book for the first week of June reveals eight sorties by night and another by day, in the course of which he delivered no less than 18 anti-shipping strikes - and destroyed one F-Lighter, one E-Boat and four landing craft, in addition to severely damaging a host of other vessels, including a schooner.

It was also in June that he executed a memorable attack on an enemy destroyer off Elba, and was lucky to clear the cliffs after delivering his rockets. Here, then, the sortie from which he returned to base with assorted twigs and leaves in his Hurricane’s radiator. He was awarded the D.F.C.

Election to the Goldfish Club

The Squadron then transferred to the Balkan Air Force for operations in the Adriatic and it was in course of one such sortie, on 18 July, that he was compelled to ditch his Hurricane off the Jugoslav coast. Walker takes up the story:

‘On July 18, we attacked a motor vessel situated in Korcula about seventy miles from Vis. Intelligence had given us an aerial photograph of the target, which was most unusual. It was camouflaged and moored in a cove on the south-east corner of the island. From experience and to make sure we destroyed the target, I decided to lead the attack from sea-level. This is more accurate than a dive attack, but we were more vulnerable to flak because we had to maintain a speed of about 225 m.p.h., with no G or anti-G and no turning or banking in order to have a steady platform for rocket release. We commenced our attack on a loose line, astern formation, to give us slightly different angles of attack, and to allow us to take advantage of the cover of a hill on the left hand side of the cove. We now had a straight run in and then, as l released my rockets, I heard two thumps. Obviously I had been hit with something heavier than a .303. I broke left inland over the target and pushed the throttle to maximum to clear the hill in front of me, but there was no response from my engine. My speed and my revs were down to 1000 and my throttle was loose for some reason. l continued at 1000 revs with much ring (arsehole) twitching and very little speed and was just able to clear the top of the hill and turn towards the sea.

Fortunately the land was dropping away quickly, but I was finding it very difficult to maintain speed so I sent a “MAYDAY, MAYDAY, Coal Black 20, MAYDAY” and decided it would be a good idea to bale out. So I took off my helmet, undid my straps and was about to get out when I realised it was possible I might make the sea if I could extend my glide. l sat down again and tried to put my straps on again, but I had no chance at all and by now the sea was underneath me. Whilst I was downwind I decided to stretch my glide as far as possible and then ditch. As I had no straps on I put my feet on the dashboard and braced myself for the worst. It’s possible I might have put a wing tip in first which helps by ‘skimmering’ the aeroplane on the surface of the sea, but it was like hitting concrete.

Normally, I understand, Hurricanes go down about thirty feet before the pilot can get out of the cockpit because of the big air filters they have fitted in the Middle East. However, mine stayed on the surface and, after spinning around in the cockpit like a pea in a referee’s whistle, I stood up and walked on the wing as the aeroplane sank beneath me. Fortunately we had had plenty of training, years before in England on dinghy drill, which stood me in good stead. I detached my dinghy from the parachute and, following the correct drill, scrambled into it. I was now about half a mile from the shore. The German bastards decided to machine gun me, but the Spitfire escort took care of them and that stopped them. I paddled out to sea and kept paddling until I was very tired. The Spitfires were still circling over me and I presumed that my three Hurricanes had gone back to base. The Spits circled for some time until they were relieved by another flight when they were running out of petrol, giving me continual cover to prevent me being picked up by the enemy.

About two and a half hours after ditching, a Catalina flying boat arrived on the scene with an escort. He dropped a smoke float to see which way the wind was blowing, came in and landed on the sea not far away, keeping the engine going on the side away from me. I paddled like mad towards the Catalina, especially because now the Germans were opening fire with some sort of mortar or large calibre gun, and spouts of water and explosions were appearing around it. The waist gunner pulled me in and, as soon as my feet were out of the water, the pilot started his other engine, taxied out and took off for Italy. The gunner asked me for my Mae West as he said it was better than his and we landed at Foggia. I went to the hospital for three or four days because I had a big gash in my forehead and the back of my head was numb. I had had no helmet on when my head hit the armour-plating behind me bloody hard.’

Election to the Caterpillar Club

Just two weeks later, Walker was attacking a pair of schooners in the shadow of some cliffs when his Hurricane once again took heavy punishment. He was compelled to take to his parachute. In his own words:

‘Then I observed two 80-foot schooners proceeding north in the shadow of the cliffs. This presented a very difficult target as I would have to make my final run-in with the moon behind me, making me a very visible target. Under these circumstances I had to make a shallow dive attack and, unfortunately, before I reached rocket release distance, the target disappeared in the shadow of the cliffs. They had been firing red tracer at me, but I was under the impression that this was normal machine-gun fire. I broke off and climbed away. I then commenced my second attack from a slightly different angle and, getting to close range, I found that instead of machine-gun fire it was 20 or 30mm. shells.

There was a hell of a thud and, with my cockpit open, I could smell the cordite explosion. I looked over my left wing and saw a bloody great hole where my oil tank had been. Breaking off the attack, l pulled away full throttle and climbed as fast as possible. I had no oil pressure and soon the oil temperature went off the clock. I called my Number 2 on the radio but got no reply. As my engine was now on fire, I gave a Mayday call and decided to bale out. I had climbed towards the nearest island, hoping that it might be occupied by Tito's army.

In order to bale out, I first tried to put the aeroplane into a dive by pulling it up and hitting the stick forward so that I would pop out like a cork. However, due to the fact that my prop was seized solid, I couldn't attain enough speed to do this. The second possibility was to turn the plane upside down and drop out. I found this impossible because of the seized prop so, having already jettisoned my canopy, I unlocked the small hatch on the starboard side and got rid of that. Now I scrambled sideways on to the wing which was not easy to do with your parachute on your arse weighing a ton. Being successful in this manoeuvre and with the aeroplane proceeding at some knots towards the sea, I was surprised to find that I had been sucked up and now had one leg on each side of the fuselage and was looking at the tail plane.

What l didn't know was that my Number 2 and the station had only received my Mayday call as a weak signal and so were unable to pinpoint my position. The reason for this, I would presume, was the fact that the small radio mast and the wire to my tail plane must have been shot away. Otherwise I would have been decapitated by this wire.

I was afraid that I was going to be smashed against the tail plane, but - happy days! - l found myself in free fall. My first effort to pull my ripcord was unsuccessful as it pulled my arm above my head. My second effort, when I kept my arm against my body, was more successful and my parachute opened.

The time now must have been about midnight, but the sky was still clear and with the full moon, I could see the sea below me. When I was close to the sea and I supposed my feet were abut to touch the water, I had to prepare for the release of my parachute harness. The drill is to turn the release button on the harness and press it at the same time. I found that I couldn't turn the button and was struggling with it when I entered the water, but I hit it anyhow and it did release. So I must have turned it some time earlier and forgotten. Now it was dinghy drill again and I was sitting in the dinghy with the parachute lines tangled to it. As the parachute filled with water and slid underneath, the lines pulled down the end of the dinghy. l searched in the slot in my flying boot for the knife, which should have been there and was two days before, to cut the lines, but it was not there. With much tugging and twisting, I finally managed to clear them and the parachute fell away into the sea.

I could see the island in the distance and I thought I could perhaps paddle to it by dawn. After about two hours, I was experiencing cramps in the tops of my legs, so I baled in some more water to warm them. Luckily at that time of the year the Adriatic Sea was quite warm and so is the air temperature. Believe it or not, a huge turtle surfaced alongside me-not a friendly submarine unfortunately!’

He would spend the next four days marooned on the small island, existing on a diet of barley sweets and Horlicks tablets, and some fresh water he found in a deserted cottage. The latter discovery was a welcome one for the only alternative was from his rescue kit - ‘a rubber bag to piss in and six white tablets to purify it.’ Eventually spotted by some passing Spitfire - he had marked out an ‘S.O.S.’ on the beach using seaweed - Walker was relieved to see an American Catalina hove into view on the fifth day:

‘In the meantime I had inflated my dinghy, using its small hand pump, and paddled out to the Catalina as quickly as possible. I was hauled into it by its side gunner. After getting off my knees, having said a small prayer of thanks, I was face-to-face with the American who had pulled me out of the water two weeks earlier about two hundred miles further south. He was wearing the 'Mae West' I had given him and, after giving me a bottle of beer, he said "Say guy, I'll have to give you a strip of tickets - you are such a good customer."

The Catalina landed at a forward airfield in Italy after the escort had left us for their base. I was greeted by the new Air Officer Commander, R.A.F. Italy, whose first words were, "Did you enjoy your holiday, Walker?" My reply was unprintable and presumably he thought I was battle-weary, so I was given two weeks leave and posted to England after being in the Middle East for two and a half years.

On returning to the U.K. in October 1944, Walker, who was awarded a bar to his D.F.C., served as an instructor in the New Forest, flying Typhoons. He was released from the R.A.F. in 1946.

Post-war

Returning to Halifax, Walker re-established the family’s construction business and, in the early post-war years, built more than 2,000 council homes and 1,000 private homes. Indeed he continued to construct houses in West Yorkshire for the next half century. He was President of the Halifax Building Trades Council and a Liberal Councillor for the Warley Ward of Halifax.

Otherwise, according to his obituary in the Daily Telegraph:

‘In whatever field of endeavour, Walker was a fierce competitor. His golf swing was not pretty, but he played off a handicap of four. He first skied in Kitzbuhl in 1948, and thereafter returned almost every year until he was 80. He loved fast cars and beautiful women. He was known in the town as “Halifax”, some locals even assuming he was the Earl of Halifax.’

“Blondie” Walker, who was thrice married, also had business interests in Australia, and in later life he divided his time between Perth and his home in Halifax. He died peacefully in hospital in Perth in November 2008, ‘entertaining the nurses to the end.’

Sold with a quantity of original documentation, comprising the recipient’s original R.A.F. Flying Log Books (Form 414 types) (2), covering the periods May 1941 to November 1942, and December 1942 to February 1946; his Buckingham Palace D.F.C. forwarding letter; wartime photographs (15) and letters (2), in addition to his R.A.F. officer’s tunic, a wooden crest for No. 6 Squadron and a blazer crest for No. 94 Squadron.

Withdrawn