Hilton - The Saga of a Canadian Typhoon Fighter Pilot

The Saga of a Canadian Typhoon Fighter Pilot

Jack Henry Hilton C.D.

Flight Lieutenant, RCAF (Ret.)
Medal of Friendship Belgium
Legion of Honour France

Contents

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my beloved wife, Ethel Hilton, who, for 71 years has been by my side supporting me in all of my endeavors. None of my lifes work would have been possible without this incredible woman. Marrying her was the best decision of my life.

Preface

After spending years as a Hawker Typhoon fighter pilot in both the Canadian and British Air Force during World War II, I have learned that our stories have gone untold.

My squadron and fellow pilots primarily flew the Hawker Typhoon, which has not been recognized by historians. The glamorous Hurricane and Spitfire aircraft seem to be the focus of War stories, overshadowing Typhoon pilots.

The Typhoon was, in spite of numerous technical flaws, the finest close-support aircraft of the War, able to range far and wide over Northwest Europe, providing effective ground attack. During August of 1944 near Falaise France, the Typhoons unleashed bombs, rockets and cannon fire debilitating close to 100% of the German fighting force and vehicles.

We got shot at going in, shot at going out, shot at while trying to sleep, we flew an airplane many tried to avoid having to fly, we did the best with what we had, and somewhere down the line the historians need to pay attention to this astounding history of air warfare.

The Typhoon was a very difficult plane to fly, the Germans hated us as we did so much interdiction, interfering with their transportation and ground forces and with this document the recognition for this aircraft will be given.

The pilots from the 438 th , 439 th and 440 th Squadron RCAF serving in Europe and the 193 rd Squadron in the RAF have never received the recognition that they truly deserved.

My hope is that with the telling of my personal story I can shed some light on the amazing men who didnt get the chance to share their stories.

The Early Years

I was born April 1919, in Toronto at my grandparents house on Boulton Avenue. My parents, my older brother Bill and I moved to Scarborough where my father started building our house. We lived in a train box car for two or three months, getting our water from a well next door, which required a fire started on it in the wintertime to get it going. Eventually we moved into our own house, where Bill and I shared a room and slept in single beds. We had a mattress for a front door until we got an actual door. My father worked two weeks on and two weeks off for the School Board in Toronto. He was proud as punch with our new house and I dont blame him. He had a big lot, 200 ft long and 50 ft wide and we were right at the end of it.

I went to Birchcliff public school and eventually to Scarborough Collegiate as it was called at the time, I went through grade 12 graduating in 36 or 37. I played on the school football team and, although poorly equipped, we won the championship. We played the whole 60 minutes and we had a one-armed kicker. I also played the position of catcher with the school baseball team. After high school I was recruited by Eddie Shore, manager of the Springfield Indians hockey team to play goalie. The goalie job did not work out so I went off to work in the gold mine.

While in High School I had occasion to rescue a young child who had slipped down the side of a cliff. I was about 16 when I did this, I never learned the name of the kid and the parents never thanked me. They were wringing their hands and wondering what to do, so I took a wire that was hanging off the cliff, walked down the side of the cliff, picked up the little guy, wrapped him in my jacket, walked him around to the stairs, went up the stairs and brought him home. A newspaper reporter who lived down the street from me wrote up a big article, and the principal of the school hauled me up in front of my fellow students and commended me for being a hero. I was totally embarrassed but it did pay off with the girls, they wanted to dance with me at the parties!

After grade 12 I got a job through a friend up at Red Lake Gold Mine so I went up by train to Sioux Lookout, then took a float plane to Red Lake. I was a gofer, more or less, I distributed kitchen rations, and also guarded dynamite with a 22 rifle. I roomed with a big Swede, Ivan and I mean he was big, treating me like a son. Hed go to the bar and take me along where I had orange juice and hed drink beer. On one occasion, he was so protective that when a drunk bumped into me, he just picked him up by the seat of his pants and his collar and threw him right through the door. When we flew out of the gold mine to Sioux Lookout, Ivan and his friend were so drunk they were on the floor of the airplane and I sat up front with the pilot. When we got to Sioux Lookout we had to wait for the train so they gave me their money, $6,000 each, for safekeeping while they cruised the bars. I put them on the train, put their money into each of their pockets and never saw them again.

I returned to Toronto and enlisted in September, 1939 at the age of

Family History

My mother, Eva Elizabeth Hilton (nee Hunter) was born in Buffalo, N.Y. where her brother, Bill joined the Rough Riders and rode with Teddy Roosevelt in Cuba. He contracted malaria there so he moved to Toronto while her other brother, Jack, moved to Toronto and then lived in North Bay, Ontario representing Underwood Typewriters. Jack would come to Toronto occasionally and he would take me to the early morning horse races and that was a thrill of a lifetime. I think he liked to gamble as wed watch the horses exercise at 5:00 in the morning, then hed place bets and then the real treat was him taking me to breakfast. For me that was living high off the hog!

My family were very church-oriented, no liquor in the house, we went to church in the morning on Sunday, I went to Sunday school in the afternoon, and we all attended church at night.

It was quite a culture shock when I went from this protected household to the military where I bunked with 5,000 men and saw more liquor spilled than Id ever seen in my whole life. Being a non-drinker, I was always welcomed to the party so I could take everyone home afterward.

I never heard my father swear in all the time I lived in the house. He smoked one cigar a week, that was his allowance because we were poor. He would sit out in the yard and smoke his 5 cent cigar as his reward for the whole weeks work. He made $30 a week, gave it to my mother, and how she fed two hungry teenagers I will never know. She made her own bread and I used to help stir the dough and boy was it beautiful bread.

My Grandmother on my fathers side, whom I never met, had 13 children. Grandfather Joseph Hilton came over from England with the two oldest children, both boys. My Grandfather got a job as a blacksmith. My Grandmother then joined him with their four daughters. Then they had 7 more children, with my Dad being the last child. Oddly enough, only the three boys married and had children. While their ten sisters, although marrying, in some cases several times, never had children.

My Grandmother was a very staunch Protestant and you couldnt read the funnies, shine your shoes or cook on Sundays, you just sat around like a lump. She had died before I was aware of the many things she had accomplished. She was a very stern, tough old lady and she used to get on a soap box in downtown Toronto and preach to the Protestants about how the Catholics had an orphanage and the Protestants did not; she used to take orphans into her home as well.