by Chris James
The British 1941 de Haviland Mosquito was arguably the finest
example of a fighter bomber anywhere in WW II. It could outfly
(e.g. out-climb) even the vaunted Messerschmitt 109 fighter. The reason
for its outstanding performance was that it was mostly made from lightweight
laminated wood. To which was added twin, mightily powerful, Rolls Royce
Merlin engines - the same as those used in the Spitfire. It could carry
up to 2000 lbs. worth of bombs, i.e. 20 one hundred pounders. Not
shabby. It was so precise in its speed, flight and bombing
capability that it pioneered pin-point, low-level bombing. Among its many
successes, the removal - by bombing - of the walls of the Amiens prison in
France enabled numerous incarcerated resistance fighters to escape unharmed.
By the middle of the war, British scientists had miniaturized
ponderous radar equipment down to the level that it
could be fitted into the Mosquito and other fighter bombers. Since
Mosquitoes were used as escorts on bombing raids, then, at night, using their
radar, they could shoot down defending German fighters at will.
With spiraling losses of its precious fighters, the Germans were
very perplexed at this - for them, very unpleasant - turn of events.
Obviously, the British wanted to put them off the scent. So they
concocted a cheekily devious plan to do so. A leading pilot in the
Mosquito squadrons was Group Captain John Cunningham, made
popular through the media. As poster-boy, he was used in a
phony scheme to explain the Mosquito's night fighting successes. At the
center of the plan was the lowly carrot (sans stick).
During the war, the well-intentioned British government
accumulated food stocks to ameliorate food shortages and potential
starvation. Root vegetables, because of their longer term storability,
were prime candidates. However, what the government overlooked was that
just about everybody in the U.K. at that time was growing vegetables on every
square inch of available land, public or private. The result was that the
British government was stuck with a large over-supply of - in this
instance - carrots.
Some smarty pants, somewhere in
the bureaucracy, came up with the idea that the improved performance of the
Mosquito in night time operations over Germany could be
sold as being due to the consumption of the humble carrot by the flight
crews. The carrot: Wholly responsible for stunning
improvements in night vision. This fictitious explanation, together
with Group Captain Cunningham's fictitious passion for carrots, were
"outed" in the national press. "Cat's Eyes
Cunningham" became the main cog in the propaganda machine,
and improving night vision via carrot became an instant article
of faith among the citizenry. The resulting public clamor for carrots
created a tsunami-sized demand that was dutifully met in large part by the
government's mountainous carrot stock, serving to eliminate that problem
entirely.
Eventually, of course, the Germans discovered what was really
going on. But, by the time that they did, it was too late to do them
much good. So, the next time those orange colored shavings are
scattered in your salad, take an historical moment to remember what the
world owes this unassuming little root vegetable.
