LUCK of the war

out to the United Kingdom in May 1940.

There were already a handful of Kiwis sprinkled throughout Britain’s Royal Air Force (RAF) but this was the first complete group of Royal New Zealand Air Force fliers sent to the UK. Horton is almost certainly the last one still alive.

Horton wound up in 88 Squadron, flying Fairey Battle light bombers out of Belfast.

Other than being stabbed by a member of the IRA in a local pub – a fact nonchalantly dropped in – it was a quiet posting for him before his squadron was sent to Norfolk in July 1941 and transitioned to Bristol Blenheim medium bombers.

This was the first time Horton came under fire, during a raid on the shipping in Rotterdam on August 28, 1941. He says duty quickly overtook emotion.

For this mission Horton received his first Distinguished Flying Cross. On ‘‘two or three’’ others he and his all-English crew – navigator Donald McRae and air gunner Arthur Howe – had to limp home with an engine knocked out by German flak.

The squadron would later convert to Douglas Boston medium bombers. Over France, he once narrowly avoided being shot down by a Focke-Wulf fighter.

Horton’s first tour was up in mid-1942, and for the next year he was an instructor at a blindapproach training school. The pilots he taught there would later fly the Avro Lancaster heavy bombers that he’d be directing onto target as a Pathfinder.

Beris had appeared on Horton’s radar by then, and the two wed in December 1943 before he returned to active duty in July 1944, flying Mosquitoes with 105 Squadron.

Ask any de Havilland DH.98 Mosquito pilot and they’ll tell you straight: it was the most beautiful plane that ever flew. An iconic aircraft of the era, the Mosquito was a remarkable all-wood fighterbomber with a top speed early 50kmh faster than a Spitfire and a range as far as some heavy bombers.

Even though his waning hearing could be the result of the aircraft’s two Rolls-Royce Merlin engines (a condition recognised by the Ministry of Veterans’ Affairs as ‘‘Merlin ear’’), Horton loved getting up in the Mossie.

‘‘It was a beautiful aircraft to fly, it really was.’’ Though he flew a small number of bombing missions, Horton, with McRae still as his navigator, became a night-time Pathfinder, tasked with dropping coloured magnesium indicators to guide the heavies.

For the last year of the war in Europe, Horton became well acquainted with the Ruhr Valley’s major cities and towns: Cologne, Dusseldorf, Duisburg, Essen, Aachen. He remembers looking down on Duisburg, following a raid: ‘‘It was just a long sheet of flames, just gone.’’

It was costing Bomber Command, too. More than 55,000 bomber aircrew were killed, an astonishing 44.4 per cent death rate.

Horton lost several close mates. Whanganui’s Tancred ‘Eric’ Cooper was shot down in a Blenheim over France on September 18, 1941. Australian Bill Blessing was killed over France three years later. Reg Prout, a schoolmate from Masterton, was a co-pilot on a Whitley bomber when it disappeared over the North Sea. He was

22, just a year older than Horton.

Horton completed 111 missions – 84 in Mosquitos. He had another reason to celebrate

V-E Day – his daughter Gail was born.

After a short stretch back in New Zealand, Horton, who was awarded the Distinguished Service Order in 1945 for his Mosquitoes service, formally transferred to the RAF and commanded a maritime patrol squadron early in the Cold War.

He retired as a Wing Commander in 1966, and moved the family to Washington DC. His stint at the Pentagon was followed by a successful career as a land developer in Northern Virginia.

‘‘The happiest time of my life, well and truly, was when I was growing up, and I didn’t know any better,’’ Horton says. ‘‘I lived with my father and mother and my aunt on a small farm.

‘‘[In the war], I was just trying to stay alive and doing what I was damn well told. I guess that is really just life, isn’t it? At least 50 per cent of life is just luck.’’

He thinks of home often, and wishes he could go back but knows it’s not realistic.

‘‘It’s funny what happens – my short-term memory is gone. I can’t remember what happened last Christmas but I can still remember chasing those blasted bullies in the creek.’’