Chapter 11
‘Time to get up Flight. You’re on this morning.
‘If there’s ever a low point in anybody’s life this was it: To be woken at 04. 00 hours knowing you were going to war!’ Allen crawled out of a warm bed into the frozen Nissen hut. Gathered up towel and soap and shivered miserably in the wintry gap between the hut and the ablutions blocks where he splashed water hurriedly over his face, no time to shave! The desperately early breakfast of bacon and egg and mug of hot sweet tea, preceded briefing, where they had dispensed with the niceties of hiding the target behind a curtain. The red tape, which slithered disconcertingly across the map like a long tail of blood, led from Norfolk to a suburb of the huge German inland river port and industrial city of Duisburg. ‘Christ’ they said sourly, slumping on to the hard wooden chairs, ‘It’s bloody Homberg again’.
Allen Clifford, navigator
Flying Officer Jack F. Hamilton went out to Lancaster Jumpin’ Jive at Waddington dressed, as usual, in heavy, bulky flying clothing, which, to his chagrin, often created a problem regarding urinating. The Canadian mid-upper gunner often had to urinate in his flying clothes during an op and as he says, ‘the piss usually ended up in my flying boots where it sometimes froze!’ Hamilton’s other operational problem was that he was six feet tall and when he had started out as a rear-gunner at OTU he found that he was too big for the gun turret and he had problems with the gun sights. By the time he began his tour in 463 Squadron RAAF on 6 June, an English gunner who was much smaller than he was had taken over the rear turret of JO-J. Rear-gunners were in the coldest part of the Lancaster and they had to wear a lot of heavy, bulky flying clothing, some of which was electrically heated. If an air gunner had the misfortune to urinate in an electrically heated part of the suit, it could short it out, freeze and cause frostbite, amputation or death. Hamilton was glad that he would not have to occupy the tail turret for almost 11 hours when Jumpin’ Jive was one of 189 Lancasters that set out that night, 29/30 August, for Königsberg as another 400 Lancs went to Stettin. It was Hamilton’s 21st op and the longest one of his tour to October 1944. It would also be one of the most successful 5 Group attacks of the war.
‘We flew across southern Sweden on the way in, which was against international law. After that our course on our starboard side was along the German Baltic coast, sometimes over water and sometimes over the land close to the shore. This is when the German night fighters first attacked. One night fighter flew right over us. I thought that he was attacking us but he overshot and shot down a Lancaster a little below on the port side over the water. Several more Lancasters were shot down from this point all the way to Königsberg. There was also a lot of flak along our route. Just short of Königsberg we were attacked by what I thought at first was a Mosquito but turned out to be a Me 210, which looked very much like a Mosquito. However he overshot us and missed. There appeared to be a lot of Mosquito Pathfinder aircraft over the target and they closely resembled twin-engined German aircraft in the dark of night. We bombed the target (we think) and headed back down the Baltic during which time we could see several Lancasters shot down but we were not attacked and I assume that we again crossed Sweden. About this time we were advised by radio to expect heavy concentrations of night fighters. They hit us over Denmark and a considerable battle ensued at a medium altitude, as we started to descend to the North Sea. Our aircraft was not hit but several Lancasters were shot down at this point and we had to take evasive action to evade the night fighters who appeared to be in great strength. We decided to reduce altitude and increase our speed to the coast but the fighters were still on our tail. We did not fire back so as not to give away our position from our tracer fire. We had some minor damage, which had to be from the fighters as there was little or no flak. Finally, in desperation, we increased speed and dropped down to ground level when about halfway across Denmark to the coast. Just as we crossed the coast at zero level, a flak battery opened up on us and we had to climb up to a few hundred feet to get out of the low flak. After we left the Danish coast we could look back and see the air battle continuing but I did not see any more Lancasters shot down. We made it back safely to our ’drome at Waddington where I received a commission as a pilot officer the day after the raid.’1
A further 23 Lancasters were lost in the raid on Stettin, one of which was a 626 Squadron aircraft flown by Flying Officer R. C. Hawkes RCAF. Fourteen miles from the Swedish coast at 13,000 feet and climbing to 18,000 feet two Ju 88s attacked them without warning. Fishpond was fitted but was not being monitored. Both fighters opened fire from dead astern with cannon tracer. One of the crew was seriously injured and the hydraulics to both turrets were severed. Only the mid-upper could be rotated manually. A large hole was torn in the starboard wing and fire erupted in both starboard engines. A fire also broke out underneath. The elevator and rudder were holed but still had enough control to corkscrew. Sergeant C. G. Ockwell, the flight engineer, feathered the starboard outer but the inner would not feather. Ten seconds later the fires broke out again and spread to No. 1 petrol tank. Flight Sergeant H. D. C. Allison RCAF, the mid-upper gunner, saw a Ju 88 on a parallel course and fired. It burst into flames and dived down through the cloud. ‘We levelled at 9,000 feet and headed for Sweden. The fire was now well spread and there was a danger to the spar and we therefore abandoned aircraft. Everyone baled out safely and the aircraft crashed about one mile from Bastad.’2
The operation to Stettin had been Hawkes’ 25th operation. Königsberg that same night was Flight Sergeant ‘Pat’ Patfield’s 32nd, and penultimate, op in 61 Squadron. He had flown 14 ops with Ron Auckland’s crew and when they had finished their tour he had got on another crew. Auckland had completed many successful sorties including 11 attacks on Berlin. ‘Königsberg,’ Patfield recalls, ‘was a very long trip indeed, almost 350 miles the other side of Berlin. We got hit quite badly over the target by anti-aircraft fire. The engines kept going but the DR compass had been toppled and the other one smashed, so we were on our own. The skipper said, “It’ll soon be daylight, we’re on our own and we’ll be a sitting duck for fighters. The only thing for us to do is hedge hop.” We came down and hedge hopped over Denmark. We saw some Germans rushing out to anti-aircraft guns as we just whizzed over. We were hopelessly off course. We just got back by map reading. When we came over the sea the engines started spluttering. “Take up ditching positions.” But we got back and when they dipped the tanks they were completely dry. That was the record duration of 12 hours 15 minutes. I don’t remember being tired. We were so keyed up we probably didn’t feel tired until afterwards.
‘I finished my ops with a raid on Brest on 5 September and then I got commissioned. It was rather a non-event, because I didn’t realize I’d done the 33 ops. Also I hadn’t been with the same crew all the time. I was just told that was “it”. No celebration, nothing. I must have felt relief. I hadn’t got to go out again. We all knew that it was around 30 trips and just kept going until we were told that was “it”. I volunteered for a second tour, but quite a lot of aircrew were coming through so, I wasn’t accepted. I’d got a good record of bombing so technically I was okay for a second tour. I stayed with 61 Squadron doing air tests, local flying and familiarization around the area with new aircrews. We’d go to Wainfleet with 9lb practice bombs and watch the new bomb-aimer bomb and watch him map reading etc.
‘As a brand new pilot officer I was given a posting in London. At this particular place they had about 10 officers. When we went into lunch in the Mess we all stood by the table and waited for the CO to come in and sit down. Then we all sat down. What shocked me was the CO was a squadron leader, a ‘wingless wonder’, whereas on the squadron we were hobnobbing with squadron leaders and wing commanders on Christian name terms. It was at the height of the V-2 rocket attacks. I had just left off one day and a V-2 burst in the sky about a mile above us. Debris was everywhere. We dived in the doorways of a building. After only about three weeks I put in a posting to get away. I couldn’t stand it coming straight off a squadron.’
During early September German positions around Le Havre were attacked on six separate days. Emden too was bombed on the 6th in the first large raid on this city since June 1942. It was also the last Bomber Command raid of the war on Emden. Only one Lancaster, that of the deputy master bomber, Flight Lieutenant Granville Wilson DSO DFC DFM of 7 Squadron, a 23 year old Northern Irishman, was lost. Wilson’s bomber received a direct hit by a flak shell and he was killed instantly, together with his navigator and bomb-aimer, Sergeants D. Jones and E. R. Brunsdon. The five other members of the crew baled out safely. The bombing was accurate and seen to be a mass of flames. Raids in daylight continued against synthetic oil plants at Castrop-Rauxel, Kamen and Gelsenkirchen (Nordstern) by heavily escorted formations of Halifaxes and Lancasters on the 11th and eight bombers including three Lancasters, two of them Pathfinders, were lost to flak. That evening, 226 Lancasters and 14 Mosquitoes set out on the devastating raid on Darmstadt, a city of 120,000 people, but no major war industries to speak of. The role of music in the evolution and collapse of the Reich was part of maintaining everyday routines regardless of disaster. Early that same evening the people of Darmstadt huddled in front of brown wooden wireless sets with their illuminated dials bearing the names of the foreign stations like Radio Roma, to listen to some songs from the sensuous Rococo world of Strauss’s magical music.3
A fierce fire area was created in the centre and in the districts immediately south and east of the centre. The Prince of Hesse stood on the outskirts of his park and looked towards Darmstadt, 15 kilometres away. ‘The light grew and grew until the whole of the southern sky was glowing, shot through with red and yellow.’ At least 12,300 inhabitants, some of them foreign workers and POWs, were reported killed and 49,200 people were made homeless. Twelve Lancasters were lost. Existence in repulsive and rotting ruins throughout the Fatherland was intolerable and many were reduced to city cave dwellers barely living on ‘unappetizing meals concocted from dirty, wrinkled vegetables and dubious scraps of meat’. Mobile cookers, traditionally called Gulasch-kanonen, provided emergency meals for bombed out air-raid victims. Yet still the German people, cold and hungry, were expected to remain stoic in the face of repeated air raids.
With the Allied armies advancing across France, the Chief of Air Staff once again gained control of Bomber Command, which resumed its area bombing campaign and also mounted a new precision bombing campaign against oil and transportation targets. It was not a happy prospect for new crews but for the old soaks who were nearing the end of the tours, September brought welcome relief, though not for all. In the afternoon of 17 September 760 aircraft, 370 of them Lancasters, dropped more than 3,000 tons of bombs on German positions around Boulogne in preparation for an attack by Allied troops. Precision bombing was necessary because the Allied lines were only 200 yards away. To ensure accuracy the Lancaster flown by Squadron Leader G. R. Gunn MiD RNZAF of 75 Squadron RNZAF at Mepal came down to 3,000 feet, at which range the flak was intense and accurate. With two engines shot out of action, Gunn was fortunate to make it back across the Channel where he crash-landed at Hawkinge. Gunn died of his injuries four days later. The German garrison meanwhile, had surrendered soon after the bombing attack.
On 24 September listeners tuning in to their wireless sets to hear the news, heard the announcer say that the previous night Lancasters of Bomber Command had carried out a successful attack on the Dortmund-Ems Canal near Ladbergen, just north of Münster. Families held their breath waiting for the usual sting in the tail. It came with the ominous words, ‘Fourteen of our aircraft are missing.’ Another seven bombers failed to return from the attack on Neuss. Most of the damage to the Dortmund-Ems Canal, whose aiming point was the twin aqueducts over the River Grane where the level of the water was higher than the surrounding land, was caused by two direct hits by 12,000lb Tallboy bombs dropped by 617 Squadron at the opening of the raid. The other Lancasters carried 14,000lbs of HE in their bomb bays and 1,500 gallons of petrol to get them to their target. One of them was K-King in 61 Squadron, which was flown by Squadron Leader Hugh W. Horsley AFC, a very experienced pilot although most of his crew were on only their fourth operation. His flight engineer was Pilot Officer Charles A. Cawthorne DFM who after flying on ‘Pluto’ Wilson’s crew in 467 Squadron in 1943 was called back in July 1944 to do a second tour of operations and had joined Flight Lieutenant Hugh Horsley’s crew at 1661 HCU, RAF Winthorpe near Newark. They first flew together as a crew in a Stirling on 20 July. On 2 September they started their Lancaster training at 5 Lancaster Finishing School, RAF Syerston. Eight days later they were posted to 61 Squadron, Horsley was promoted to squadron leader and immediately took command of one of the flights. On 17 September they flew their first operational sortie against the French port of Boulogne in Mickey the Moocher. It was the veteran aircraft’s 107th operation. Little did Cawthorne know that his second tour of operations was destined to end over Holland after just two weeks.4
K-King joined the bomber stream heading for the Dutch coast at 20,000 feet and 20 minutes later, in the Eindhoven area, Sergeant H. W. Jennings, the mid-upper gunner, spotted a twin-engined night fighter approaching for an attack. It was a Bf 110 piloted by Leutnant Otto Teschner of IV./NJG 1. Jennings shouted over the intercom, ‘Skipper, corkscrew, port. Go!’ Horsley obediently dived the Lancaster to the left and down but the night fighter was too dogged for them. On the fifth corkscrew the 110 scored hits on the centre of the fuselage and port wing, killing Jennings and the wireless operator, Flight Sergeant G. Twyneham. The bombs were jettisoned and Horsley tried to make for home with the two port engines shut down but they were losing height alarmingly fast and he had to order the crew to bale out. The navigator and bomb-aimer were soon captured and taken prisoner but Horsley, Charles Cawthorne and Sergeant Reg Hoskisson, rear-gunner, got clean away after landing and evaded capture. After many adventures all three eventually returned to Skellingthorpe to resume operations.
On 27 September Harry Watkins’ crew at Skellingthorpe completed their 30th and final ‘op’. The bomb-aimer, Flight Sergeant Edgar Ray, felt lucky to have been able to complete the tour, ‘before the winter months set in.
‘Like most of the primitive wartime stations, “Skelly” was a little short of comfort. The Nissen hut accommodation was abysmal. When it rained, water flowed in through the door at one end of the hut and out by the door at the other end. Our flight engineer, Fred Jowitt, would blame the puddles on his fictitious horse, which he kept in the hut. Needless to say, the horse received many heavy beatings for the mess. The beds were iron-framed and seemed minuscule to anyone who wasn’t a midget. We didn’t have any lockers, only one shelf and two hooks for all our belongings and washing in cold water was the norm in the ablutions. The cinema fiction of “Let’s have a party tonight boys” just didn’t exist during my period with the Squadron. An occasional night out with the crew in Lincoln, Newark or Nottingham was all we could manage. Even then we ran the risk of being awakened, half sober at 03.00 hours for a dawn take-off. If flying was scrubbed for the whole of No. 5 Group, then the two-coach train that ran between Lincoln and Nottingham would be already overflowing with Australians from RAF Waddington and other types before it reached our local station at the small village of North Hykeham. The return journey was usually aboard the early morning milk train with the last few miles from Lincoln railway station to camp being on foot.
‘Because of the intense operational flying schedule we had little chance of getting to know anyone else on the Squadron, apart from a working relationship with our ground crew. They had great pride in their aircraft and worked long hours to keep it serviceable for operations. We were privileged to fly their aeroplane and woe-be-tide anyone in the aircrew who left a dirty aircraft after returning from operations. Flak damage, blood, etc, were acceptable, but sandwich papers, “Window” wrappings and any other piece of rubbish left in the aircraft soon brought down the wrath of the ACH/ Airframes on the guilty party, no matter what his rank.
‘Flying on ops was not all activity by any means. On many of the deep penetration sorties, long periods of anxious quiet were experienced, with George the automatic pilot engaged. Sometimes lights would be seen on the ground or stars would be reflected on the bomb-aimer’s clear vision panel and as these appeared to move with the oscillations of the aircraft, it was tempting to interpret them as engine exhaust flames from a night fighter. From the bomb-aimer’s position in the nose of the aircraft I had a 180-degree view of all the enemy activity en route. Despite the bomber stream being carefully routed between the known heavy flak defences, there was often someone off track flying over these areas. This soon brought a searchlight and flak reaction from below, resulting in the sight of aircraft falling away on fire and leaving burning wrecks on the ground to became a route guide to the rest of the main force. During most of this time the bomb-aimer had little to do apart from keeping a sharp lookout for other aircraft and stuffing out bundles of “Window” at the correct time and place to confuse the ground radar, controlling the night fighters and predicted flak batteries.
‘The Lancaster crew’s biggest blind spot was directly below the aircraft. To combat this a small Perspex bubble was installed in the nose compartment. This bubble had an open rear end and was just large enough to accommodate the bomb-aimer’s head. By contorting himself the bomb-aimer could scan the area beneath the aircraft to check against night fighters with upward firing 20-mm cannon. Sometimes the German fighter defences would detect the bomber stream early and release strings of parachute flares in a corridor approaching the target. Fighters would then sit up above waiting for a likely target to attack. The worst conditions were when searchlights illuminated a cloud sheet below the attacking force. This gave a perfect backdrop for high-flying night fighters as dozens of bombers were silhouetted against the cloud. On one raid our skipper remarked that it was a particularly spectacular display and for once Doug Hockin, the navigator, got out of his seat, put his light off and poked his head out from behind his black out curtain. He took one look and disappeared back into his chair muttering “Never again”.
‘Half an hour from the target ETA, the wireless operator switched on the very high frequency (VHF) radio and we listened out for any instructions from the raid’s master bomber. Nearing a target area things hotted up. Pathfinder marker flares and red and green target indicators (TIs) would be seen ahead. As the target was approached I would select the appropriate switches on the bombing panel, wind up the “Mickey Mouse” release timer, and ensure that the aiming point photo camera (and its heater cloak) was switched on. I rechecked the Mk.XIV bombsight computer settings and looked out over the target area for the correct TI display. The bombing run was the time when crews were most vulnerable to defensive predicted flak batteries. Weaving was out as far as we were concerned. Not only did weaving increase the risk of collision, it also took longer to pass across the target area than flying straight and level. When the correct TIs were identified, the skipper would lower his seat and fly on instruments as this gave a much steadier bombing platform. As we approached the aiming point I gave him the following instructions and he would take immediate action while repeating the instruction over the intercom.
“Bomb doors open.”
“Master Switch On.” (Pilot operated switch for bomb release).
“Bombs Fused and Selected.”
“Left, left, right, steady.”
‘When the aiming point came into the cross wires (actually cross lights) on the sighting head, the bomb release tit was pressed and the aircraft wobbled as bombs fell off in sequence.
“Bombs Gone.”
“Photo Taken.” (lights flashed after timed run).
“Bomb Doors closed.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here!”
‘After clearing the target area and turning onto our return course, things became quieter and I would check the bomb bay for hang-ups. This was done by shining the Aldis lamp through a small door in the bomb-aimer’s compartment into the bomb bay. Hang ups occurred because the suspension loops on the top of some of the bombs were so roughly made that the bombs did not readily slip from the bomb cradle hooks in the bomb bay. If there were any, releasing the bomb was a fiddling task. I had to use a long hooked piece of wire to manually operate the release catch on the offending bomb station through small access panels on the aircraft floor.
‘After the intense activity around the target area, the long drag home seemed to go on forever. While the tension was lower, we still had to remain vigilant all the way back home. On two occasions when nearing our base at Skellingthorpe we received the warning code word “BOGRAT” over the R/T. This meant that German intruders were suspected around our base area. The Bograt procedure for aircraft from each base was to fly on a designated heading, usually northwestwards until recalled for landing. The air traffic control procedures for landing the returning bombers from operations was very slick at Skellingthorpe. Typically, one aircraft would be turning off at the far end of the runway, a second turning off halfway down, a third just gliding over the runway threshold while a fourth would be on final approach.
‘At the end of my tour, I was commissioned and moved across the road into the officers’ Nissen huts. These were exactly the same as the NCOs but only had eight beds instead of fourteen. We did have an occasional Batwoman come in and clean the floor and tidy the beds. Most newly commissioned personnel found getting kitted-out with an officers No. 1 uniform a protracted affair. One could buy an officer’s forage cap and a Pilot Officer rank shoulder braid for your battle-dress very quickly, so this is what we wore around the station and in the officers’ mess while we waited for our new No. 1 uniforms to appear. However, when going off station during this waiting period, I would wear my trusted flight sergeant kit, and eat in the Sergeants’ mess before leaving camp for a night out with the boys.’
During October-December 1944 15 out of 20 raids on the Ruhr were in daylight. Even in broad daylight, Bomber Command was able to operate in relative safety. Sergeant Larry Melling in 635 Squadron at Downham Market recalls: ‘October started with a raid on the 4th to the German naval base at Bergen in Norway, an 8-hour trip that commenced just before dawn and was carried out in clear weather conditions over the whole route. We flew up the east coast of England and Scotland, then crossed the North Sea at 50 feet or less to sneak under the radar. We climbed to 18,000 feet just before the Norwegian coast and descended again immediately after the bombing run. Flying a Lancaster at low level like that was an unusual thrill. The following night5 we were detailed to attack Saarbrücken, taking off just before sunset. On returning to base I was a little apprehensive about landing in the dark, as my last flight had been some six weeks earlier. I was, therefore, really on my toes for the approach and touchdown, which was just as well because immediately after touchdown the aircraft swung to starboard and off the runway. Subsequent investigation showed that the starboard tyre had been punctured by flak shrapnel and was completely flat.’
On 6 October when 320 aircraft, including 46 Lancasters, attacked the synthetic oil plants at Sterkrade and Schloven/Buer, just two Lancasters and seven Halifaxes were lost. A 635 Squadron Lancaster at Downham Market, flown by Flight Lieutenant George A. Thorne, came home with part of the tail shot away over Gelsenkirchen and only two functioning engines. A SOS signal had been sent out to report a ditching position but the two faithful Merlins kept the aircraft airborne and Thorne decided to put down at Woodbridge by Sutton Heath, a frequently used ‘port in the storm’ in Suffolk for aircraft in trouble. The pilot crossed the coast at 500 feet and the aircraft began losing height. Then a third engine packed up, causing the Lancaster to yaw. Near Ipswich the Lancaster hit H/T cables, which ripped the tail unit off. Within six miles of Woodbridge, Thorne realized that he would not quite make it. Shutting down the last engine to glide in evenly, he came down in a gentle dive towards a field at Shottisham to make a belly-landing in a stubble field 200 yards short of Bussock House. The Lancaster burst into flames and all except the wireless operator 26 year old Sergeant J. D. Crabtree from Rochdale got clear. Someone dragged the pilot out and he regained consciousness lying on a hayrick. By his side was a tray of tea with a spotless white tray cloth and silverware brought out by the lady of the house!
The memory of attacking Bremen on the night of 6/7 October when Bomber Command also visited Dortmund, 6 would be forever imprinted on the mind of Bill Burke, a 20 year old, six-feet tall non-commissioned navigator on 207 Squadron, operating from Spilsby in Lincolnshire. When he had turned 18 in 1942, Burke had had no hesitation in applying to join the RAF. He did not fancy the Navy, as the thought of being perpetually seasick did not appeal to him at all. His father’s stories of the fighting conditions at Passchendaele and on the Somme set him against the army. So if he had to go into a service he thought that the RAF would be best and he would ‘emulate the knights of the air from the First World War’. He had been flying on operations continually since August 1944. It had been an exciting tour, full of experiences. On the Bremen raid his Lancaster was ‘coned’ by searchlights and hit by anti-aircraft fire which, amongst other things, cut the oil pipelines to the rear turret rendering the turret virtually inoperable. Then, almost immediately, the rear and mid-upper gunners began screaming that a Ju 88 night fighter was commencing a stern attack. ‘We were all but defenceless,’ Burke recalled ‘and I sat there waiting for a hail of machine gun and cannon fire to come streaming down the fuselage putting paid to my life. But no – the fates were kind. Suddenly we flew into dense cloud and were lost to the night fighter.
‘As a consequence of such experiences I was a shade “flak happy”. In other words the strains and stresses of going into battle 30 times and seeing so many comrades in the Squadron fail to return from raids had affected my nerves. For example, my hands had a typical “Bomber Command Twitch”, which sometimes called for an effort to light a cigarette. In these circumstances one might well think that by the end of my tour I would have been more than happy at the prospect of a safe posting possibly to an instructor’s job in Training Command. But far from it – I liked the life on an operational squadron and wanted to stay there. My 21st birthday was five months away and at that age one can crave excitement. Danger, like drugs, can become habit forming and one wants a regular “injection” of danger and the enormous elation, which one experiences when the danger is past and one is still unharmed. It was also a glamorous life. The contract was that you flew the RAF’s aeroplanes with the statistical likelihood that you would be killed, wounded or taken prisoner. In return the RAF paid you well, gave you a great deal of freedom and time off with leave every six weeks and extended to you a variety of privileges which few enjoyed in wartime Britain. These included such things as aircrew meals of bacon and eggs, special sweet rations, petrol for use in private cars and sheets to sleep in. If you weren’t required for flying you could do more or less what you liked; large numbers of air crew in “Bomber Counties” such as Lincolnshire largely spent their spare time in pubs and dance halls, getting “stoned” and chasing the ladies. Cities such as Nottingham were an air crew paradise and the “White Hart” in Lincoln was like a 5 Group “Headquarters”. To turn one’s back on this sort of Boys Own Paper life and the conscious pride that goes with being a member of an acknowledged corps d’elite was unthinkable to me at the time. So I decided to volunteer for an immediate second tour of operations. It was an utterly foolish and foolhardy decision, akin to applying for and then signing one’s own death warrant, but one doesn’t think that way at twenty. One then has a supreme confidence and a belief that it will be the other guy who doesn’t come through safely. However, I did decide that although I wanted to continue fighting, I “wanted out” of Bomber Command. Instead I decided that I would like to fly in Beaufighters in Scotland on anti-shipping strikes. I thought that would be exciting and also that it would be satisfying in the sense that one would know whether or not one had been successful. Either a boat was there or it was sunk. Unfortunately my application for a switch to Beaufighters was turned down out of hand. I say “unfortunately” but, in fact, it might be more appropriate to use the word “fortunately” as I later discovered that there was a very high “chop rate” amongst air crew attacking enemy shipping guarded by flak ships. At the same time as my transfer application was rejected I was told that if I did want to continue operational flying I could be fixed up with a navigator’s job on 627 Squadron of Pathfinder Force, based at Woodhall Spa. If I accepted the offer I could have a commission and so a deal was done.’7
On 14 October, in Operation Hurricane, Duisburg received a pounding when just over 1,000 Lancasters, Halifaxes and Mosquitoes, escorted by RAF fighters, raided the city. Another 1,251 American bombers, escorted by 749 fighters, hit targets in the Cologne area. According to the directive issued to Sir Arthur Harris, Hurricane’s purpose was, ‘to demonstrate to the enemy in Germany generally the overwhelming superiority of the Allied Air Forces in this theatre . . . the intention is to apply within the shortest practical period the maximum effort of the RAF Bomber Command and the US 8th Bomber Command against objectives in the densely populated Ruhr.’ Nearly 9,000 tons of bombs were dropped on Duisburg in less than 48 hours. In the daylight hours 957 RAF heavies dropped 3,574 tons of high explosive and 820 tons of incendiaries for the loss of 13 Lancasters and a Halifax to flak. American casualties were just five bombers and one fighter. That night, which was fine and cloudless, 1,005 RAF heavies attacked Duisburg for the second time in 24 hours in two waves and dropped 4,040 tons of high explosive and 500 tons of incendiaries, losing five Lancasters and two Halifaxes. One of the five Lancasters that was lost fell victim to Leutnant Arnold Döring, an experienced 27 year old fighter pilot of 7./NJG 2 at Volkel aerodrome in Holland flying the Ju 88G-6. It was his 20th aerial victory.8
Despite the enormous effort involved in Operation Hurricane that same night RAF Bomber Command was even able to dispatch 233 Lancasters and seven Mosquitoes of 5 Group to bomb Brunswick. Flying Officer Frank Mouritz RAAF, one of the Lancaster pilots who flew on the raid, was flying only his fifth operation since joining 61 Squadron at Skellingthorpe from 5 LFS Syerston nearby. He had carried out his first operation on 27/28 September, a 6½-hour trip to Kaiserslautern flying with another crew with no duties except to gain experience. The trip was uneventful and the young Australian was amazed at the sheer brilliance of searchlights and explosions of bombs, flak and photoflashes at the target. Even the biggest firework display he had ever seen was nothing compared with this. During the next 10 days or so Mouritz and his crew carried out their first two operations, a daylight to Wilhelmshaven on 5 October, and another daylight to Bremen on 6 October. They were then allocated a permanent Lancaster, Mickey the Moocher, by now a veteran of 119 trips.
‘It was quite something to have our own plane,’ Mouritz recalls. ‘Another milestone in our air force career. The ground crew was very proud of their plane and the number of trips completed. This showed good maintenance and a lot of luck. We hoped that the luck had not all been used up as it was usually considered that to survive a tour required about 70 per cent luck and 30 per cent skill. By this time Mickey was nearly worn out. The four engines were close to the hours for a complete change, the controls were sloppy and she had dozens of patches on wings and fuselage. She took a lot of runway to get off the ground with a full load of fuel and bombs. We were the new crew given the oldest Lanc on the squadron but we were proud of her. She took us on our first trip on 11 October, a daylight one to the Dutch coast, with a fighter escort to bomb sea walls (dykes) in an attempt to flood German artillery batteries that were holding up the advance of the British ground forces. The raid was not successful although we bombed from low level. At this stage I could sense through Mickey the feelings of all the crews that had survived over 100 trips in this special aircraft, passing on their experience and good luck for a successful tour; a sort of feeling of comradeship and well-being which is hard to describe. Mickey was something to look up to, a guiding star.
‘The 7½-hour night flight to Brunswick was an area attack with cookies and incendiaries. This was also a milestone as 15 October was my 21st birthday and we had our first fighter combat. Nearing the target area the mid-upper gunner spotted a fighter approaching from the port quarter above. It then appeared to side-slip into position behind them, he ordered the pilot to corkscrew as he opened fire, while also giving the rear-gunner the fighter’s position and who, upon seeing it too, also opened fire. The fighter dived quickly away; the mid-upper gunner giving it a final burst as it disappeared out of range.9 Our next trip, on 19/20 October, was another night area bombing one, 7 hours to Nürnburg with 263 Lancs and seven Mosquitoes, with a large amount of casualties and damage inflicted. We were beginning to get a little confident now with our navigator keeping us on time and track and hence in the middle of the stream and our bomb-aimer directing the bombing run with precision, and we were obtaining good target photos. Our next trip was another daylight one to the Dutch coast to attack the same batteries as before, also unsuccessful.’
That same night another 565 Lancasters and 18 Mosquitoes in two forces 4½ hours apart went to Stuttgart as Sergeant Larry Melling in 635 Squadron recalls: ‘We were given our first official task as “blind-marker” when we were “blind illuminators” to mark the Stuttgart railway yards for the visual crews. From here on in we acted as “blind-markers” on almost all occasions.’ Not many bombs fell on the yards, the most serious damage being caused to the central and eastern districts of Stuttgart and in some of the suburban towns.10
On 23 October, when 112 Lancasters bombed the Flushing battery positions at Walcheren, a Lancaster of 619 Squadron, flown by Squadron Leader Purnell, touched down at RAF Woodbridge after the bomber was hit by flak over Walcheren and a fire started in the bomb bay. Purnell ordered the crew to bale out but only four left the aircraft and were scattered over two countries. By the time the coast of England was reached the navigator and flight engineer baled out safely and were found shocked and burnt. 11
On the night of 23/24 October Bomber Command dispatched 1,055 aircraft 12 to Essen to bomb the Krupps works. This was the heaviest raid on the already devastated German city so far in the war and the number of aircraft was also the greatest to any target since the war began. Altogether the force carried 4,538 tons of bombs including five hundred and nine 4,000-pounders. More than 90 per cent of the tonnage carried was high explosive because intelligence estimated that most of Essen’s housing and buildings had been destroyed in fire raids in 1943. Just eight aircraft, five of them Lancasters, were lost. October had signalled a great decrease in the effectiveness of Nachtjagd opposition to the night bomber. This was a combined result of the Allied advance into the continent and the technical and tactical countermeasures employed. The German warning and inland plotting systems were thrown into confusion. Low-level and high-level Intruder played no small part by causing the enemy to plot hostile aircraft over very wide areas, as well as forcing him to broadcast frequent warnings of the presence of hostile aircraft to his own fighters.13
Bomber Command’s last major raid on Düsseldorf took place on 2/3 November when 561 Lancasters, 400 Halifaxes and 31 Mosquitoes visited the city. More than 5,000 houses were destroyed or badly damaged in the northern half of the city, plus seven industrial premises were destroyed and 18 seriously damaged.14 The next major night raid was on 4/5 November when Bochum and the Dortmund-Ems Canal were the objectives for the main force. Some 749 aircraft attacked the centre of Bochum and more than 4,000 buildings were left in ruins or seriously damaged. Three Lancasters from the 174 dispatched by 5 Group, failed to return from the raid on the Dortmund-Ems Canal and 23 Halifaxes and five Lancasters were missing from the raid on Bochum.15 On 6/7 November, when 235 Lancasters and seven Mosquitoes of 5 Group again attempted to cut the Mittelland Canal at Gravenhorst, crews were confronted with a cold front of exceptional violence and ice quickly froze on windscreens. Flying Officer Frank Mouritz RAAF of 61 Squadron said goodbye to an old friend when he flew Mickey the Moocher on her last operation. The marking force had difficulty in finding the target due to low cloud and the bombers were told to bomb at low level. Mouritz had to select full flap and wheels down to enable him to lose height in time and he was one of only 31 Lancasters that bombed before the master bomber abandoned the raid due to low cloud.16
Forty-eight Mosquitoes dispatched to Gelsenkirchen on a ‘spoof’ raid to draw German night fighters away from the Mittelland attack, and a 3 Group raid on Koblenz, had better luck. The Gelsenkirchen raid began as planned, five minutes ahead of the two other attacks, at 19.25 hours. The city was still burning as a result of that afternoon’s raid by 738 RAF heavies. Ten Lancasters failed to return from the Mittelland debacle. Three of these were shot down west of the Rhine in just 16 minutes by Leutnant Otto Fries and his Bordfunker Feldwebel Alfred Staffa of 2./NJG 1, flying a He 219.17 Of 128 Lancasters of 3 Group that raided Koblenz, two failed to return.
On 8 November 136 Lancasters of 3 Group were assembled on their airfields to bomb the Rheinpreussen synthetic oil refinery at Meerbeck on the west bank of the Rhine at Homberg. They would be using G-H, a kind of Oboe blind bombing device in reverse, operated by aircraft carrying a transmitter and receiver, which measured distances from two ground stations. G-H had proved its accuracy on the raid on Düsseldorf on 3/4 November,18 but a bomber now needed seven minutes instead of four, for a straight and steady run up to the target. This was a lot to ask of any crew, particularly in daylight. Australian Flying Officer Les Hough captained one of the crews at Methwold, in 218 (Gold Coast) Squadron, who would be taking part. ‘Hough‘, recalls Flight Sergeant Allen Clifford, navigator, whose job it was to release the bombs, ‘had cheerfully vacated his newspaper editor’s chair in Adelaide, for a chance of kicking Hitler’s arse. He was a hard-bitten forthright journalist who loved his beer and he had the distinction of being thrown out of the snotty “University Arms” in Cambridge for being rowdy. He was a typical iconoclastic Aussie who wouldn’t be messed about and had to be treated with kid gloves by senior officers. He was also a charming fellow and a brilliant pilot.’ Hough’s crew were the usual eclectic mix of Commonwealth aircrew. Clifford came from Darlington. Sergeant Harry Burnside the W/Op came from Nottingham and, like the rest of the crew, he drank, smoked and chased girls. Flying Officer John Barron, a Londoner, had a polished upper-class “pommie” accent, which irritated the Skipper but did not impair their working relationship. Warrant Officer Jack Tales, engineer, a dour Yorkshireman, had needed no persuasion to start a tour after his wife was killed in an air raid on Sheffield. Sergeant “Geordie” Lawson, mid-upper gunner, came from Hetton-le-Hole, Sunderland. His accent was so broad that Clifford was often the only one who could understand what he was saying. Les Hough frequently said, “For Chrissake Geordie, take it slowly. What the bloody hell did he say Chiefie?” This was all right on training flights but on ops it was potentially catastrophic and his aircraft recognition was “fairly marginal”. Rear-gunner Sergeant Stan Lee from Bristol was diffident but extremely capable, with a West Country accent almost as impenetrable as Lawson’s.
“Time to get up Flight. You’re on this morning.”
’If there’s ever a low point in anybody’s life this was it: To be woken at 04.00 hours knowing you were going to war!’ Allen Clifford crawled out of a warm bed into the frozen Nissen hut, gathered up towel and soap and shivered miserably in the wintry gap between the hut and the ablutions blocks where he splashed water hurriedly over his face; no time to shave! The desperately early breakfast of bacon and egg and mug of hot sweet tea, preceded briefing, where they had dispensed with the niceties of hiding the target behind a curtain. The red tape, which slithered disconcertingly across the map like a long tail of blood, led from Norfolk to a suburb of the huge German inland river port and industrial city of Duisburg.
‘Christ’, they said sourly, slumping on to the hard wooden chairs, ‘It’s bloody Homberg again’.
The decision had been taken that autumn, not before time, to break Hitler by laying waste to his oil plants. Without oil, the Third Reich should fall apart. Lancasters and Halifaxes and Mosquitoes, of 6 and 8 (PFF) Groups respectively, had attacked the synthetic oil refinery on 25 October, reeling against the blistering flak as the Germans sought to defend their dwindling supplies of fuel. The refinery was covered by cloud, and bombing was scattered in the early stages but later became more concentrated on the sky-markers. No aircraft were lost but the results of the raid were unknown so on 1 November 226 Lancasters and two Mosquitoes of 5 Group, with 14 Mosquitoes of 8 Group, again attempted to attack the plant. Again the marking was scattered and only 159 of the Lancasters attempted to bomb. Despite these two raids against Homberg, its refinery was still pumping out fuel for the German war machine.
The crew was taken by bus to dispersal, climbed into Lanc HA-C and started preliminary checks. Allen Clifford handed Hough a small sheet of paper. On it he had written a complete synopsis of the Homberg trip so that the skipper had all the information on courses, heights, speeds, times and turning points to get them to target and back home in case the navigator was killed or injured. It was Allen’s 21st sortie. They were told they would fly out through clear skies and into a bank of cloud over eastern France, Germany and the Rhine. It turned out to be the reverse. They climbed slowly to 18,000 feet over Ely to pick up their slave aircraft. Meanwhile other aircraft from the squadron were picking up their slave aircraft at different locations. Over France they flew straight into heavy cloud. In dense cloud their acolyte aircraft spilt away so there was no danger of colliding. The tail wind was much higher than predicted, a fearsome 170 knots, so they were going in ahead of time. They broke cloud into clear sunshine, just short of the Rhine. Our aircraft, which were supposed to be formatting on them, were well scattered, but gradually pulled towards them. They were the first wave in and Clifford could see others coming behind, so instead of approaching in neat formations, they were in a bit of a gaggle and had to formate fairly hurriedly. With the possible exception of the steel town of Solingen, the flak was worse over Homberg than anywhere they had been. Coming off target at Solingen they were attacked by a Me 163, the Komet rocket plane, that hurtled like a dart up between their main-plane and the tail and disappeared.
Nearing Homberg they were at 18,000ft so their gunners were aiming on radar traces. All the bombers behind were obscured by ‘Window’. Hough’s aircraft, the first in, did not have ‘Window’ cover. One minute the sky was clear, the next, as they approached target, it was full of bursting shells, what the chaps called 10/10ths flak. They had seen many bombers shot down, mainly over target; some hit by their own bombs, and collisions, especially at night. A cookie once fell between their starboard wing and the tail plane, tumbling end over like a grotesque pillar-box, no more than five feet away. If it had struck the Lancaster the bomb would not have exploded, but it would have broken the aircraft in half. They had twice been hit by fighters. Clifford adds: ‘By November 1944 the Luftwaffe was not exactly a spent force because they had more fighters than earlier in the war, but didn’t have any very good pilots. In a fight you needed experience!’
The bomb doors were open on the long approach to the target when they were hit by a savage burst of flak. A fearsome clatter was followed by smoke swirling into the fuselage. The smoke was soon sucked out by the slipstream, revealing a four-foot-square hole by the back door in the side and floor. There was a pained gasp from Stan Lee, the shocked rear-gunner: ‘Ugh! I’ve been hit.’ He looked for blood and was relieved to find none. A lump of shrapnel had hammered on the outside of the tail turret, jarring his shoulder before falling harmlessly away. More seriously, the starboard inner engine was alight and defying Jack Tales’ frantic efforts to feather it. Jack Tales, the engineer, began pumping fuel from tanks near the fire across to those in the port wing. The pilot was trying to ignore the worrying damage to his aircraft and complete a smooth run over the target. They were early but there was no question of them going round again. The Lanc jumped violently as the cookie and 2,000-pounders fell away. A moment later the starboard outer packed up. Allen Clifford was in a torment as flames licked over the starboard wing. They knew that the British Forces were not much further to the west. They only needed to keep airborne for a few minutes; bale out and they’d be home and dry. That was their intention as they turned out of the target, but they were now clawing their way against a powerful wind and doing only about 80 mph ground speed, the wing burning fiercely and beginning to flop. Then the Skipper roared, ‘Go! Everybody out’.
Jack Tales found the pilot’s parachute and clipped it on Hough before heading for the escape hatch. The bomb-aimer had already gone. Allen thinking aghast: ‘God this is a final thing to do.’ His only training for baling out had been learning a forward roll on a gym mat. He glanced at the stream of flames and knew what had to be done. He exchanged waves with the grim-faced pilot, still at the controls and steeled himself to drop headfirst out of the hatch. He was dragged out like a leaf by the slipstream, which whipped his helmet away. As he fell on his back another figure rolled out of the aircraft. They were still up in the flak and no one had ever thought to explain the usefulness of getting quickly away from the bursting shells. As a stunned Clifford pulled the ripcord, 300 feet below the blazing Lanc, the starboard wing fell off. His parachute opened with a bang. He watched the remains of the aircraft fall past and explode on the ground. It was bitingly cold and Clifford looked up to see ‘our chaps going home’. Theirs was the only Lancaster lost on this raid. Suddenly all was quiet. Clifford heard the swishing of the wind and it seemed a very long way to the ground.
The door to the rear turret was jammed and Stan Lee was forced to use a handle to open it. He went through and remembered nothing until he was floating serenely at the end of his parachute. Lee recalls:
‘The Germans were shooting at me as I descended and I saw a crowd running towards one of our chaps who had just landed. I learned later that it was the engineer. I landed in telegraph wires, which saved my life. A dozen men and women, shouting and bawling, eventually dragged me to the ground. One middle-aged woman was screaming, egging on the men who were beating me. A man from the Volkstrum carrying a rifle, who took me to a large building where I met Allen Clifford, rescued me.’
Jack Tales had landed in a field, shed his parachute and was wondering which way to go when he was surrounded and viciously attacked by the Germans. He was handed over to three men who had arrived on a motor cycle combination. They included two SS men, Schoester and Opretza, who dragged Tales on to the bike in the direction of Moers, but they turned into a lane and rattled past the farm of Johannes Quernhorst. Shortly after, he heard two shots and ran out to find the airman still alive. He reported the shooting to the police, returned to find Jack Tales dead – a desolate man who had recently admitted there was nothing to live for. Burnside and Lawson were also dead after hesitating near the rear door. The tough brash pilot Les Hough stayed resolutely at the controls to give his crewmates time to leave but ran out of time.
Allen Clifford realized that he was being blown over Duisburg and at less that 3,000 feet he heard the alarming phhht, phhht, phhht of rifle and machine-gun bullets, zipping past. He recalls:
‘You don’t realize until you’re near the ground how fast you are going and I shot past a big town clock as all-clear sirens were wailing. My flying boots hit the heavy pantiled roof of an old three-storey house and I went straight through up to my waist and was jammed, unable to move. I saw a dozen men from the Volkstrum in the garden shooting at me with rifles; bullets hitting the roof all round me. Anyone who can’t hit a bloke at that range couldn’t be much of a shot, but they weren’t going to miss forever. I undid my parachute harness, wriggled like mad and fell about eight feet into the attic on to a board floor. I hurt my left leg and lay there winded, covered in blood from scratches and abrasions. A trapdoor flew open; a group of men poured in and grabbed me. Somebody shouted what was obviously: “Where’s your gun?” (We were issued with Browning automatics but I couldn’t see any of us shooting our way out of Germany, so I never took it! I later learned that if I had been carrying a gun I would have been shot out of hand!) I was dragged from the attic and tossed down the stairs, luckily not breaking anything. I was flung through the door on to the pavement. People were everywhere. They dived on me, kicking, hitting, savaging, and I tried to protect my face with my arms.’
A single shot rang out and the men were pulled off. A large Luftwaffe Feldwebel yanked Clifford to his feet and steered him to a motorcycle combination. He put him into the sidecar and drove off one-handed pointing the pistol at him. He stopped in a quiet street and told him in English that he would be all right provided he avoided the SS. Clifford was left at a police station, put into a cell and joined shortly afterwards by a dishevelled and shocked Stan Lee. That afternoon armed soldiers paraded them through Duisburg. People shouted, ‘Terrorflieger’ and threw stones at them. They were marched through badly damaged property and put up against a factory wall. A line of soldiers stood with rifles against their shoulders. Stan said in a horrified voice, ‘They’re going to shoot us’. Clifford felt protective of Stan and said, ‘For God’s sake don’t let them see you’re frightened’ and he pulled himself together, although they were in a depressing situation. The Feldwebel barked an order and as the two terrified airmen waited for the bullets, a fat old woman appeared, shrieking, placing herself fearlessly between the airmen and their execution squad. Stan Lee said, ‘She ran in front of Allen and I, screaming what sounded like “Propaganda! Propaganda!” at the soldiers. They shouted back at her but she stood her ground and saved our lives.’19
Lancasters at last put the Tirpitz out of action in Tromsö Fjord, Norway, on 12 November. It was the third attack made on the 45,000-ton battleship by Bomber Command with 12,000lb bombs, but this was the first time the attackers were able to see the ship properly. In the first attack in September, when the Tirpitz was in Kaa Fjord, the Germans put up a smokescreen so rapidly that only one or two of the first air-crews to arrive could see the ship. One 12,000-pounder hit and seriously damaged it then, but the hit was too far forward to be conclusive, although the ship must have been useless as a fighting unit for at least six months.20 When the Tirpitz moved westward for repairs in a German dockyard and to avoid the Russian advance into Norway, it was attacked once more on 29 October but again the bomber crews could obtain only an oblique view of her through cloud. On Sunday morning, 12 November, the weather was clear and there was no smokescreen. The Tirpitz was first sighted when the attacking force of 30 Lancasters of 9 and 617 Squadrons, led by 26 year old Welsh Wing Commander J. B. ‘Willy’ Tait DSO*** DFC*, was about 20 miles away. She was a black shape clearly seen against the clear waters of the fjord, surrounded by the snow-covered hills, which were glowing pink in the low Arctic sun. A plume of smoke rose slowly from the big ship’s funnel. When the force was about 10 miles away the peaceful scene changed suddenly; the ship opened fire with her main armament and billows of orange-brown smoke, shot through by the flashes of the guns, hid her for a moment, and then drifted away. One 12,000-pounder apparently hit the Tirpitz amidships, another in the bows and a third towards the stern, and there were also two very near misses which must themselves have done serious underwater damage.
Probably the last of the Lancaster crews to see the Tirpitz after the attack were the tour expired crew of a 463 Squadron RAAF movie-Lancaster, captained by Flight Lieutenant Bruce A. Buckham DFC RAAF. This crew, plus two BCFU cameramen and Guy Byams of the BBC, and W. E. West of the Press Association had flown on the first raid. Now the crew of six Australians and one Englishman and two BCFU cameramen saw the first wave go in and drop their bombs, getting some near misses and the direct hit amidships. After this only the forward guns continued firing. Then the second wave went in and the Australians saw hits on the stem, amidships and finally on the bows. All the ship’s guns stopped firing, but the ground defences were still throwing up a screen of light and heavy flak. Heavy black smoke hung over the vessel as the movie-Lancaster went down and circled it close in. Suddenly the crew saw a great explosion and then a sheet of flame and the Tirpitz began to heel over in a cloud of smoke. When the Lancaster made a final close circuit of the ship, with the cameras still turning over, she was lying on her side, half submerged, with her red hull gleaming in the sunlight.21
The bombing offensive against German cities and oil targets continued unabated with raids in November on Homberg, Wanne-Eickel, Harburg, Hamburg and Dortmund among others. The aiming point for the raid on Harburg by a force of 237 Lancasters was the Rheanania-Ossag oil refinery. Officially part of Hamburg, Harburg was really a quite different community, being separated from the main part of Hamburg by five miles of docks, waterways and Hamburg’s industrial suburb of Wilhelmsburg.22 Seven Lancasters were shot down and 119 people were killed and over 5,000 bombed out. When the population of this German city emerged from their air-raid shelters and were out in the streets again they saw flames leaping into the black sky on the horizon above the harbour. Harald Hollenstein, son of a German mother and a Swiss father, who spent his childhood in Hamburg, still drowsy, abruptly woken from sleep for the second time, watched the play of colours, ‘fascinated; the red and yellow of the flames mingling against the background of the dark night sky and then separating again’. Even later he never saw such a ‘clean, brilliant yellow, such a bright red, such a radiant orange’. Hollenstein stood in the street for minutes on end watching this ‘symphony of slowly changing colours’. He never again saw such deep, bright colours ‘not in any painter’s work’.23
On 21 November, the synthetic oil plant at Homberg was attacked by 160 Lancasters with the loss of three aircraft, all of which were from 514 Squadron. Flying Officer J. H. Tolley flew one of those that did not make it back to Waterbeach. On the run-up to the target the aircraft was 50 yards to the port quarter of the leader and slightly below. There was considerable flak, presumed predicted, during the run-up. Normally, an aircraft in this position releases its bombs as soon as it sees the leader do so. Consequently, they opened up the bomb doors as soon as the leader did and the air bomber was waiting with his hand on the bomb release. Just as the formation neared the release point Tolley and the air bomber saw that the leader was jettisoning his bombs all together. They could see no reason why the leader was not bombing normally and the air bomber prepared to release his bombs. Just as he did so there was a blinding flash below the leader, as though one of his bombs had exploded. The Perspex in the air bomber’s compartment, the pilots cockpit, and the mid-upper turret were shattered and the fuselage was scarred on the starboard side with small holes. The faces of both the pilot and air bomber were pitted with minute cuts. Both were temporarily blinded by the flash, and by blood streaming over their eyes.
Tolley lost control of the aircraft and, while he groped for the controls with the wind lashing his face, the aircraft lost 3,000 feet. His intercom had become unserviceable and as he could not reach the emergency signal light, he waved the crew forward with his hand, indicating that they should bale out. While they were putting on their ‘chutes, however, Tolley regained control and signalled the crew to wait. He could see better now and he managed to rejoin the bomber stream, though the aircraft was at 15,000 feet and well below the others. The engineer had previously tried, without success, to plug the pilot’s intercom into a different socket, but the pilot was now able to do so himself, and called up the rest of the crew.
All the crew replied, except the rear-gunner, Sergeant W. H. Ellis, so Tolley told the wireless operator to go back and investigate. The wireless operator opened the bulkhead doors and saw through the inspection panels that the bomb doors were open and he could see the ground below; air was rushing through the fuselage with the force of gale. The wireless operator reported this to Tolley, who ordered the mid-upper gunner to go instead. The mid-upper gunner, who had already left his turret when it was smashed, managed to reach the rear of the fuselage, where he found the rear hatch was open and on opening the rear bulkhead doors discovered that Ellis had gone. His parachute was missing. Ellis must have baled out within a few miles of the target.
The Lancaster was now flying normally and on track. Suddenly the starboard inner engine burst into flames, apparently due to an oil leak. Tolley feathered the engine, the Graviner was used and the fire put out. A few minutes later the starboard outer engine revs began to fluctuate and dense white fumes poured out of it, suggesting a coolant leak. This engine was also successfully shut down and the propeller feathered. The wireless operator sent a distress message back to Waterbeach, although he did not think that the message would be received as the aerials were badly damaged. Tolley had now formated on another Lancaster and the wireless operator also signalled to this aircraft with the Aldis lamp. The Lancaster had flown for 20 minutes since the flash occurred when the port-outer revs began to fluctuate and the engine finally burst into flames. Fire drill was again carried out correctly and with success. The intercom then failed completely. Thereafter, all Tolley’s instructions had to either be given by gesticulation or written down on paper.
The aircraft, now flying on one engine and unable to maintain height, entered a belt of cloud at 12,000 feet. Below this cloud the weather was bad with poor visibility. Tolley brought the aircraft down to 2,000 feet and, at this height, passed over an airfield near Antwerp. It was impossible to turn the aircraft and land there, so he flew on and, seeing three suitable adjacent fields ahead, he decided to land. Tolley had managed to get the flaps down about 10 degrees, and he made a perfect belly landing. The aircraft came to rest after travelling about 50 yards over soft mud. No one in the crew was even bruised. The position of landing was Doorn, south of Antwerp, behind the Allied lines.24
The Mittlelland Canal was attacked again on 21/22 November and this time the canal banks were successfully breached near Gravenhorst. Fifty-nine barges were left stranded on one short section alone and the water drained off over a 30 mile stretch. Near Ladbergen the Lancasters, some of them flying as low as 4,000 feet, also breached the Dortmund-Ems Canal in the only branch of the aqueduct which had been repaired since the last raid. The water once again drained out of the waterway.
Over 70 Lancasters joined over 170 Halifaxes in a raid on the oil refinery at Castrop-Rauxel and 18 more were part of the attack on Sterkrade synthetic oil refinery while over 270 Lancasters attacked the local railway yards at Aschaffeburg on this night of high activity. At Aschaffeburg about 500 houses were destroyed and 1,500 seriously damaged. Many old buildings were struck, including the local castle, the Johannisburg, which was hit by five HE bombs and had a 4,000lb ‘Blockbuster’ burst nearby. Two Lancasters were lost on this devastating raid and two Lancasters failed to return from the raid on the Mittlelland Canal.25
Then, on the night of 26/27 November, 270 Lancasters and eight Mosquitoes of 5 Group went to Munich. Before the main briefing at Fulbeck, Sergeant ‘Ricky’ Dyson, rear-gunner in the crew of Flying Officer Desmond ‘Ned’ Kelly RAAF in 189 Squadron, was officially introduced to Flight Sergeant Doug Presland’s crew, as he would be flying in Q-Queenie, as a replacement for the rear-gunner who was sick. Dyson had joined up in 1935 because he was very unsettled at home. His mother was more or less on her deathbed and it was the time of the depression. His father had a piano business in Windsor but the wireless was coming in and the piano trade was very badly affected. Lord Trenchard’s expansion of the RAF was greatly advertised in the local press and Dyson saw that the RAF offered an exciting career to young people with imagination and a flair to do daring things. It was an ideal way to travel. He trained as an air-gunner during 1944 and had flown ops on 9, 106 and 44 Squadrons before being posted to 189 Squadron that October. He recalls:
‘I knew Presland’s crew by sight, having mixed socially in the Sergeants’ Mess, so this helped enormously and I found them to be a great bunch of lads. It was moonlight when we reached the dispersal area but by the time we took off at 23.35 hours the weather had closed in and within a few seconds we entered a thick layer of low cloud. As the aircraft climbed the flight engineer called out the air speed (90 – 95 mph) to the pilot and it seemed to remain at that speed while we made a climbing turn. After reaching about 1,000 feet for some reason we lost height and “sank”. I looked out of the turret and saw trees and hedges whipping past at about 100 feet and was about to warn the pilot when we hit a hill, 500 feet above sea level. We had been airborne just 11 minutes. There was a terrific dull thud, then a crunching and screeching sound as the aircraft hurtled and tore its way along the ground, shuddering from nose to tail as it went. There was a series of loud bangs and thuds as the aircraft broke its back, followed by a blinding flash and a huge explosion. Then silence. Whether I was “knocked out” I cannot remember but I do remember still sitting in the rear turret with a piece of fuselage burning fiercely behind me. The turret with this piece of fuselage attached had been thrown about 50 yards clear of the main wreckage but the doors had jammed and it was getting hotter by the second. I managed to free myself of the yellow Taylor flying suit I‘d been wearing. With the aid of the axe on the turret wall I chipped away at the heavy duty Perspex of the Clear Vision Panel in front of me. With great difficulty I managed to squeeze sideways and I went head-first through the opening over what remained of the four Browning machine guns. I fell to the ground, landed on my back and scrambled to my feet. I ran petrified into the darkness ahead and only stopped when I came to a hedge to look back. The whole field seemed to be alight with burning debris. Seeing the flames I realized with horror that somewhere in that inferno was the rest of the crew! I shouted something and raced towards the main part of the wreckage. As I got nearer I could hear screams. Screams of people being burnt alive. Eventually I found some of the lads and tried to help and comfort them until the rescue services arrived. Doug Presland was semi-conscious, in great pain and calling for help. Half in and half out of the burning cockpit trapped by both legs, he was in great danger of being roasted by the terrific heat. Somehow I managed to free him and pull him to safety. The mid-upper gunner, Flight Sergeant Fender was also trapped. He was unconscious when I found him in his turret, his back and legs jammed hard against the twisted metal and his head embedded in the electrical junction box in the roof. In my shocked condition I tried in vain to release him. Later he was cut free from the wreckage, alive but with terrible injuries. Like me he had been thrown clear still in his turret. I went to help somebody else whose clothing was alight. Incendiaries had landed on his stomach. I put my hands down to extinguish the flames but felt my hands disappearing into his stomach. When I pulled them out they were wet with boiling blood. He was already dead from other injuries. Only days later did I realize how lucky I had been to survive a similar experience without serious injury.
‘By the time the rescue services arrived, the field in which we had crashed, between Saltby and Croxton Kerrial resembled an inferno. The aircraft was fully laden with fuel and a mixed load of HE and incendiary bombs and wreckage was spread over a large area. The heat was terrific as the fuel tanks, bombs, oxygen bottles and ammunition from the gun turrets exploded, causing flaming debris to be flung high into the air and many pieces landing on the dead and injured. There was great danger as fragmented bomb cases and exploding ammunition whistled through the air in all directions. This scene, with the pungent and awful smell of burning flesh, burnt cordite and petrol and the pall of acrid smoke is one that I have never been able to obliterate from my mind.
‘The three of us who survived were taken in an ambulance to an American base hospital a few miles away. Doug showed great courage. Although in great pain from his very serious injuries and burns to his face, hands and parts of his body, he managed to crack jokes, especially about the welfare of his moustache! His first concern was the fate of other members of his crew. Doug later had to have a leg amputated. After a long time in hospital and discharge from the RAF he became a schoolmaster and later a headmaster in Essex. Flight Sergeant Fender had to undergo numerous operations and he had a metal plate fitted in his head. After about two years in hospital he married his nurse. Having had excellent treatment for the few injuries I had sustained (mainly shock and minor burns to hands and face) I was discharged from hospital within two weeks and sent home on leave. Three weeks later I returned to Fulbeck and to 189 Squadron and resumed flying duties with Ned Kelly and crew. During the days and weeks which followed, the squadron was actively engaged on operations, both by day in support of our forces in France and by night against targets deep into Germany.’26
After this latest major raid on Munich, tens of thousands were camping out around the Maximilian-platz. On the nearby main road an endless stream of refugees was moving; frail old women with bundles containing their last possessions carried on sticks over their backs. Poor homeless people with burnt clothing, their eyes reflecting the horror of the firestorm, the explosions blowing everything to bits, burial in the rubble or the ignominy of suffocating in a cellar.27
The following night over 340 Lancasters attacked Freiburg, which was not an industrial town and had not been bombed before by the RAF. It was chosen because it was a minor railway centre and because many German troops were believed to be based there which could hinder the American and French advance in the Vosges only 35 miles to the west. In just 25 minutes 1,900 tons of bombs reigned down on Freiburg, destroying 2,000 houses and causing over 7,000 casualties. The railway yards were not hit and one Lancaster was lost. Over 290 bombers, including 102 Lancasters, also bombed Neuss, and 145 Lancasters revisited the town on 28/29 November. Halifaxes and Lancasters also bombed Essen. Then, on the 29th, over 290 Lancasters attacked Dortmund but bad weather reduced the effectiveness of the marking and the bombing was scattered. Minor raids by up to 60 Lancasters each were carried out against Bottrop and Osterfeld before Duisburg was attacked on the last night of November by over 570 aircraft. The target area was completely cloud covered but much fresh damage was still caused. On the night of 2/3 December a large force of bombers, including 87 Lancasters, carried out a devastating raid on Hagen.
During the first few weeks of December Lancasters carried out several daylight raids. One was made on the Hansa Benzol plant at Dortmund and another was on the small town of Heimbach in the Eifel region in support of American ground forces. By now American troops were only a few miles away and preparing to cross the River Roer. The Germans were about to release water to flood areas through which American troops were planning to advance so the destruction of the Urft dam (also referred to as the Heimbach dam), a large reservoir dam at the head of the valley in which ran the River Roer, was called for. The attack, on 4 December, by 27 Lancasters and three Mosquitoes of 8 (PFF) Group, included J-Johnny in 582 Squadron at Little Staughton flown by Flight Lieutenant Art Green. Sergeant Bill Hough, the wireless operator on the crew, recalls:
‘We arrived at briefing and on checking the crew list we saw that the Gunnery Leader, Squadron Leader F. G. Grillage, was a replacement for ‘Mac’ McKeon, the mid-upper gunner who had shot himself through the hand two days earlier. McKeon decided to clean his pistol and in the process put the muzzle into the palm of his hand and pulled the trigger. I do not think he was playing Russian roulette but there was one up the spout and it went clean through his palm, ricocheted off the floor and out through the wall of the hut. The target was 15 to 20 miles inside Germany from its border with Belgium and only 25 miles or so ahead of the front line at the time. This was to be very much a 582 show with 16 of our aircraft marking, including the master bomber, Squadron Leader Mingard and his deputy, Lieutenant Edwin Swales SAAF.28 There was to be additional marking by 109 Squadron. The met forecast was not too good with some thundershowers in the area and 5 – 6/10ths’ cloud cover.
‘We were first off at 08.05 hours carrying TIs and some bombs. The route took us across the French coast at Dunkirk with about 160 miles to run from there, mostly over Belgium and an ETA over the target at 09.45 hours. No need to worry about flak now as most of this formerly occupied territory had been retaken by the Allies. We were now flying above almost 10/10ths cloud but the horizontal visibility was good. Other aircraft were in sight and we seemed to be on the starboard edge of the stream. Tension heightened as we skirted Brussels with about 80 miles and 30 minutes to run. We were not quite sure where the front line was and it tended to be rather fluid anyway. With 40 miles to run, it happened. Warrant Officer Johnny Campbell, the rear-gunner, burst in on the intercom: “Unidentified aircraft starboard quarter, level (14,000 feet). Range, three miles.” I fancied myself at aircraft recognition and immediately stood up under the astrodome. The aircraft was closing very quickly and I identified it almost immediately as an Me 262. Before I could regain my seat Johnny again burst in: “Another enemy aircraft dead astern – up, corkscrew starb . . .”
‘His words were lost in an almighty clatter and bang, the second aircraft firing its four 30mm cannon from a range of about 500 yards, the rear-gunner firing back and hits being registered on our port wing and engines. We had fallen victim to some very clever tactics using a decoy. The first aircraft went underneath us and the second over the top at a tremendous speed (this was our first encounter with a jet of any kind and their speed of over 500 mph certainly showed up against the Lanc’s 170 or so). Black smoke, presumably from the fuel tanks, poured from the wing and the port outer was quickly enveloped in flames. Fire extinguishers were operated up front and we went into a shallow dive but the fire only seemed to intensify, although the aircraft was still being held steady. Art obviously realized he would not be able to hold her much longer and the order came, “Abandon aircraft – abandon aircraft”.
‘Time was obviously short, so the two gunners and myself were told to use the rear exit. One moves pretty quickly in these circumstances and I grabbed the parachute pack and made my way to the rear exit. As I passed the mid-upper gunner I gave him a bang on the legs with my hand in case he had not got the message. Johnny Campbell had the turret centred and was just climbing out as I reached the exit. He indicated that I should go first and while I clipped on my ‘chute, he opened the exit door and immediately there was a tremendous roar from the slipstream air. As I stood in the doorway preparing to dive out, my ‘chute suddenly burst open and the canopy deployed outside the aircraft, billowing above the fuselage with the lines bearing on the rear edge of the door. I seemed to be snagged against the fuselage side unable to move. I do not know to this day what happened. I can only conjecture that either the ‘chute handle caught on something, or the force of the slipstream somehow sucked on the pack and pulled out the ‘chute. Anyhow, at this time no one was theorizing and Johnny Campbell quickly sized up the situation, got hold of me bodily and with some assistance from the billowing canopy, pushed me out of the door. Once free I was pulled by the ‘chute over the top of the tailplane, banging my head on the top of the exit as I went out and hitting an ankle on the front edge of the tailplane, then between the fins, free of the aircraft. My first sensation was a feeling of peace and quiet after the last hectic three or four minutes, for that is all it was. Peace after the roar of the engines and the howling slipstream. But I quickly realized that I had another problem. My harness had not been as tight as it should have been. (I think it was a common practice to slacken them off a little while sitting for hours) and instead of being tight up in the crotch, it had slipped along the right leg towards the knee so that I was in imminent danger of parting company from the ‘chute. I therefore held on grimly to the lines with both hands and began to enjoy the ride down. J-Johnny had disappeared from sight but one Me 262 did pass close enough to be recognized.
‘As I neared the ground, still hanging on tightly, I could see that I was going to land in a field on the outskirts of a village and I could see people making towards the area. I did not make a copy-book landing due to the loose harness and a fairly strong breeze but I was OK and the villagers soon grabbed my ‘chute and held on to me. After fifteen minutes or so two Yanks, for we were in the American sector, appeared in a jeep and took me off to hospital nearby. I learned later that I had landed at Juprelle near Tongres and the hospital was at Hasselt.
‘I was kept in hospital for about four days and spent a further night at an American phi base in a nearby chateau. I was not aware at the time of the fate of the rest of the crew, nor was I aware that I had been posted missing and my family informed. On 9 December I was again taken in a jeep to Brussels airport where I was able to hitch a lift in an RAF Dakota calling first at Northolt, then finally to Down Ampney. From Down Ampney I made my own way towards base, by train, arriving in the square at St. Neots late in the afternoon. I still had on the clothes and flying boots, but not my helmet and parachute harness, that I had set out in six days earlier. A telephone call to Little Staughton secured me transport and I finally arrived back at base somewhat behind schedule. That was the longest op I did, No. 13. Possibly we achieved a double first in this trip; the first aircraft of Bomber Command to be shot down by an Me 262 and the first airman to bale out safely over the tailplane of a Lancaster.29 Our flight had terminated at 09.25 hours. The master bomber was unable to locate the target, although both he and the deputy went down to 4,000 feet, so the raid was abandoned at 09.51 hours.’30
A night of truly massive proportions occurred on 17/18 December when 1,310 aircraft bombed Ülm, Munich, Duisburg, Hanau, Münster and Hallendorf. At Ülm 317 Lancasters dropped 1,449 tons of bombs during the 25-minute raid and one square kilometre of the city was completely engulfed by fire. Eight Halifaxes were shot down on the Duisburg raid and six Lancasters were lost on the raids on Ülm and Munich. Four of the Lancasters failed to return from the attack on the old centre of Munich and at railway targets. One was a 467 Squadron aircraft flown by Flying Officer T. E. Evans RAAF, which was abandoned on the way back over France in the vicinity of Châlons-Sur-Marne. Hanging head first, Evans’ flying boot caught in the forward escape hatch of the spiralling Lancaster and he pulled the ripcord of his parachute in a final, desperate effort to get clear and was dragged out to safety. So violent was the tug that three panels of silk were ripped from the parachute, but it held sufficiently to carry him. Evans had pushed on to Munich although one engine was failing and the rear turret had become unserviceable soon after leaving England. The bomber barely cleared the Alps, but reached the target, and the bombing run was begun. Suddenly came further trouble. The starboard fin and rudder were almost entirely torn away by flak, 12 feet of the starboard mainplane was ripped from the failing engine which cut out completely, and the bomber went into a spin, completing an orbit in the midst of the rest of the bomber stream. The navigator, Flying Officer D. K. Robson RAAF said later that Evans regained control by sheer strength at 7,000 feet and ordered parachutes on. Evans was struggling hard at the controls and the whole aircraft was vibrating horribly. The Lancaster had been flying two hours away from Munich and was down to 3,000 feet when it became completely uncontrollable, and again went into a spiral dive. Evans ordered ‘abandon aircraft’, but the bomber was down to 1,500 feet when the captain himself jumped, got caught, and was dragged to safety by his chute. The bomber followed the parachuting crew down and almost hit them in its passage. It struck the ground with a great explosion when the crew were still about 200 feet up. Evans was slightly injured in the leg as the result of his ordeal, but no one else was hurt. The crew were assisted by the French and were soon back with their squadron in Britain. Evans was awarded a DFC two months later.31
Attempts were always being made to improve bombing accuracy and one such scheme that December was the ‘Formation Daylight’. The idea was for an Oboe equipped aircraft to act as lead aircraft for a small force of Light Night Striker Mosquitoes, each carrying 4,000-pounders to attack small, vital targets in daylight, thus achieving, it was hoped, great precision. Two 582 Squadron Lancaster B.VIs, specially adapted for the leadership role, were at first allocated. The Lancaster VI was good for 28,000 feet but its cruising speed was incompatible with the Mosquito IX or XVI. It was to carry an extra Oboe pilot and navigator of 109 (Mosquito) Squadron to fly the specialized bombing run. This arrangement was not popular with the Oboe Mossie crews. One of these was Flight Lieutenant Bob Jordan and Ronnie Plunkett of 105 Squadron at Bourn, who were asked to operate the Oboe on the operation, on 23 December, an attack on the Cologne/Gremburg railway marshalling yards to disrupt enemy reinforcements for the Battle of the Bulge. Twenty-seven Lancasters and three Mosquitoes would make the raid. Jordan and Plunkett were to lead the second formation of 10, while Squadron Leader Robert A. M. Palmer DFC* of 109 Squadron and his crew, would lead the first formation in an Oboe-equipped Lancaster, borrowed from 582 Squadron. Palmer, who was 24 years old and had been promoted to squadron leader at age 23, had completed 110 sorties at this time, having been on bombing operations since January 1941. At Graveley Jordan and Plunkett were detailed to fly on Lancaster PB272 X for X-Ray of 35 Squadron, flown by Flying Officer E. J. Rigby and his usual crew. Jordan and Plunkett were to take over the aircraft 60 miles out from the target to operate the Oboe. X for X-Ray was airborne at 10.38 with eleven 1,000lb MC on the racks. Their outward run was normal except that two Lancs touched wings and went down. When the two Mosquito men took over, their aircraft came under predicted heavy flak and caught fire, which the crew were able to extinguish. Since they were not ‘on the beam’ they did not get a release signal and had to jettison the bomb load from 17,000 feet. ‘We had a clear view of Squadron Leader Palmer leading the first formation just ahead’ recalls Plunkett, ‘and his aircraft came under intense AA fire. Smoke billowed from the Lanc and I wondered why he did not bale out there and then, because there seemed to be no hope for them. A German fighter then attacked them but they carried on and completed their bombing run. The Lanc then went over on the port side and went down. I cannot think what, other than sheer determination, kept him on the bombing run. He carried out his duty in textbook fashion. After this we went down to 6,000 feet and Rigby did a good job getting us all back to Manston.’ In April 1945 the award of a posthumous Victoria Cross was made to Squadron Leader Robert Anthony Maurice Palmer.
On seeing the release of Palmer’s bomb load, Edwin Swales SAAF of 582 Squadron, who was flying his 33rd operation, dropped his bomb load and then turned off the target. He was immediately attacked by five enemy fighters who carried out five successive attacks on the Lancaster. Swales’ gunners fought back furiously and claimed one of the German fighters destroyed and two more damaged. Swales was subsequently awarded a DFC for his coolness under fire.
On 26 December the weather at last improved and allowed Bomber Command to intervene in the Ardennes battle and almost 300 bombers, 146 of them Lancasters, were dispatched to bomb German troop positions near St. Vith. Two Halifaxes were lost and a Lancaster, hit by three bursts of flak 10 minutes flying time from the Belgian lines, was set on fire. The crew, with the exception of the rear-gunner who was killed, fought the fire for 65 minutes using all the extinguishers and even the contents of the thermos flasks as well as parachutes, to damp down the flames. The heat buckled the whole of the rear fuselage and the rear and mid-upper turrets were burnt out. Exploding ammunition had further damaged the aircraft and control was difficult but it held together for an emergency landing behind the Allied lines in France.
More ‘daylights’ took place on 28 December, to Cologne-Gremberg again, and to Koblenz the following day. That same night the rail yards at Troisdorf and synthetic oil plants at Scholven-Buer were attacked for the loss of a total of four Lancasters. During bombing up for the raids at Waterbeach, a Lancaster of 514 Squadron exploded, killing nine and injuring four people, completely wrecking a second Lancaster and damaging two others.
Christmas and the New Year came and went with von Rundstedt’s abortive counteroffensive still underway. Hope faded for an end to the European war in 1944 and the question, ‘How early in 1945 can it be finished?’ became linked urgently with thoughts of homes not seen by many for three, four or five Christmases. It was a question that still appeared no nearer an answer as the ice began to form again in northern Europe, as the winter winds began to scour the airfields of Britain once again. As winter moved over Europe in 1944 – 45, crews faced temperatures of 50 to 60 degrees below freezing point, electric storms and fogs. Even alcohol-filled compasses froze on some attacks. As soon as ice on mainplanes thawed a little, large pieces flew off and drummed along the fuselage like enemy fire. Sometimes air and ground crews had to dig their aircraft out of the snow on the day before an operation and then clear the runways of up to two feet of snow. Squadron Leader D. Sullivan DFC and his crew in 463 Squadron RAAF found conditions over a target in the Ruhr so bad that it was impossible to bomb. Carrying out instructions, Sullivan returned to base with the full bomb load. The weather was bad there, and they were diverted to another field. At the strange field Sullivan found he could not adjust his altimeter for the prevailing barometric pressure. Stormy conditions on the return journey had affected the radio equipment. Torrential rain made the night intensely dark, but the landing lights were just visible and Sullivan decided to land. On the approach, without the altimeter to assist, and with rain streaming down the windscreen, the Lancaster hit the tops of some trees. Only superb coolness on Sullivan’s part brought it to rest safely, though the only casualty was a rabbit, caught up in the landing, which was found dead in the bomb-aimer’s compartment.
It certainly seemed that 1945 would be the last year of a war that the long-suffering Britons had endured for the last past five years. The Luftwaffe was powerless to stop the inexorable advance westwards but despite the declining effectiveness of Nachtjagd during late 1944, an all-time record of 2,216 aircraft destroyed was claimed that year. Losses in air combat, in ground attacks and in accidents rose steeply and 114 German aircraft had been destroyed during November-December. At the beginning of 1945 there was one last attempt to try to halt the Allies. Since 20 December many Jagd Gruppen had been transferred to airfields in the west for Operation Bodenplatte, when approximately 850 Luftwaffe fighters took off at 07.45 hours on Sunday morning, 1 January, to attack 27 airfields in northern France, Belgium and southern Holland. The four-hour operation succeeded in destroying about 100 Allied aircraft but it cost the Luftwaffe 300 aircraft, most of which were shot down by Allied anti-aircraft guns deployed primarily against the V-1s and by ‘friendly’ flak.32 The heavies carried out no night bombing operations on 3/4 January but, on the night of the 4/5th, 347 Lancasters and seven Mosquitoes controversially attacked Royan at the mouth of the River Gironde. Upwards of 800 French civilians were killed. Four Lancasters were lost and two more collided behind the Allied lines in France and crashed. The number of aircraft lost in mid-air collisions is not known but it is generally accepted that the numbers were few. Sergeant David Fellowes, a rear-gunner on 460 Squadron RAAF during 1944 – 45 recalls:
‘The morning of 7 January started much the same as many others. The last minute scramble to complete one’s ablutions, into battle-dress and a quick dash to the Sergeants’ Mess for the last remains of breakfast. Then to the anti-room for a look at the previous day’s papers and with the crew complete, a gentle walk to the hangers and B Flight office. Our skipper Art Whitmarsh followed us in. Soon, amid the noise and smokey atmosphere the telephone rang. An Aussie voice yelled, “Quiet!” The noise stopped and Bob Henderson, our Flight Commander, replaced the phone. “OK it’s on”. We all knew what he meant. We had heard it all before. Last night the crew had been to Hanau, a successful operation with all our aircraft returning safely. Crews dispersed to their individual sections leaving the pilots with the Flight Commander. Ken de la Mare, the mid-upper gunner and I departed for the Gunnery Section in the same hanger and carried out the routine daily inspection of our .303 Browning machine guns. A quick pull through with 4 by 2, check the return springs, read the latest Orders and sign the book. A walk to our dispersal where we were met by Sergeant Spud Murphy with his team of fitters and armourers who were responsible for our aircraft. Spud, with his black curly hair, always had a wide grin is more like an Irish gipsy than a real Aussie digger.
‘The turret covers had already been removed and with the help of the armourers the guns were fitted, the systems checked, spare light bulbs, fuses and finally what little Perspex we had was given a quick polish. Most of the Perspex had been removed, which was more draughty and a lot colder but it improved night vision and made less work. As a last job, I fitted the celluloid caps over the flash eliminators. I then replaced the turret cover, met up with the other crew members and hot footed it back to the Mess. As we entered the foyer there for all to see was the ‘Battle Order‘; a list of names, aircraft, main briefing time etc. but there without mistake under ‘B’ Flight was our aircraft; O-Oboe ND968/G. Flying Meal, 15.30 hours. Briefing 16.15 hours. Back to our married quarters No. 13 where Sergeant Art Sheppard, the flight engineer and I shared a small room upstairs. Soon a fire was burning in the grate. The kettle was on and a quick brew up, feet up and relaxation for soon the game would be on again and one more operation less to do. A call at 15.00, flying sweaters on and we walked to the mess. We went into the servery with its large trays of fried eggs, streaky bacon, baked beans and fried bread, plenty of bread and margarine all to be washed down with hot tea or coffee. Somebody dropped his plate and a mighty roar went up, then quietness for a few seconds before the low murmurings returned but not for long as it was time to leave. We put our greatcoats on and joined the growing crowd on its way to the Briefing Room.
‘In a few minutes we saw the Corporal SP outside the double doors which we passed through. Past the rows of tables and chairs, the low stage with black curtains closed to the front, we took our seats in line with the Skipper and navigator sitting in the aisle seats. The room was thick with cigarette smoke and noise, for the room was almost full. Eighteen crews were operating tonight; 126 men. The Intelligence Officer, Flight Commander and specialist officers took their place on the platform either side of the curtains. Loud and clear came the call, “Atten-shun”. Everybody stood. It was quiet and down the aisle walked the Station Commander, Group Captain Keith Parsons and Squadron Commander Mike Cowan. A curt “Good evening Gentlemen” was followed by a mass murmured reply and followed by “Be seated,” as the Intelligence Officer drew the curtains apart and the target was revealed – MUNICH.
‘A large groan went up. For all to see the thin red tape stretched from Binbrook southwards to Reading then altered course to Beachy Head, over the Channel south-east towards a point north of Mulhouse where the track turned north-east and headed towards Stuttgart. Just before Stuttgart a right turn onto a south-easterly heading, passing Ulm on our port side on to Memmingen and then a left turn heading directly for Munich. This was to be the second attack on Munich this night. 5 Group squadrons were to attack with an H hour of 20.30. Us in 1 Group at H hour 22.30. The briefing went on. We could expect moderate to heavy flak with fighter activity. The target marking would be Parramatta33 with emergency sky marking. Finally the Met-man. A small cheer went up as he told us “10/10ths cumulus from France to the target area with tops to 8,500 feet with a frontal belt lying south-east of Paris with winds at 18,000 feet of 27 – 30 knots and tops to 8 – 10,000 feet near the target”. There would be no moon during the operation and there was the likelihood of snow on return with possible diversions. Thus, the briefing came to an end. The Squadron Commander wished us well. The Station Commander wished he were going. Everybody stood as the hierarchy left.
‘The crews dispersed to the changing rooms where they emptied their pockets. Then into flying overalls, long socks, flying boots, gloves, helmet, check the oxygen mask, collect parachute and harness (oh yes sign for it). I then put on my Mae West and harness and collected the escape kit, which was placed in the inner battle-dress pocket. Then it was out into the cold night. The crew bus soon arrived and with other crews with aircraft in adjacent dispersals, we were soon there. We were met by Spud Murphy. He told us all was well and the aircraft serviceable.
‘We climbed aboard, stowed our chutes and carried out the necessary pre-flight checks. I stuck wakey-wakey tablets onto a strut with a piece of chewing gum. With time to spare the crew gathered at the small ground crew shelter for a last cigarette. Art Whitmarsh signed the Form 700 and most of us went for a quick “leak”. Then, with harness fastened, it was into the aeroplane. While Art Sheppard; Flight Sergeant D. Collett, navigator, Flight Sergeant P. Turnbull, bomb-aimer, and Flight Sergeant J. Wilson, wireless operator, went forward I clambered over the Elsan, turned onto my back and slid over the tail spar. Legs down and you were there. I checked to see if my chute was secure, removed the cotton reel from the oxygen economizer, closed the doors, plugged in the intercom and connected the oxygen tube to my mask tube. I fastened the seat belt, opened the breach covers and armed the four Brownings, making sure they were all cocked and Fire/ Safe to Safe. This was followed by a call to the Skipper, “Rear Gunner ready, turret serviceable”. “OK” came the reply and one heard the others reporting. At last it was time to start the engines.
‘Now it was time to check the turret’s operation, full rotation, guns elevated and depressed. I switched the gunsight to “dim”, checked the radar systems and reported all systems serviceable. One could hear the power increased to the engines. We moved forward, then almost stopped as the brakes were checked. A quick thumbs up to the ground crew as we taxied out of the dispersal and onto the perimeter and joined the queue of Lancasters. We slowly went past the hanger and Control Tower, downhill past the bomb dump and then to the end of Runway 22. In turn we moved onto the runway, where I did my final checks. We got a steady green from the runway controller, the engines roared, the brakes were released and the take-off run started. The mighty Merlins gave full power, the tail came up and I was airborne. The tail swung a little and was corrected. I heard the engineer call, “Full power, temperatures and pressures normal” and we were airborne at 18.47.
‘The flaps and undercarriage came in and the Skipper called for 2,650 +9 and Oboe climbed away with a 4,000lb cookie and incendiaries. We turned onto course for the rendezvous at Reading. As we climbed to our first height the guns were set to “Fire” and I started the gunners’ methodical search pattern, reporting other aircraft that may put us at risk. Occasionally the whole aeroplane shuddered from the turbulence made by other Lancasters joining the bomber stream. Eventually we reached our flight level and the navigator gave the Skipper a time for Reading and a new course to steer. At the appointed time we turned onto the new course and started to climb to our next flight level, carrying on to the next turning point at Beachy Head. So far, so good and soon we altered course again, crossing the Channel to the French coast and the long leg towards Mulhouse. Paris was passed well to the south of us. A shower of red sparks flew past my turret but this was no cause for alarm as it was the engineer clearing the engines. So on we droned, soon to run into the front with its associated cloud as forecast by the Met-man. The thought of flying in cloud in daytime was bad enough but at night in a bomber stream was not at all pleasant. The turbulence, sometimes in the tops then in the clear seeing the stars in the dark sky above, there were times when you couldn’t see the wing tips, the dampness but we keep going. Sticking to the briefing we flew on toward the high ground of the Vogeses that rises up to more than 4,600 feet and close to the German border. The weather worsened with more frequent turbulence. A voice on the intercom suggested that we should climb above the weather. There was unanimous agreement and after a second or two the Skipper called for climbing power. I felt the mighty bomber climb through the murky skies and in a few minutes we were in and out of the tops, seeing the stars in the dark sky and the dim shapes of other Lancasters who had climbed earlier. Then “CHRIST” came a shout over the head phones together with a crash and the tearing of metal. Oboe rocked. “We‘ve been hit” said another voice. “Did you see that other Lanc? It’s falling away.” Our port wing dropped and Oboe fell back into the clouds in a spin. Art Whitmarsh was fighting with all his strength to regain control and after what seemed an eternity we were straight and level. The Skipper called for bomb doors open and Jock jettisoned the bombs “Safe”. The clouds lightened with a flash; our bombs or the other Lanc, who knew?
‘Our four engines were still running, the Skipper still struggling to maintain control as he told us that the ailerons were jammed. He called for a head count and serviceability check. The Skipper decided that we must return if possible. The wireless operator was instructed to advise Binbrook on W/T. The IFF was switched to “ON” and a gentle turn was started for a course to the emergency airfield at Manston. The engine power was increased and slowly we started to climb to clear the cloud and the front, also to reduce the risk of icing. Eventually we reached 20,000 feet and were able to see and estimate the extent of the damage. The trailing edge of the starboard wing was well chewed up, the aileron and wing tip missing, Ken in his mid-upper turret reported that the floor and starboard side of the fuselage were missing as was the H2S assembly for about ten feet. Ken was assisted out of his turret by using the escape rope and the help of the wireless operator to the relative comfort and safety of the flight deck.
‘The tail end of the aircraft was swinging with lots of vibration. It was impossible for me in the tail to come forward. I was given the option of baling out but I preferred to stay and stick with each other. Besides, we were still subject to enemy fighters. The Skipper reduced the power and this helped reduce the vibration, so we flew on but with a lower speed. Not a lot was said. The Skipper had his hands full maintaining our crippled machine. Eventually the Channel came up, with a descent to Manston which could be seen. The Skipper decided to make a flapless landing. The undercarriage was lowered. Thank Goodness they both extended as indicated by the two green lights and with a long flat approach a safe landing was made at 00.49 hours. We taxied slowly behind a “Follow Me” ATC truck and parked the aeroplane. The engines were closed down. It was so quiet. Slowly we emerged from the exits, me from the door, the rest of the crew via the front escape hatch down the ladder. We looked at the damage. I suppose we said a silent “Thank You”. Then it was into the transport for a debriefing in Air Traffic Control. The night’s events were recalled, then a phone call to Binbrook to confirm that we were safe. A meal was soon provided and then we had a long sleep.
‘It snowed during the night but next morning we inspected the aeroplane. It was not a pretty sight. The way she held together was a tribute to Avros. The starboard side of the fuselage from the trailing edge almost to the entrance door was missing, as was the floor from the bomb bay, three feet of wing tip and the trailing edge were all mangled and chewed up by the other Lancaster’s propellers with little left of the aileron. A phone call from Binbrook instructed me to remove parts of our radar system as we operated with “Village Inn”34 and “Z” equipment and to bring these back with me. However, due to bad weather at Binbrook and snow at Manston an aircraft was unable to come for us and whilst having a snowball fight outside Air Traffic Control we were told to clear off and get the train. We were given money, railway warrants and transport to Ramsgate but what a scruffy dishevelled crew we looked There was not a razor between us, so into a barber’s shop we went where we were given shaves by ladies running their husbands’ business. Now feeling more human, after a well earned drink we had a crew photograph taken, then we boarded the train to London. But it was no wonder we were stopped by the RAF Service Police. We wore no hats and were in flying boots, Mae West’s etc. but their attitude was soon put to right by good Australian phraseology. A few hours later we were back at Grimsby with transport to take us back to camp for another debriefing. Our next flight was a short cross country and then the “Game” was on again.’35
On the night of 5/6 January when 664 aircraft bombed Hanover, 23 Halifaxes and eight Lancasters failed to return. The majority were shot down by an effective Zahme Sau operation.36 The 35 Squadron Lancaster piloted by Flight Lieutenant Phil Bryant returned, missing one crewmember. In the opinion of the crew, Bryant was an extremely good skipper as well as being an excellent pilot. The crew that night consisted largely of ‘odd bods’ but they soon gelled into a good working unit under Bryant’s able leadership. Their trip was uneventful up to the target, which they reached on time and marked with fair precision. After dropping their bombs they headed for home and Bryant engaged in some fairly active weaving to avoid any predicted flak or fighters that might be around. They soon cleared the target area and settled down on course for Graveley. Phil Bryant announced, ‘I am going to call each crew member in turn to check that everyone is OK. Please answer when you’re called.’ They were all called from nose to tail by their crew stations and all answered, ‘OK Skipper’ until he came to the mid-upper gunner, an Australian Flying Officer named H. E. D. ‘Bob’ Figgis. No answer. He called three or four times. Still no reply. Finally, after checking the rear-gunner, Bryant asked the wireless operator to go back and check the mid-upper turret, assuming that Figgis had a faulty intercom or that it had become unplugged. It was quite a shock, therefore, when, a few minutes later the wireless op called: ‘Hello skipper, wireless op here. There’s nobody in the mid-upper turret and the rear door is open.’ An amazing display of crew discipline followed. There was no speculation, no discussion. Phil Bryant merely said, ‘Right. Rear-gunner, please keep an extra good lookout and wireless op please cover the mid-upper position from the astrodome.’ Not another word was said on the subject until they entered the Graveley circuit and were about to land. Then at last somebody said, ‘I wonder what happened to old Bob Figgis.’ Later some discussion took place at debriefing and all who knew him well agreed that Bob was an extremely steady and reliable type and the last person anyone would expect to lose his nerve or do anything silly. So it remained an unsolved mystery and was soon forgotten.37
On 6/7 January over 600 aircraft set out to bomb two important German rail junctions at Hanau and Neuss. Many of the bombs dropped by 468 Halifaxes and Lancasters at Hanau, and 147 Lancasters at Neuss, missed the targets and fell in surrounding districts. Hanau was reported to be ‘40 per cent destroyed’ while in Neuss, over 1,700 houses, 19 industrial premises and 20 public buildings were destroyed or seriously damaged.38 The following night Bomber Command returned to area bombing with the final major raid on Munich by 645 Lancasters led by nine Mosquitoes. The raid was claimed as successful with the central and some industrial areas being severely damaged. Eleven Lancasters were lost and four more crashed in France. There followed separate raids on Krefeld and the U-boat pens at Bergen and two raids on the rail yards at Saarbrücken, one in daylight on the 13th and again that night. A second bomber force raided the oil plant at Pölitz, near Stettin. This was, for Flying Officer Frank Mouritz RAAF, pilot of Lancaster III M-Mike of 61 Squadron the night that he and his crew nearly ‘bought it’:
‘It was our 20th operation. We were an experienced crew (but not too experienced to be over-confident) and we were to attack, for the second time, a synthetic oil refinery at Pölitz, near Stettin on the Baltic coast in northern Germany. This was our maximum range on this route and we carried full fuel tanks of 2,154 gallons and 12,000lb of 500 and 1,000lb High Explosive bombs – some with delay fuses. The route out was over the North Sea to Denmark, across the Kattegat to southern Sweden, then turning south across the Baltic to the north German coast. The return route was to be similar. Denmark, being occupied, was heavily defended by German armed forces, Sweden however, although neutral, shot up quite a lot of light flak but never in our direction so it was relatively safe to fly across their territory. The attack, purely a 5 Group operation, was planned as a blind attack through cloud but it was changed to a visual one, as the target was clear. Although we carried out our usual fighter search there was no real danger till we neared the target after crossing the Baltic. We bombed on time through very heavy flak and numerous searchlights, as the refinery was very heavily defended. After bombing we set course for home over the Baltic, on the briefed route over Sweden, and then over Denmark. This meant that the Luftwaffe had little trouble working out the probable times and position that the returning bombers would cross Denmark. No doubt the Nazis had agents in Sweden that radioed their passing to Germany.
‘The skill of the navigator and bomb-aimer in map reading kept us on track as there was little cloud cover and the coast lines were fairly visible. On nearing Denmark we went into maximum banking searches at every 1 or 2 minutes, and saw several flashes of gunfire from aerial combats. We were about 15 – 20 minutes on the route home after crossing the western Danish coast and I was easing up on the banking searches thinking that a couple more would be sufficient, when the silence of the intercom was broken by the mid-upper gunner. “Twin engined aircraft underneath”. He did not say which side down but as he could not see straight down it must have been on the starboard side. My reaction, which luckily must have been the correct one, was to put the Lancaster into a violent diving turn to starboard and called out “going down starboard”. The wing had just started to drop when we heard explosions and saw flashes under the starboard wing between the inboard engine and the fuselage. Possibly five or six shells, probably 30mm, hit us and as we dived I heard our guns firing. One of the gunners called out excitedly “we’ve got him and he is heading for a cloud bank below on fire”.
‘In retrospect, we assumed that the mid-upper gunner had sighted him before he was in his best position and our violent diving turn had spoilt his aim. He had to break away to avoid a collision and as we were nearly on our side the two gunners were able to rake him with our six Browning machine guns across his top. As I straightened out the Lanc I found that our emergency signal lights at each crew station had come on and we were lit up and in full view if the fighters were hunting in pairs. I called out to the wireless operator to get to the fuse panel and pull out the appropriate fuses. Dave’s reply in his slow Queensland drawl was “Hell, I’m just taking a broadcast”. The calmness in Dave’s voice reduced the panic that was beginning to appear in the crew. This all took place in a few seconds. The problem of the lights was solved by the rear-gunner smashing his light with his cocking toggle, short circuiting the bulb and blowing the fuse. By this time, of course we had all lost our night vision.
‘I levelled the plane and returned to our course and started to take stock of our damage – from the front we could not see any fires – by calling each member of the crew in turn from back to front, asking for a report on themselves and their equipment. No one had been wounded and all the equipment, except the flight engineer’s, was functioning. He reported that we had lost some power on the starboard inboard engine, and that he was possibly losing fuel from the starboard inboard tank. The Lancaster has three tanks in each wing, all interconnected and it was the rule to draw them all down together so that no tank held maximum fuel, as this could be lost if punctured. The air space above the fuel in the tank was filled with inert nitrogen gas to help prevent fires. Jim Leith, the flight engineer, immediately started to run down the holed tank by feeding the fuel from it to all engines. We also adjusted the controls to bring the bad engine up to the others and carefully watched the gauges. The navigator had a problem with his protractor and calculator etc. as they were tangled due to the violent manoeuvre we had carried out. He had them all tied to a centre point with pieces of string but they took some sorting out. We had just settled down and began to analyze the combat when the rear-gunner reported an object going past his turret followed by another one. The flight engineer managed to have a look at the damaged wing with his torch and reported that the dinghy cover was missing and so was the dinghy. We assumed that was what the rear-gunner had reported. The navigator, F/E and myself had a discussion on the distance to base, fuel consumption and remaining fuel. Having lost our dinghy, a ditching in the North Sea was out of the question. The other alternative was to return to Denmark and bale out. However we worked out that if we flew at our most economical airspeed and height we could make the English coast with a small margin to spare. I did think about putting out a mayday call but left it for the time being as we still had 3½ engines and probably enough fuel.
‘We discussed the combat and concluded that the fighter plane, a Junkers 88, had probably been following us on his radar for some time, waiting until we stopped the banking searches and that the decision to bank to starboard was the correct one. If we had turned to port he could have followed us down and used his front guns as well. Many years later when reading the accounts of the night fighters, I learnt that their preferred aiming point, when attacking from below, was between the inboard engine and the fuselage. This was possibly to give the crew a chance and also that a loaded Lanc has bombs stretching along underneath the centre section of the fuselage and a strike on the fuse of a bomb would blow up both aircraft. So we headed for home at the most economical speed with the rear-gunner keeping a lookout for any more pieces of wing flying past the turret. Nothing further happened and I was tempted to try to lower the undercarriage, to test it, soon after we crossed the coast but decided to leave it until we entered the circuit in our normal manner. On arriving at base I lowered the undercarriage, which made the right sort of noises and vibrations and the indicator light came on so I completed the approach. As soon as we touched the runway I knew that something was wrong. The aircraft tried to drop the starboard wing and I managed to hold it up with full aileron till we lost speed. Then it dropped down; something dragged on that side. We left the bitumen and slewed around in an ever-decreasing circle till we ended up, luckily almost in our own dispersal point. The starboard tyre had been shot to pieces. An inspection of M-Mike next morning showed that most of the underneath starboard wing plates were missing or holed. There were some holes in the lower section of the fuselage but no major structural damage. The loss of power had been due to some ignition leads being cut. Repairs were carried out at our aerodrome but the Lanc was out of action for nearly six weeks. The Ju 88 was later confirmed as damaged, as another crew had seen the combat and the Junkers going down into cloud, on fire. He may have ended up in the North Sea. When we analysed the action we realized that the sighting by the mid-upper gunner had saved us, and that on future operations extra banking searches would have to be carried out on the return journey and at irregular intervals.
‘I was very pleased with the overall crew reaction with little or no panic. We realized that constant surveillance and not allowing ourselves to relax on the way home would be necessary for survival on the remaining operations. This had been our longest trip, 10 hours 30 minutes airborne. Photo reconnaissance stated that the plant was reduced to a shambles. However, we attacked it again in three weeks time and the production of oil ceased, proving to be a great setback to the German war effort.’39
Somewhere on a distant airfield stood a neglected 1934 Standard 10 motor car, much used, even ill-used, in the past but nobody cared. The three men from the aircrew that drove it had gone missing together with four additional crewmembers of Lancaster ‘Y’ PB842, on an operation to an oil plant at Pölitz, near Stettin, on 13/14 January 1945.
A few weeks before, in December 1944, Flight Sergeant Frederick Woodger Roots, air-gunner, Brian Curran, his Australian pilot and Bob Wilson, the Scottish navigator, had visited the Roots in Cockfosters, London and had acquired the car. Mr Roots, a newspaperman on the Daily Mail, spent a lot of time helping them patch it. They froze as they grovelled beneath it, tracing broken circuits and tightening loose controls, for garage staff were short. In RAF parlance, there was no ‘joy’ in the battery, no ‘joy’ in the self-starter Eventually they drove it off on the way back to more bombing operations with 619 Squadron from Strubby, Lincolnshire, a 5 Group station near Alford, not far from Skegness and Mablethorpe.
Twenty-one year old Fred Roots was formerly on the staff of the Press Association, Fleet Street and had joined the RAF in 1942. He spent his period of training in Canada and the Bahamas, passing his Elementary Flying Training School final air and ground examinations for pilot on 29 September 1942. He was then posted to 38 EFTS at Estevan where he soloed on an Anson II and continued flying Ansons until 3 January 1943, when he was taken off the course; it was thought that he would not make a service pilot in the required time. Roots then underwent gunnery training in Canada, eventually receiving his air-gunner brevet. Coastal Command training in Nassau in the Bahamas followed and he was allotted to a crew that flew Mitchells and Liberators. However, the crew was disbanded and they returned to the United Kingdom to be retrained on Wellingtons, Stirlings and Lancasters for 5 Group Bomber Command.
Roots’ crew started bombing operations early in October 1944. All went well until 13/14 January 1945. One morning soon after, the Roots received a telegram. It did not ‘stun’ – it was less merciful. It admitted them to a vast community that mourned in every country or grimly and bleakly fought for hope. Their air-gunner son was reported missing on a bombing trip over Germany. Friends and neighbours are very kind at such times. Some came bravely in to help; others just as kindly stayed away. Two pressed whisky into their hands. ‘Give her a drop tonight,’ they said. ‘It’ll help a bit.’ The RAF was kind too. The wing commander wrote in practical, encouraging terms, stressing the sound experience of the crew, the qualities of the pilot.
Their grey sojourn was mercifully brief. On the third day came another wire: ‘Safe but interned’. The speed of it shook them. How the neighbourhood leapt with them! Even the telephone girls, whom they never saw, rejoiced as the calls sped in and out. The butcher and the baker, the parson and the milk girl heard the news. Everyone called. Someone brought more whisky. ‘For a toast to your boy and his pals – and all the others too.’ (The giver’s son-in-law was home with her, with his legs shot off).
Friday the 13th had begun like most other nights on operations for Fred and the rest of his crew, as he recalls:
‘We set off in the usual way from Strubby, having gone through the usual preliminaries, including briefing, inspection of our aircraft, guns and turrets, etc. and of course our special egg, chips and bacon meal as always. We climbed into Y-Yoke PB842 and settled down into our respective positions in the aircraft. As always I was in the rear turret, with its four Browning .303 machine guns. Our usual bomb-aimer, Sergeant Charlie Lockton, was sick and Flight Sergeant M. P. Quigley took his place. He and Sergeant Johnny Haigh, the wireless operator and Sergeant David Drew, the flight engineer, all came from Huddersfield. The mid-upper gunner, Flight Sergeant E. A. M. ‘Abdullah’ Blakeley, completed the crew.
‘As usual, the commanding officer, padre and many of the station personnel were facing the runway to wave us off with the “thumbs up” sign as we took off. We were routed over Sweden and the flight was comparatively quiet with only the occasional anti-aircraft activity. Over Sweden the Swedish anti-aircraft gunners opened up, to comply with international requirements from a neutral country. However, the aiming was intentionally ‘friendly’ and we had no need to take evasive action. Closer to the target was a quite well defended area because of the oil refineries at Pölitz and the number of warships with anti-aircraft guns and the flak became more intense. However, we flew safely on until we reached our bombing run to the target. I was obviously keeping an alert lookout for enemy night fighters. It was during the last few minutes of our run-in that I saw the Me 410 night fighter. Because he was sufficiently distant and flying a parallel course to us, I knew at that time that there could be no immediate danger and it was better that the bombing run continued so that we could get rid of our bombs. However, immediately I saw the Me 410 turn towards us – the pilot had to turn his aircraft towards us in order to sight his guns – I opened fire with my four guns at the same time, giving the order to Brian to corkscrew to port – the evasive action devised by Bomber Command. The Me 410 continued to close in until he was within point blank range and I continued to shoot. Just before the German night fighter came in, our bomb-aimer had released the bombs on to the target. I imagine the enemy pilot had been waiting to see the bombs released, knowing of the danger to himself if they were to explode!
‘By this time I imagine that the Me 410 must have been extensively damaged, for he fell away from us and the fight came to an end. I claimed the enemy aircraft to be damaged, as I did not actually see it fall to the ground. David, our flight engineer, later my brother-in-law, claimed that he definitely saw the Me 410 fall away to earth. Just before this we felt a judder in the aircraft and a few minutes later our engineer noted that the fuel indicator for the port inner tank registered empty. A shell from the enemy fighter’s cannon had entered the tank, causing a hole and the fuel to leak out. The miracle was that it did not burst into fire. By this time we had left the target area and were starting our return journey home again across Sweden.
‘Discussion then took place on the intercom and estimates were made as to how much fuel we had left and how far we could reach. The progress of the Allies in France was, by now, well advanced and we wondered whether we could fly back, away from the main stream of bombers and alone across enemy territory, in the hope of reaching Allied lines and baling out. It was doubtful whether we would even reach our own lines; it was also more likely that our lone aircraft would be attacked and shot out of the sky. The only reasonable alternative was to make for Sweden and either bale out or land the aircraft. The machine was flying well so it was decided to make for Rinkaby satellite airfield of the Swedish Air Force.
‘As we approached the airfield we shot off emergency cartridges from our Very pistol. The airfield, apparently, was not equipped with night flying equipment, so all available cars and lorries were driven on to the runway and we landed by their lights, finishing very close to the boundary fence. We destroyed all our secret radar equipment and one of the lorries with armed guards led us to the administrative buildings. We were interrogated very briefly and, of course, revealed only our names, ranks and numbers. We were then fed and entertained with beer in the officers’ mess. We had a very friendly evening with the officers and were supplied with sleeping accommodation. Next day we were taken for a walk, under armed guard, along one of the snow-covered country roads and were put on the train at the local station. We travelled to Stockholm and on to the office of the Air Attaché at the British Embassy. We were told not to make any attempt to escape, as the Air Attaché would do his very best to get us home. There was nowhere to escape to and the attaché’s office would be much speedier. We were then put on a train and transported to Falun for another brief interrogation and a medical examination. I believe arrangements were made for us to cable home so that we could reassure our families that all was well. We were taken by army coach to our “internment camp” (Internezingsager IV Korsnas) where we were to spend our internment. Here the proprietress and her staff gave us a warm welcome. The cook, a plump motherly lady, described herself, in what little English she knew, as our “Swedish mother”. They all became our good friends. Our internment camp was a small hotel and we were waited on with good food and comfortable surroundings.
‘During my stay at Korsnas there were thirteen British internees. We were the only crew who had been able to land our aircraft; the others had parachuted out, one member being badly burned, while another was the only survivor of his crew. We had nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. It was an enforced holiday. We were allowed into the village and into the town of Falun and were advanced some of our pay by the Swedish Army and the Air Attaché’s office in Stockholm. We were taught to ski by an instructor from the Swedish Army and we met local people, who were very friendly. Our stay was all too short, however. The Air Attaché, true to his word, made arrangements for our pilot, navigator, mid-upper gunner and myself to be flown home on 27 February 1945, as special envoys aboard a Dakota of BEA. Senior officials debriefed us at the Air Ministry on our return to London.’
In Cockfosters, north London, Mr and Mrs Roots awaited the return of their son. The post office had looked up the Roots’s telephone number to get the telegram from Stockholm to them more swiftly. The girl who dictated the telegram said, ‘Is it the good news we thought?’ and they heard her call to other girls – ‘It is – it is!’
At the Air Ministry a pleasant WAAF Corporal said, ‘I wish we had thousands more cases as happy as this.’ They made them feel comfortable and easy in little rooms with deep chairs. They sent an officer with a file of signals. Yes, there were ways to write, wire and send parcels. So who cared about an old, battered treasure of a car standing idle on an airfield? The Roots could only wish that other parents might have the same comforting news. But how did it happen that days after all this the airfield chaplain sent a long, hand-written letter of consolation, encouragement and hope in their grief and anxiety? Did no one tell the padre anything but the bad news?
By the beginning of 1945 few German cities had escaped heavy bombing. Those who tried to escape the constant bombing and the moraines of rubble, which reached up to the first floors of their houses, fled from the devastated cities and were now living in caves in the countryside. The white faces of the underground cavern dwellers looked like ‘the faces of fish coming up to the surface to snatch a breath of air’.40 Those who existed among the debris of the devastated cities refused to give in to the effect of the catastrophes insidiously creeping up on them and some tried to maintain a social life as if nothing had happened. In one German city a woman cleaned the windows of a building ‘that stood alone and undamaged in the middle of the desert of ruins’. Onlookers thought she was a madwoman and they felt the same when they saw children tidying and raking a front garden.41 Trams would stop in the middle of nowhere and people would emerge suddenly ‘as if they had sprung from the grey scree’. In suburbs that had not suffered at all Germans were sitting out on their balconies drinking coffee. ‘It was like watching a film; it was downright impossible’, said one diarist. ‘Over Germany destruction thickens’ wrote another observer, adding that ‘rats had grown fat on corpses housed in the rubble of our cities.’ After the destruction of Halberstadt Frau Schrader, who was employed at a local cinema, got to work with a shovel commandeered from the air-raid wardens immediately after the bombs fell, hoping ‘to clear the rubble away before the two o’clock matinee’. Down in the cellar, where she found various cooked body parts, she tidied up by dumping them in the washhouse boiler for the time being. Twenty years earlier Fritz Lang’s 1924 film Kriemhilds Rache [‘Kriemhild’s Revenge’] in which a nation’s entire armed forces move forward almost deliberately into the jaws of destruction, finally going up in flames in a stupendous pyromaniacal spectacle, was shown in cinemas in Germany. It clearly anticipated the rhetoric of the Thousand Year Reich’s ‘final battle’. Lying in bed at night in their home at Moulton Washway in Lincolnshire, Louie Chapman and her mother Eva listened in the darkness to the sounds of Lancaster bombers taking off for another raid deep into Germany. Louie said to herself ‘That’s my brother going over’. ‘Jimmy’ Chapman was 23, two years older than Louie was. She knew him as an ordinary land worker who had never even gone to grammar school but she was understandably proud of her wireless operatorair gunner brother. The London Gazette for 9 May 1944 announced that he had been awarded the CGM for his actions on the 30/31 March raid on Nuremberg. It went on to mention that Chapman had been wounded in the back, neck and head but bravely remained at his post obtaining fixes, which were of inestimable value in establishing the aircraft’s position at various stages of the return flight. After recovering from his wounds Jimmy Chapman had returned to operations with 61 Squadron at Skellingthorpe where he flew ops alongside 35 year old Flight Sergeant Arthur Sherriff, the crew’s air-gunner who had been awarded the DFM for his actions on the same raid. By the start of 1945 the two brothers-in-arms had survived some of the most dangerous operations of the war. ‘Surely’ thought Louie, ‘the war could not go on for much longer and then Leslie hopefully, would be back home for keeps’.
At Skellingthorpe on 1 February both the men were on the Battle Order for the 5 Group raid on Siegen, which was to be visited by 271 Lancasters and 11 Mosquitoes. Leslie Chapman and Arthur Sherriff saw that they were flying with Squadron Leader Hugh Horsley AFC who had baled out over Holland on 24 September and had spent months on the run evading the Germans before the area was liberated by the advancing Allied armies. Sergeant Reg Hoskisson, who had been Horsley’s rear-gunner on that raid, had also evaded capture and he now took the same position on board NF912. Sherriff was a replacement for the mid-upper gunner on the crew who was sick. At around 15.15 hours Skellingthorpe reverberated to the sounds of scores of Rolls-Royce Merlins revving up as one by one the Lancasters of 50 and 61 Squadrons began taking-off. As usual a large number of personnel from both squadrons were standing by the flying control caravan at the end of the runway to cheer the crews off. At 15.42 hours Horsley taxied their Lancaster onto the runway, received a green light from the flying control caravan and he turned onto the runway. He opened up the four Merlins and NF912 soon gathered speed, lifting off in a steady climb. When it reached 500 feet some of the onlookers noticed that the propeller on the port outer engine had been feathered. Feathering of the props on the three remaining engines quickly followed! The Lancaster came down in a slow diving turn heading back over the airfield. As it rapidly lost height Horsley just managed to skim over P Peter, which was still on its dispersal pan, before making what seemed like a perfect wheels-up landing in the overshoot area at the end of the main runway. It had all happened in less than a minute.
Shortly afterwards the underside of the Lancaster collapsed under the weight of 1,500 gallons of petrol and 13,000lbs of bombs as it skidded along the runway. 42 Within seconds the 4,000lb cookie detonated and, in turn, set off the rest of the bomb load in a blinding flash followed by a loud explosion, which resonated around the airfield. Some of the watching ground staff started to run towards the crash site to see if they could help the crew. When they got there they found a huge crater. The Lancaster had broken up into small pieces of distorted metal scattered over a large area, except for the engines and the rear turret, which was lying on its side a short distance away. The station emergency services arrived at the appalling scene of carnage and destruction to find, to their amazement, that Reg Hoskisson was still alive! As the fireman carefully extracted him from the wreckage, his first concern was for the rest of his crew. He was then taken to hospital suffering from severe shock and a piece of shrapnel embedded in his back. Horsley, Arthur Sherriff and Jimmy Chapman, and the other three men on board perished.
There was one other casualty that resulted from the crash. Jimmy Chapman’s grieving mother Eva died the following year.
The early months of 1945 saw a tremendous increase in Bomber Command’s operations, both in tempo and number, 40 raids being mounted in February alone.43
On 2/3 February Bomber Command mounted raids on Mannheim, Wanne Eickel, Wiesbaden and Karlsruhe by 1,200 aircraft, about 250 being ordered to raid Karlsruhe. Due to adverse weather conditions and extensive Luftwaffe night fighter activity near and over the targets, operations were only partially successful. Twenty-one aircraft failed to return, including 11 from the Karlsruhe force and another 13 crashed in liberated French territory.44 It was a bad night for 189 Squadron, with four aircraft failing to return to Fulbeck, as air gunner Sergeant Ricky Dyson who, on the night of 26/27 November 1944, had suffered such a tragic flying accident, recalls:
‘My last memories of Ned Kelly and the boys were at briefing and at the dispersal area before take-off. As fate was to ordain, Frank Cowlishaw, our mid-upper gunner was on the sick list and Frank Fox was destined to fly in his place (the fortunes of war?). We were timed to take-off about 20.00 hours and arrive over the target at 23.20 hours so we had quite a long night ahead of us. We were all in high spirits, laughing and joking with other aircrew and among ourselves. We all must have had our own form of anxiety before a raid – the tenseness and butterflies in the tummy were common to us all I think. Once inside the aeroplane however, this nauseating excitement disappeared, as one became occupied with one’s tasks and checks etc. It was a cold February night. It wasn‘t a bad night as far as visibility was concerned. I made sure that my guns were in the upright position, which they had to be after two accidents earlier on where, in the excitement, the gunners had inadvertently fired their guns and caused havoc on the ground! We had a good take-off. I remember seeing the party on the flare path. As you went down the runway, one bit of fear came and I was very grateful when I heard the air speed being called out, which was just above stalling speed. Over Reading there was a rendezvous, where all the bombers came into one stream. As part of the stream, there was safety in numbers and you felt quite comfortable. France was occupied by friendly forces so it wasn‘t until you reached Germany that you were over enemy territory. You were then conscious of the flak and possibility of fighters and so you were very much alert and you‘d already tested your guns over the Channel to make sure all were firing OK and that your gun sight was in good working order. Then it was just a matter of keeping a cool head and searching and keeping in touch with your mid-upper gunner.
‘The outward leg was uneventful. I tested my guns over the Channel as usual and received confirmation from Frank Fox that he too had done the same (chat over the intercom was kept to a minimum and was mostly of a technical nature). The weather was cold and clear when we joined the main bomber stream but over France we did encounter icing-up conditions and an electrical storm, with cloud formations thickening from above. When we reached Germany we were flying at 17,000 to 18,000 feet. To our dismay on reaching Karlsruhe we encountered solid cloud beneath us at about 16,000 feet obscuring the target. To make matters worse we became “sandwiched” since the cloud above had thinned considerably, allowing the moon to shine through. These conditions certainly assisted the enemy night fighters and greatly added to the difficulties of the bomber force.
‘We were on time as we neared the target area but owing to the weather conditions we had to bomb on the coloured sky markers, which together with chandelier flares glowed through the cloud. These had been dropped by the Pathfinder Force giving a diffused illumination to the whole target area. Whether we dropped our bombs or not I wasn‘t sure because there was a blinding flash and a terrific explosion and what happened just before was a bit of a blur! The whole of my body seemed to be propelled upwards and yet at the same time my head and neck felt as though they were being forced down below my shoulders and into my stomach. Then I must have passed out! The next thing I remembered was somersaulting earthwards in mid-air. I had been blown out by the force of the explosion with my rear turret being blown to pieces around me! (Yet another miracle it seemed!) My six friends and companions all died in that tragic moment in time as Lancaster PB840/K plunged earthwards in a ball of flame. I doubt whether the exact cause of the explosion will ever be known. We either fell victim to an enemy night fighter, or, as I believe, we may have collided with another Lancaster, which could have been taking avoiding action away from fighters or searchlights. This was not uncommon and was rated a calculated risk as the bomber stream narrowed at varying heights to converge on the Aiming Points. Tragically, whatever the cause the terrible result remains the same.
‘To return to my sudden and dramatic departure from the rear turret. The realization that I was still alive came as a great relief but, as I recovered my senses, I was also aware, with a feeling of deep anxiety, all was not yet over, since I was still somersaulting and falling towards the ground! In a fearful panic I reached for my parachute pack, which thankfully was still there and dangling behind me (it was a seat type pack that was a normal issue to pilots and also to rear-gunners). I felt for the D-ring release on my harness and pulled until the ring and wire attachment came free in my hand. I prayed that the pack itself was not burnt or damaged in some way and for an awful moment I thought that it wasn’t going to open! Then I felt a terrific jerk. I looked up and with great relief saw the huge canopy filling with air. My brain was by now quite clear and I was soon in an upright position with my hands grasping the parachute guide lines with which I was able to steer. The full horror of what had happened now came over me, as I saw what appeared to be a huge box-like inferno falling like a stone in the dark part of the sky. I could see bits and pieces falling from it, burning and aflame as they fell. With horror I realized that I was witnessing the death of some, if not all of my friends with whom I had been joking a few hours before. Their average age was only 22 years and, like so many, were so young to die during those terrible years of war.
‘As the exploding and flaming mass disappeared into the cloud below, the despair for my friends turned to thoughts of my own self-preservation, as I realized I was being blown back to the target area. I quickly pulled on the chute guide lines, praying I would be able to avoid being caught in the many searchlights with their beams weaving menacingly about the sky. However, I was soon out of range and gazed, fascinated, at the sight below and to my left. Karlsruhe it seemed was alight from stem to stern. It was like looking down on a carpet of gold with the chandelier flares suspended above, illuminating rivers of red from bursting incendiaries. The green sky markers winked intermittently with yellow and black smoke billowing skywards. Streams of multi-coloured tracer shells were bursting from the anti-aircraft guns and there was a series of explosions as sticks of high explosive bombs burst, sending red and yellow flames high into the air. It was an awesome spectacle of great beauty, which I had seen many times before from the rear turret of a Lancaster bomber on its return leg to England.
‘Whilst watching this terrible and beautiful scene, my attention was drawn to my feet. They were freezing cold! I looked down to discover I had neither boots nor socks (they had, I think, been sucked off by the blast as K-King exploded). Thoughts now crowded in on me and with apprehension I wondered whether I had any injuries? Was my face burnt? Were my legs and feet OK? I felt and tasted blood but as I felt around my eyes, nose, ears etc. all seemed OK. I entered broken cloud and was more conscious of my rate of descent and the exhilarating sensation, as I swayed and floated at the end of a parachute. Through the gap in the cloud I glimpsed woods and snow-covered fields and the target area was now a diffused red glow. I pulled on the parachute guide lines and steered myself away from the woods and prayed that when the time came I would make a safe landing. I could faintly see what I thought to be a cluster of buildings and steered to avoid them also. I was just beginning to enjoy myself when I realized that the fields were getting a lot closer. Then suddenly, without warning, the ground seemed to rush up to meet me and I landed with a bump in a snow covered field. Directly my feet touched the ground, I tried to relax, allowing my legs and body to go limp as I rolled over. I was dragged a short distance across the field as the parachute canopy collapsed. On recovering my breath, I remembered the release button on my harness. I banged it hard and the harness fell away. I had landed safely with no bones broken!
‘As quickly as I could I gathered up the parachute canopy and stumbled to a wooded spinney nearby. After tearing up some of the silk to bind my feet, which were bruised and freezing from the cold, I buried the remainder beneath a pile of leaves and then tried to take stock of the situation. My wrist watch was missing but I estimated the time to be about 01.00 hours. I felt scared, cold and miserable, very much alone and I wondered again about the fate of the rest of the crew. I thanked God for my own survival. My only injuries were slight burns to my hands and face, a few cuts and bruises, very cold feet and scorched hair. As I realized how lucky I had been I became aware that the yellow flying suit I was wearing was conspicuous so reluctantly, I took it off and hid it beneath another pile of leaves. I thought about escaping and checking I still had my escape pack containing a compass, silk map, chocolate and foreign money etc., I wondered how far I was from the French border. Without my flying suit I was feeling the cold and became increasingly concerned regarding the state of my feet and the danger of frostbite. I thought that the best thing was to go in search of some boots or socks while it was still dark. Rightly or wrongly, I left the comparative shelter of the wooded spinney, with the hope of finding some in a barn or a shed. However, by this time I must have been suffering from delayed shock. I wandered across a field, ankle and sometimes knee deep in mud, hearing dogs barking and whistles blowing in the distance. I guessed they were search parties out looking for survivors. I must have wandered about for some time, as it was beginning to get light when I came across a shed in a farmyard. While I was searching for footwear I so urgently needed, the door burst open and I was confronted by a uniformed German soldier. And so it was; with his rifle and bayonet pointed at me, I reluctantly became his prisoner.’45
On 7/8 February main force targets included strong German defence positions at Goch and Kleve, which had to be smashed before an attack by the British XXX Corps across the German frontier near the Reichswald. The Dortmund-Ems Canal was also targeted and Mosquito bombers carried out raids on Magdeburg, Mainz and five other targets. On 8/9 February Bomber Command returned to attacks on synthetic oil plants when Pölitz was bombed by 475 Lancasters and seven Mosquitoes. Twelve Lancasters failed to return and a 625 Squadron Lancaster returned to Kelstern with part of a Halifax tailplane wrapped around its own tail, following a collision over the Danish coast on the return.46 Wanne-Eickel and Krefeld were also attacked. There followed a series of minor operations involving Mosquito bombers mainly while the main force was grounded, 9-12/13 February.
Bomber Command though was merely building up for an operation that has since gone down in history as one of the most controversial bombing raids of the war.
Notes
1
5 Group lost 15 Lancasters on the Königsberg raid. Bomber Command estimated that 41 per cent of all housing and 20 per cent of all the industry in Königsberg was destroyed. At Stettin 1,569 houses and 32 industrial premises were destroyed and 565 houses and 23 industrial premises were damaged. Over 1,000 people were killed and 1,034 people injured.
2
Bomber Command ORS ‘K’ Report. The raid was successful, the Lancasters hitting parts of the port, which had escaped damage in previous attacks.
3
Klaus Schmidt, Die Brandnacht in On The Natural History of Destruction by W. G. Sebald.
4
Thundering Through the Clear Air: No. 61 (Lincoln Imp) Squadron At War by Derek Brammer (Tucann Books, 1997).
5
5/6 October, when 531 Lancasters and 20 Mosquitoes were dispatched.
6
The attack by 246 Lancasters on Bremen was the last of 32 major raids on this city during the war and five Lancasters were lost. Five hundred and twenty-three aircraft, 247 of them Lancasters, attacked Dortmund. Five aircraft, including two Lancasters were lost.
7
At First Sight; A Factual and anecdotal account of No.627 Squadron RAF. Researched and compiled by Alan B. Webb, 1991. Sergeant (later Pilot Officer) Bill Burke flew his last operation in the early hours of 4 January 1945 on the Germans holding out in Royan, which was marked by 627 Squadron. As he remembered it, ‘the beleaguered garrison had irritated the local populace by venturing out to rustle cattle. If that was so, then a visit by 5 Group’s 200 – 250 bombers was a heavy price to pay for their fillet steak!’
8
In summer 1943 Döring had completed 348 operational sorties as a bomber pilot in KG 53 and KG 55, seeing action during the Battles of France and Britain. In the Russian campaign he destroyed 10 aircraft in the air (including three 4-engined TB-3 bombers over Stalingrad one night) flying a He 111 fitted with extra machine guns. He claimed a further eight aircraft destroyed as a Wilde Sau pilot in JG 300 and three more night victories in NJG 2 and NJG 3.
9
One Lancaster failed to return from Brunswick.
10
Six Lancasters failed to return, five of which, were shot down by Zahme Sau Nachtjäger. Larry Melling was awarded the DFC on 27 March and he was commissioned on 1 November. He flew his 61st and final op on 25 April 1945. His navigator, bomb-aimer and W/Op were also awarded the DFC and his two gunners and flight engineer, the DFM.
11
Lancaster-The Story Of A Famous Bomber by Bruce Robertson (Harleyford Publications Ltd, 1964).
12
Five hundred and sixty-one Lancasters, 463 Halifaxes and 31 Mosquitoes.
13
On 7/8 October, in riposte to the enemy R/T communications used in its Zahme Sauoperations, Lancasters of 101 Squadron, fitted with Airborne Cigar (ABC) carried out jamming of the enemy R/T frequencies. These Lancasters also carried a specially trained German-speaking operator. This night the order ‘All butterflies go home’ was broadcast on the German night fighter frequency, resulting in many German night fighter pilots returning to their airfields. The most outstanding ‘Window’ success of the month was perhaps on 14/15th when 1,013 heavies went to Duisburg and 200 to Brunswick. It was anticipated that the Duisburg raid, by low approach, radar silence and shallow penetration, would get through with little trouble but that the Brunswick force might be strongly opposed. A ‘Window’ Force was therefore routed to break off from the Brunswick route and strike at Mannheim. This had success beyond all expectations, for the Brunswick attack was almost ignored because the Mannheim area was anticipated as the main target. Just one bomber from the Brunswick force was lost: Lancaster ME595 of 61 Squadron was shot down by flak at Rieseberg, 6 km NW of Köningsbuttel; there were no claims by Nachtjäger. October also saw the introduction of Dina; the jammer used against FuG 220 Lichtenstein SN-2. Dina was installed in the Jostle-fitted Fortresses of 214 Squadron. This was frequently used in the ‘Window’ force, as were Jostle, H2S and Carpet, thereby more effectively giving the simulation of a bombing force. A further realistic effect, also born in October, was created through the cooperation of PFF, which, on several occasions Oboe-marked and bombed the Spoof target. (The ‘Window’ Force itself had not yet arrived at the bomb-carrying stage.) The noise of Oboe, which had until that time always preceded real attacks only, was thought to give still more confusion to the German controller.
14
Eleven Halifaxes and eight Lancasters failed to return, four of these aircraft crashing behind Allied lines in France and Belgium.
15
Most of the night’s bomber losses were due to Nachtjagd fighters. Hauptmann Heinz Rökker of I./NJG 2 was credited with two Lancasters and two Halifaxes and Hauptmann Hans-Heinz Augenstein of IV./NJG 1, three Lancasters. Oberleutnant Erich Jung of 6./NJG 2 claimed two Lancasters shot down north of Essen.
16
Mouritz and his crew were later allocated a new QR-M. He recalled: ‘What a difference it was to fly. When doing our first air test with no bombs and limited fuel, I opened the throttle on take-off and we were flung back in our seats. She behaved like a sports car. We had now completed 12 trips and flew the new Mickey (although no art was ever painted on the nose) to the end of our tour except for a few weeks in January and February when she was being repaired after getting shot up and having a dicey landing.’
17
Fries and his Bordfunker Feldwebel Fred Staffa had become a very experienced night fighting team. They were credited with 10 confirmed night kills August 1943-April 1944, plus two unconfirmed Abschüsse in daylight, a B-17 on 17 August and a P-47 on 14 October 1943. On 9 July 1944 they had been posted to 2./NJG 1 at Venlo airfield.
18
When 115 Squadron in 4 Group and 38 Lancaster IIs in 6 Group RCAF carried the device. Of the 38 Lancaster IIs, 15 attacked according to plan, 16 having equipment failures. More than half the bombs dropped by G-H landed within half a mile of the aiming point.
19
The soldiers meekly shouldered arms and the prisoners were moved back down the street silently giving thanks to the one civilian in the vengeful city who had shown them mercy. Allen Clifford recalls a small cold dark room where he spent 10 days solitary confinement at the Dulag Luft Interrogation Centre near Frankfurt. Some men he met later had rooms with a little high window that let in light, but Clifford’s was windowless, and just high enough to stand up in, but not long enough to lie down. He had to sit on a bare stone floor, getting disorientated because he could not see or feel anything. Clifford had no bed, no blanket; nothing except a tiny electric element heater screwed to the wall. He got down on the ground and squinted up at the red wire when it was occasionally switched on to make sure he was not blind. Once when he was to be interrogated the door of his cell was opened at the same time as the one opposite. Standing there blinking was a gunner, a taciturn New Zealand farmer called Parky Parkinson. Allen had been crewed up with him on Hampdens in Canada. He had time only to exclaim, ‘Bugger me’ before they were taken in opposite directions. Clifford did not see him again. He and Stan Lee ended up at Stalag IIIA at Luckenwalde near Potsdam.
20
On 11 September 38 Lancasters of 9 and 617 Squadrons, accompanied by a PR.XVI Mosquito to provide up-to-date target information and weather reports, flew to their forward base at Yagodnik on an island in the Dvina River near Archangel, in northern Russia. One Lancaster returned en route and six others fell victim to bad weather and crash-landed in the Soviet Union. On 15 September the attack, by 28 Lancasters, 20 of which were carrying Tallboys and 6 or 7 others, twelve 500lb ‘Johnny Walker’ oscillating mines, went ahead and considerable damage was caused to the battleship. Two days later, returning to Lossiemouth, one of the Lancasters crashed in Norway with the loss of all 11 men on board. Subsequent PR revealed that although badly damaged, the Tirpitz was still afloat (albeit beyond practical repair, although this was not known at the time). On 17 October a detachment of four PR Mosquitoes of 540 Squadron was dispatched to Dyce to keep watch on Tirpitz. Information from the Norwegian resistance stated that the ship had left Kaa Fjord on its way south for Tromsö Fjord, where it was to be used as a heavy artillery battery. On 29 October 37 Lancasters (18 Lancasters each from 9 and 617 Squadrons plus the photographic aircraft from 463 Squadron) took off from Lossiemouth and attacked the Tirpitz in Tromsö Fjord. Some 32 Lancasters dropped Tallboy bombs on estimated position of the capital ship (30 seconds before the attack a bank of cloud came in to cover the ship). Though no direct hits were achieved a Tallboy near-miss by the stern caused considerable damage, distorting the propeller shaft and rudder, which flooded the bilges over a 100 foot length of the ship’s port side. The damage meant that the Tirpitz was no longer able to steam under her own power. One of 617 Squadron’s Lancasters, which was damaged by flak, crash-landed in Sweden and the crew was later returned to Britain. By the time that the attack was over, various decoded Ultra code-cipher intercepts revealed that the Tirpitz was no longer seaworthy but the War Cabinet decided that the battleship must be sunk.
21
Royal Australian Air Force Overseas (Eyre & Spottiswoode, London, 1946). At least two Tallboys hit the ship, which capsized to remain bottom upwards. The crew of the Tirpitz had been reduced from a complement of 2,000 to about 1,600, most of whom were engine room personnel, after the second attack. Around 900 men were killed, drowned or suffocated, having been trapped on board in watertight compartments. Only 87 sailors were recovered from the ship by cutting through the double bottom from the outside. One Lancaster, of 9 Squadron, was severely damaged by flak and landed safely in Sweden with its crew unhurt. The Bomber Command ORS Report S.226 of 25 July 1945 said that, ‘The bombing accuracy achieved in a series of Tallboy operations carried out by 9 and 617 Squadrons during the period December 1944 to March 1945 have been analyzed from plots. No. 9 Squadron are quipped with the Mk.XIV bombsight and 617 with the SABS Mk.IIA and consistently greater accuracy has been achieved by the latter squadron. All bombs falling more than 400 yards from the aiming point have been classified as gross errors. On this basis, one of the 69 bombs plotted for 617 Squadron and five of 50 bombs plotted for 9 Squadron have been counted as gross errors. The random errors of 617 Squadron are smaller than those of 9 Squadron and an overall estimate of the effectiveness of the two forces in achieving a given density at the aiming point is approximately 2:1 in favour of 617 Squadron . . . the results of the two squadrons accordingy provide a comparison between the two sights. The proportion of gross errors with the Mk.XIV is greater than that with the SABS Mk IIA, in the order of 2:1 in favour of SABS. It must be pointed out, however, that this is only true in those operations in which the tactical freedom of the Mk.XIV or the necessity for a small and well-defined point of aim for synchronization with the SABS do not confer an advantage on the former sight. For instance, SABS IIA could not be used satisfactorily in a large-scale ground marking attack by night.’
22
The Battle of Hamburg: Allied Bomber Forces Against A German City in 1943 by Martin Middlebrook (Penguin, 1980).
23
Sebald, op. cit.
24
Bomber Command Quarterly Review’ No. 11
25
The Bomber Command War Diaries by Martin Middlebrook and Chris Everitt (Midland, 1985).
26
Flight Sergeants Probert, McClune and Venning and Sergeant Bayliss all perished on this dreadful night. ‘Ricky’ Dyson was awarded the George Medal for his attempt to save the lives of the crew and he was presented with the award by King George VI at an investiture at Buckingham Palace when the war had ended.
27
Friedrich Reck, Tagebuch eines Verzweifelten.
28
Swales was born in Durban South Africa and he served first in the Army and was with the Eighth Army throughout the North African campaign. He transferred to the South African Air Force in June 1943 and trained as a pilot, being posted to England.
29
Art Green, Flying Officer Ed Dalik, navigator 2, Willie Mood, navigator 1 and Johnny Campbell had returned to Little Staughton before Hough did. Sergeant Denny Naylor, the flight engineer, who had baled out safely never returned to the squadron. Squadron Leader Grillage, who was probably hit by gunfire, as he was in line between the Me 262 and the port outer engine, did not survive.
30
The next day 56 Lancasters of 3 Group and including some 562 and 109 Squadron aircraft, returned to the Eifel and tried to bomb the Schwammenauel dam on the Roer. They were prevented from doing so by cloud cover at the target and only two aircraft bombed. Bombing of the Urft dam on 8 December by 205 Lancasters of 5 Group, who were escorted by 39 Mustangs and 50 Spitfires of 11 Group, was affected by 9/10ths cloud and no results were seen. A Lancaster of 630 Squadron was lost. On 11 December the raid by 233 Lancasters of 5 Group and five Mosquitoes of 8 Group, who were escorted by 188 fighters, finally achieved hits on the Urft dam but no breach was made. This was despite 35 Tallboys, as well as the main force bombs, being aimed at it by 9 and 617 Squadrons. A Lancaster of 57 Squadron was lost. The series of raids did blast 13 feet off the top of the Urft dam but no large breach was ever made and the Germans were able to release large quantities of water whenever they wanted to impede American troop movements further downstream. Air Marshal Harris later commented: ‘Many direct hits were in fact scored. This was not sufficient, although photographs showed that the top of the Urft dam was deeply chipped at three points. In one case the chip extended almost down to the water level, which at the time of reconnaissance was 13 feet from the top. The enemy evidently manipulated the water-level so as to avoid erosion of the dam and spillway.’
31
On 18/19 December 308 bombers attacked Danzig (Gdynia), Münster and Nuremberg. In the Gotenhafen and Danzig areas three crews of I./NJG 5 claimed all four Lancasters that failed to return from the raid on Danzig. Bad weather interfered again before operations resumed on 21/22 December when 475 heavies attacked Cologne, Bonn, Pölitz and Schneidemuhl. Three bombers failed to return from the raid on Pölitz. On 22/ 23 December 166 Lancasters and two Mosquitoes attacked Koblenz without loss while 106 aircraft of 4 Group raided the Bingen marshalling yards on the Rhine 30 miles south-west of Frankfurt. On Christmas Eve, 104 Lancasters of 3 Group bombed Hangelar airfield near Bonn, losing one aircraft. Ninety-seven Lancasters and five Mosquitoes attacked the marshalling yards at Cologne/Nippes. The nights of 25/26 – 27/ 28 December were much quieter with no main force operations on the 25/26th because of bad weather. On New Year’s Eve 149 Lancasters and 17 Mosquitoes attacked the railway yards at Osterfeld. Three Lancasters failed to return, 2 claimed by Hauptmann Johannes Hager, Staffelkapitän, 6./NJG 1 in the Essen area. Twenty-eight Lancasters of 5 Group attacked cruisers in Oslo Fjord. One Lancaster was lost. Sixteen Halifaxes and 10 Lancasters laid mines in the Kattegat and Lancaster (PB894 of 630 Squadron) failed to return, shot down by Hauptmann Eduard Schröder of 3./NJG 3 into the sea. During December Nachtjagd flew 1,070 sorties and shot down 66 bombers.
32
On 1 January, 102 Lancasters and two Mosquitoes attacked the Dortmund-Ems Canal near Ladbergen, which the enemy had once more repaired. Two Lancasters were lost. One of them was a 9 Squadron aircraft piloted by Flying Officer R. F. H. Denton, which was hit by flak shortly after bombing and was set on fire. Flight Sergeant George Thompson, the 24 year old Scottish wireless operator, rescued both gunners from their burning turrets but suffered severe bums in doing so. The Lancaster crash-landed at Brussels and Thompson was rushed to hospital but he died three weeks later. The mid-upper gunner, Sergeant E. J. Potts, also died of his burns. Thompson, a former grocer’s assistant, who did not become a wireless operator until 1944 and had only been on operations for two months before his death, was awarded a posthumous Victoria Cross for his courage. That night the main force attacked the Mittelland Canal, rail yards at Vohwinkel and Dortmund. On 2/3 January 514 Lancasters and seven Mosquitoes bombed Nuremberg and 389 aircraft raided Ludwigshafen. Four Lancasters were lost from the Nuremberg force and one Halifax from the Ludwigshafen raid. Hauptmann Kurt-Heinz Weigel of 11./NJG 6 claimed two four-engined bombers west and south-east of Stuttgart for his 2nd and 3rd victories. Hauptmann Martin ‘Tino’ Becker Kommandeur, IV./NJG 6 claimed a Lancaster south of Mannheim, north of Bruchsal, and another Lancaster over Luxembourg for his 44th and 45th victories.
33
‘Musical Parramatta’ was devised for visual ground marking. In the event of the target area being obscured by 10/10ths cloud conditions, a sky marking technique consisting of similar coloured flares attached to parachutes for a slow descent and known as ‘Wanganui’ was used. Both were reputed to have originated from the choice of the Commanding Officer of 8 Group, AVM Don Bennett. As Parramatta is a place name in Australia and Wanganui a place name in New Zealand it would appear that there is an element of truth in the matter.
34
Tail warning radar (AGLT).
35
Of 645 Lancasters and 9 Mosquitoes dispatched, 11 Lancasters failed to return. Four more crashed in France. Despite the extensive damage sustained in the mid-air collision, ND968/G was subsequently repaired and returned to B-Flight, 460 Squadron RAAF. The aircraft survived the war, finally to be SOC on 4 October 1945. Lancaster I NN766 PM-R of 103 Squadron, which had left Elsham Wolds at 18.23 hours, was most probably the aircraft that collided with O-Oboe. The unfortunate aircraft flown by Flying Officer W. J. McArthur RCAF crash-dived into a hill near Hohrodberg (Haut-Rhin) during a snow storm about 23 miles SE of where the collision had taken place. The remains of the seven-man crew were not recovered for more than a week until the snow receded, and they were buried 25 metres from the crash site by a party of local people and a nun. Aircraft and crew were identified by the crew identity discs and parts of the aircraft wreck. After the war the crew of NN766 were reburied in the Münster Communal Cemetery, French Military Plot in a comrades grave, which the French community considered a great honour. At the crash site, a memorial has been placed in commemoration of the crew, six of whom were Canadians.
36
Thirty-one bombers were claimed destroyed by Nachtjagd. Hauptmann Hermann Greiner of 11./NJG 1 claimed three Lancasters over Hanover for his 43rd-45th victories. Two Lancasters were lost on a raid on a bottleneck in the German supply system in the Ardennes in a valley at Houffalize in Belgium.
37
The marker, Figgis was captured and taken prisoner and was returned after the end of the war.
38
Four Halifaxes and two Lancasters failed to return from the raid on Hanau and one Lancaster, which failed to return from the raid on Neuss, crashed in Belgium.
39
Frank Mouritz returned to Australia in July with the probability of starting a second tour as part of Tiger Force, the new name of 5 Group, bombing Japan. The Atom Bomb prevented this.
40
Stig Dagerman, German Autumn, 1988.
41
Hans Erich Nossack.
42
It was revealed later that the Lancaster was overloaded by 166lb.
43
During January-February 1945 Nachtjagd crews flew 1,820 sorties, claiming 302 victories – 117 in January and 185 in February – but Nachtjagd lost 94 aircraft and the majority of the crews flying them.
44
Stab and I./NJG 6 crews flying Ju 88s claimed nine Lancasters destroyed over and around Karlsruhe.
45
Five Lancasters crashed in the same area around the town of Bruchsal, NE of Karlsruhe on 2/3 February 1945 (three of 189 Squadron – PB848, flown by Flight Lieutenant N. B. Blain, crashed in a wood near Heidelsheim S of Bruchsal. All except rear-gunner KIA. Flight Sergeant Don Clement RCAF had a similar escape to Sergeant Dyson, being blown from his turret by an explosion, which was possibly caused when the Lancaster was hit by flak making a 2nd bomb run over the target with its bomb load still aboard. PB743, flown by Flight Lieutenant J. D. Davies, exploded on its bombing run over Weingarten, SW of Heidelsheim after dropping the 4,000-pounder and part of the load of incendiaries may have been hit by a Schräge Musik equipped night fighter. Flight Sergeant Les Cromarty DFM, rear-gunner, on his 2nd tour, was again the sole survivor when he was blown out of his turret and he landed by parachute. ME298/B of 463 Squadron came down at Unterowisheim nearby after being attacked by a night fighter and possibly being hit by flak over Karlsruhe. Flying Officer R. K. Oliver RAAF and four crew KIA. They are buried in the British and Commonwealth war cemetery at Durnbach, as are the six crew of PB840, believed shot down by Oberfeldwebel Heinrich Schmidt of 2./NJG 6. The 5th Lancaster was PB306 of 467 Squadron RAAF (shot down by Hauptmann Gerhard Friedrich at Karlsdorf ) piloted by Flight Lieutenant N. S. C. Colley. All eight crew, average age 21, were KIA.
46
Leutnant Herbert Altner of 8./NJG 5 claimed three Lancasters over Stettin.