Chapter 7
The first Lancaster was given the ‘Green Light’ from the mobile watchtower and we watched as it slowly climbed away. The remainder all slowly moved around the perimeter track towards the runway and then it was their turn for destination Berlin! The smoke from the engines and the smell of burning high-octane fuel eddied across the airfield. Sixty tons of explosives and incendiaries were to be dropped and the sight of 17 Lancasters, each under full throttles roaring away into the evening sky was an awesome spectacle. Ground crews and a number of other well wishers watched us away before returning to while away the long hours before our return. The smoke and smell slowly thinned and drifted away over the silent airfield and we were on our way to our first bombing operation with the squadron. We were airborne at 18.45 hours. This was to be the order of things for some time to come.
WOp/AG Sergeant Roland A. ‘Ginger’ Hammersley
Eighteen year old Pilot Officer Maurice Stoneman, flight engineer, and his skipper, Johnny Ludford, walked towards D-Dog at East Kirkby airfield, halfway between Spilsby and Coningsby. As usual the two crewmen in 57 Squadron, which shared their Lincolnshire home with 630 Squadron, then went through what had become a normal routine for them. It had become such a regular part of their training practice that they could literally do things with their eyes shut. Blindfolded, they would identify each control switch and button and still blindfolded they would practise other routines such as closing down an engine and feathering the airscrew. On operations this had paid dividends on more than one occasion, no more so than on the night of the Leipzig raid on 19/20 February, when 816 bombers attacked Leipzig and 294 twin-engined and single-engined fighters were sent against the bomber stream. A Ju 88 night fighter attacked D-Dog. ‘Our mid-upper – Frank Fox’, recalls Stoneham, ‘saw him at the last minute and shouted, “Dive starboard GO”. We did just that. As I was standing up with my seat retracted I was thrown to the side but managed to recover by grabbing the small “Window” handle. We were however, hit in the starboard engine and also lost three inches of a propeller blade. This caused great vibration but unfortunately I was looking at the engine at the time of impact and the flash of the impact temporarily blinded me. The skipper ordered me to “Feather starboard inner”. I did and the “blindfold practice” paid off. I also pressed the fire extinguisher button. I was still unable to see properly but was beginning to recover my eyesight and vision. The fire was put out but the feathering mechanism was damaged and the propeller had to “windmill”. This was a good thing as the engine drove the mid-upper turret hydraulics and one of the two generators. We also lost certain hydraulics and collected a large gash on the starboard side just above the main wing, which at 20,000 feet and in that temperature was more than uncomfortable. We went into a dive and lost 10,000 feet and only managed to pull out of it by the skipper and me with our feet on the instrument panel and hauling like hell on the stick. We got back to East Kirkby with difficulty. During 30 ops I only had to feather an engine once through malfunction and during many a ten hour trip the engines did not miss a beat. You just have to love the Merlin and also the rugged build of the Lancaster.’1
On 20 February, the Americans launched ‘Big Week’. Bomber Command and the USAAF dropped 19,000 tons of bombs on the Reich in a true round the clock offensive but losses were high with 224 American and 157 British bombers failing to return in just one week of sustained operations. An attack on Stuttgart on 20/21 February, by 598 bombers, was outstandingly successful. This was due mainly to the North Sea sweep and a diversionary feint towards Munich, which successfully drew the German fighters up two hours before the main force flew inland. Nine bombers only were lost – all of them shot down by night fighters. At East Kirkby the Lancaster piloted by Pilot Officer E. J. Murray, who was about to fly his first operation, swung on take off, bumped across the Stickney Road causing the undercarriage to collapse and then the 4,000lb cookie exploded. Everyone except the rear-gunner, Sergeant W. Davies, was killed. At Fiskerton a Lancaster of 49 Squadron suffered a burst tyre on take-off. It slewed completely around and the undercarriage crumpled and collapsed. The crew were rescued uninjured before the bomb load went up in two explosions which killed six men on the ground and shattered glass over a wide area, including the towns of Boston and Skegness. Four Lancasters and a Halifax crashed in England on their return from Stuttgart. A Lancaster of 100 Squadron failed to return to Waltham near Grimsby after a German night fighter rammed it. When still 200 miles from the nearest friendly coast a violent shock rocked the airframe and the Lancaster lurched and went down out of control. The pilot ordered the crew to stand by to bale out but at 4,000 feet control was regained. When checking the crew the wireless operator found the mid-upper gunner wounded in his turret, which had been crushed and the rear-gunner was jammed in his turret but not badly hurt. The pilot carried on to Ford and landed safely. On close inspection, pieces of fighter were found embedded in the top of the fuselage. It appeared that the night fighter had cut across their line of flight, turning in fast from port while the mid-upper gunner was rotating to starboard so that there was no warning. It had bent the starboard fin and rudder outwards, carried the aerials away and torn a hole six feet long in the wing as well as crushing the turret.2
For Bomber Command the first half of March was relatively quiet. Two raids were made against Stuttgart, the first on the opening night of the month when thick cloud made it difficult for the enemy night fighters to enter the bomber stream. Just three Lancasters and a Halifax were lost from over 550 aircraft that were dispatched. A second raid was made on Stuttgart on 15/16 March, this time by over 860 aircraft, which dropped 3,000 tons of bombs in an hour. This time the night fighters shot down 37 aircraft, all except 10 of them Lancasters. One of the crews that survived was piloted by 48 year old Air Commodore A. M. Wray DSO MC DFC* AFC. This highly decorated veteran of the 1914 – 18 war took a ‘sprog’ crew to Stuttgart in ND456, which was subsequently written off two months later when it hit a barn on take-off from Woodbridge. Another of the ‘sprog’ crews at this time was one captained by Frank Hercules ‘Herks’ Dengate from Tamworth, New South Wales, a 22 year old Australian pilot on 15 Squadron who had trained on Wellingtons and the Stirling. The crew, who arrived at Mildenhall in December 1943, had come together in the usual manner, as Dengate recalls:
‘Crewing up had no basis at all, you just picked. You had to try and pick a navigator you thought was a reliable sort of a bloke. Then you’d finish up probably getting a wireless operator or bomb-aimer. You certainly didn’t have any chance of looking over their record to see whether they were reasonable sort of blokes or what they were. The navigator got airsick and he coped with it, but it got worse when he got into the Wellington and he was sitting at the table in the little enclosure. This made him sick every time. He still did his job. We even did a trip to France in a Wellington and he was quite satisfactory but it was the first trip we did into enemy territory. The medical people decided that as he got airsick all the time he shouldn’t fly. He eventually went into the Oboe marking system. His replacement was Flying Officer Art Cantrell, a Canadian and an ex-district inspector of schools; an excellent fellow and very skilful. The crew decided that the sergeant wireless operator, a Scotsman, would have to be replaced as he was always drunk and we could never get him sober to go in the aeroplane. (That fellow was later transferred to 622 Squadron. It took him 18 months to complete a tour and he’d go with anyone that didn’t have a wireless operator. Eventually he was awarded the DFM [Distinguished Flying Medal]). The new wireless operator was Frank Watson.
‘We now had a better navigator and a better wireless operator than we would have had after we had the changes. [Frank Watson’s wife Brenda a WAAF, who was the daughter of the landlord of the ‘Jude’s Ferry’ at West Row, was called the ‘Chop Blonde’ because everyone who went out with her got the chop. Frank must have broken the spell.] He was a very nice chap and he had been a ‘whisky traveller’, selling drinks around the countryside. Whisky was his leading sale and eventually that’s what killed him, because both he and his wife used to partake of greater quantities. There wasn’t an engineer on the Wellington but when we went on to Stirling training at 1651 HCU at Wratting Common, Sergeant Bobby Kitchin joined us as the flight engineer. (After Wratting Common we went to 3 LFS [Lancaster Finishing School] at Feltwell.) The rear-gunner, Sergeant Doug Davis, was very quiet but a very good gunner. He was always awake and sharp. Sergeant Fred Coney was the mid-upper gunner. Once again, very wide awake and keen. Flying Officer Joe Ell, our Canadian bomb-aimer, was a wonderful, reliable fellow. Joe always did an excellent job. He never missed.
‘We continued training on the Lancaster until our first operation, to Stuttgart, after I had flown my second dickie trip with another crew to experience the flak and terror of a raid. On all my trips I carried my small Webley 6.35mm automatic pistol in the large pocket of my battle dress in the event of me having to bale out and try to escape. I purchased the gun, which was manufactured in 1909, in London in December 1943. Stuttgart wasn’t a good ‘prang’. ‘We were only just over the water after leaving Britain when an aeroplane suddenly appeared underneath us. We were so close that we could see his instrument panel. At 18,000 feet it was heavy cloud and stormy and we were struggling to keep the aeroplane in the air because it was heavy with ice. We didn’t have any de-icing of any kind at all. The only solution was to go down to about 15,000 feet to warmer air, get rid of it and climb again. Many didn’t do that. They stayed up there and the icing would increase until it got to a stage that the aeroplane crashed. We lost a terrific number of aeroplanes that night, simply because of the icing. Our next two trips were to Frankfurt when over the target we encountered a Fw 190 followed by a direct hit by flak. On return to base we found 40 countable holes.’3
At East Kirkby, Pilot Officer Ron Walker’s crew in 57 Squadron waited to fly their first operation since arriving at the Lincolnshire airfield on 17 March. They had crewed up in the time-honoured fashion, as Sergeant Roland A. ‘Ginger’ Hammersley the 5 feet 4½ inch WOP/AG from King’s Langley, who had met his future wife, Nan Webber serving with the WAAF at Barford St. John, recalls:
‘By this time I believe that Ron could have flown a Lancaster blindfolded. At 16 OTU Upper Heyford the pilots had sought out the different crewmembers they wished to have in their crew. I well remember the Sergeant I crewed up with coming into our dormitory and asking for a ‘sober wireless operator’ and found myself being pushed to the front of the crowd of W/Ops and hearing someone say, “This is the one you should have”. Sergeant Ron Walker was physically a well-built strong man. Later in conversation I was to learn that since leaving school he had managed his father’s farm in Sussex. We talked for a while and I told him that I did drink a beer or two! Also that I had had some considerable experience wireless operating before my aircrew training commenced and was not shy of using a wireless set. We decided that we would give it a try and fly together and see how we worked out. My luck was in, he was a natural pilot and a quick learner. Later in our flying career, his physical strength saved our lives, or at least saved us from having to land in enemy territory with a wounded crewmember and a damaged aircraft. Flying Officer Ken Bly, a Canadian Air Bomber, a navigator and rear turret air gunner we called ‘Jock’, joined us. Just before moving on to the conversion from two to four engined aircraft we were joined by Pilot Officer Tom Quayle, the mid-upper gunner and a new navigator, Flying Officer Bertram ‘Mack’ MacKinnon was accepted by the crew and we by him. Tom Quayle fell and broke an ankle at Aircrew Battle School at Scampton. We were given the choice of another gunner or wait Tom’s recovery. We chose the latter and spent all December 1943 at Scampton and a very poor Christmas before moving to 1660 HCU at Swinderby midway between Newark and Lincoln in January 1944. Sergeant Esmond Chung, flight engineer and a new rear-gunner, Sergeant William “Bill” Carver, a former member of the RAF Regiment, joined us. He was in good company as Tom Quayle had also transferred from the Regiment for flying duties and had dropped a rank on doing so. They made a good team and Bill fitted in well with the rest of us.’
Bomber Command’s Battle of Berlin was halted on 24/25 March when the ‘Big City’ was visited for the last time by 811 aircraft and the offensive was switched to attacks on German communications and defences in preparation for the Normandy invasion. ‘Ginger’ Hammersley recalls:
‘The 24th March was a memorable day. On arrival at the Flight Office we found our names on the battle order for the night’s operations. The aircraft we were to fly was T-Tommy. We set off on bicycles that had been issued to each one of us, to look the aircraft over and check the equipment. The ground crew responsible for the maintenance of T-Tommy were a fine bunch and gave us as much information as was possible about it as we went through the checking procedure. The bomb load was one 4,000lb, 48 × 30lb and 600 × 41b. Later we were fully briefed both as individual crewmembers and then all crews together. We soon learned that the target was Berlin – the ‘Big City’. At the briefing we were told at what time there would be signals broadcast from Bomber Command; when we would receive weather reports; where the searchlight belt and anti-aircraft guns were known to be and also the positions of known German night fighter units and airfields en route. The Station Met Officer gave a weather report, the indications being that the weather conditions were not too good and we would be meeting quite strong winds at 18,000 – 20,000 feet. We were issued with amphetamine (wakey-wakey) tablets, these were taken just prior to take-off and would keep the crews wide-awake and on a ‘high’ for the duration of the flight. If the operation was cancelled, it meant a sleepless night which, for the most of the crews, meant that a wild night of drinking would take place in both the Officers’ and Sergeants’ mess until the effects of the drug wore off and sleep could take over.
‘It was customary for a meal to be prepared for the crews before we flew. We were then issued with a flask of tea or coffee, with chocolate, sandwiches and an apple; armed with a 0.38 revolver and parachute. Codes and Very pistol with cartridges which, when fired, would give the coded colours of the day. We were even given what were understood to be those in use by the German forces that day. After emptying my pockets and locking my personal items into my cage type locker, I joined the crew in the crew bus with WAAF Connie Mills at the wheel. Connie often drove the bus that collected the crews from near the control tower. We were then taken out to T-Tommy. We had another look around the aircraft with the ground crew and about an hour before we were due to take-off we settled into our places to await the take-off order. When the first part of the take-off procedure commenced, we were lined up on the airfield perimeter with 17 other Lancasters from the squadron. All crews would by now have taken their amphetamines and would be wide awake.
‘The first Lancaster was given the ‘Green Light’ from the mobile watchtower and we watched as it slowly climbed away. The remainder all slowly moved around the perimeter track towards the runway and then it was their turn for destination Berlin! The smoke from the engines and the smell of burning high-octane fuel eddied across the airfield. Sixty tons of explosives and incendiaries were to be dropped by 57 Squadron and the sight of 17 Lancasters each under full throttle roaring away into the evening sky was an awesome spectacle. Sergeants Frank Beasley and Leslie Wakerell with their ground crews and a number of other well-wishers, watched us away before returning to while away the long hours before our return. The smoke and smell slowly thinned and drifted away over the silent airfield and we were on our way to our first bombing operation with the squadron. We were airborne at 18.45 hours. This was to be the order of things for some time to come.’
At Coningsby, on the edge of the Lincolnshire fens about 15 miles south of Lincoln, at precisely 19.09 hours Pilot Officer Howard ‘Tommy’ Farmiloe revved Hellzapoppin’s powerful Merlin engines at the end of the main runway. He released the brakes and shortly afterwards took-off into a dark, but clear starlit sky. In the airfield circuit they could clearly see Tattershall Castle, of Norman origin but all that remained was the keep, a fine rare medieval brick tower with stone mullion windows and corbelling. The tower’s red warning lights coupled with the silver ribbon of the River Witham was a useful navigation aid on night sorties and a very welcome sight to many a bomber crew. After clearing the circuit, the crew settled down in their positions as the Lancaster turned north-east over the small fishing port of Boston and the 242 foot high church ‘stump’ to join the bomber stream over the North Sea on the first outward leg of the route to Berlin. This was the crew’s seventh trip to the ‘Big City’ and the third time they had flown the favoured northerly route over Denmark. The return route however was potentially a dangerous one. First of all over the north German plain, south of Hanover, then squeeze between flak batteries to the north of the dreaded Happy Valley. With 800 other main force aircraft Hellzapoppin headed north-east over the North Sea. Two hours later the Lancaster crossed the coast of Denmark just north of the island of Sylt, only a couple of miles off track, thanks mainly to the skill of our experienced second tour navigator, Pilot Officer Stan Halliwell. At the crew briefing they had been told to expect strong northwesterly winds up to 60 mph at 20,000 feet. The reality was nearer 125 mph when they made our turn south-east for Berlin and yet Sergeant Eddie Davidson, the WOp/AG was still getting a lower wind velocity forecast from Group. It was a ludicrous situation. Due to the high tail wind we were at our final turning point over the Baltic south of Denmark early and found ourselves in the first wave of the bomber stream. Apart from that everything seemed to be going very well.’
At Skellingthorpe, Pilot Officer Michael Beetham’s crew in 50 Squadron took-off and set course over the North Sea for a point off the German coast. Flight Sergeant Les Bartlett, the bomb-aimer, recalls:4
‘This was where our first problems started. The winds were so variable so instead of passing the northern tip of Sylt we went bang into it and had to fly up the island’s west coast and then around the top. Chaps were off course all over Flensburg. The next leg took us across Denmark and then down the Baltic coast. Many chaps then got into trouble with the defences of Kiel, Lübeck and Rostock; I saw at least four go down in a very short space of time. We had a near squeak at Rostock as the wind blew us into their defences and we were coned by about four searchlights but after a few violent manoeuvres we managed to shake them off before the flak got into range; they were very tense moments for us. With a strong wind behind us we were soon approaching Berlin. Luckily, over the target a thin layer of stratus cloud had formed which made it difficult for the searchlights to pick us up, so we had little trouble during the bombing run. Shortly after however, things started to get hot as the enemy fighters were waiting for us. Although we saw fighters we were lucky that none attacked us as we dodged the flak and kept out of the defences of Leipzig, Brunswick, Osnabrück and Hanover. Along this leg we saw several combats with kite after kite going down in flames.’
For Pilot Officer ‘Dick’ Starkey and his crew in 106 Squadron, this Berlin raid was their 20th trip. Starkey, who was commissioned two hours before taking off for Berlin, recounts:
‘The outward route was over the North Sea to Denmark then south-east over the Baltic Sea crossing the German coast and continuing south-east before turning south through the target. The trip was one of the worst we encountered because of the strong winds. On the way out over the North Sea the navigator, Sergeant Colin Roberts, was finding winds with speeds far in excess of those in his Flight Plan and coming from a more northerly direction than predicted at briefing. We were “wind-finders” this night and the navigator advised me that the wind speed was approaching 100 mph and should he broadcast his findings back to Bomber Command? I said if he was satisfied with his calculations he must transmit them to England. (A number of aircraft were detailed as wind-finders on every raid. When the navigator had calculated the actual wind speed and velocity they were transmitted back where an average wind speed was calculated from those sent back by aircraft and then relayed to the Bomber Force to use on their journey.) I ordered my navigator to work from his own calculations and ignore the wind speeds being sent back to us because they were far too low. By the time the Danish coast was crossed we were many miles south of track as a result of the high wind speed from the north. (At that time nobody had heard of the Jet Stream. Bomber Command met this phenomenon on this night.) The force was scattered over a very wide front as we approached Berlin well before zero hour. Some captains ordered their navigators to work to the winds broadcast from England and found them hopelessly off track. Others navigated on their own findings and were reaching points well in advance of ETA but they were not as far off as the others were. We arrived over the target early and I decided to risk going round the city on the eastern side, by which time the PFF markers would be going down and start our bombing run.
‘The activity in the sky over the city was awesome and frightening, as were all raids on Berlin. The sky was full of sparkling flashes as anti-aircraft shells from 1,200 guns, the equivalent of an ammunition dump, burst in a box barrage every two minutes. I estimated that anyone getting through that would be very lucky indeed, especially as the aircraft had to be flown straight and level with bomb doors open during the bombing run and take photographs after dropping the bombs. There were also hundreds of searchlights, making two cones over the city, which the bombers had to try and evade. The fighters no longer waited outside the perimeter of the target where they were in little danger from their own flak because we were now severely damaging their cities. They flew amongst us in this area of death ignoring their own safety, meeting the anti-aircraft fire in order to get amongst us and many a bomber was shot down when most vulnerable with bomb doors open. When we were on our bombing run with two other Lancasters whose bomb-aimers had chosen the same markers as my bomb-aimer, Sergeant Wally Paris, a twin-engined fighter flew past our nose with cannon and machine guns firing at one of the Lancasters. There were tracers flying all over the sky as my gunners, Sergeants Jock Jameson, mid-upper and Sergeant Joe Ellick, rear-gunner and the others in the third aircraft joined the targeted Lancaster to return the fire. However, the stricken Lancaster turned over on its back and went down in flames. We did not see anyone escape because we were concentrating on the bombing run.
‘The Luftwaffe were now using single-engined fighters in the battle, generally over the target and as I took a quick glance down at the fires I saw twelve of them circling up line astern towards the bombers whose bellies were red from the reflection of the flames below. The searchlight cones held two bombers like moths round a candle; the pilots were tossing their aircraft all over the sky but they were held like stage artists in a spotlight. The next move was from the fighters who came in and inflicted the coup de grâce,the bombers plunging down in flames before exploding and cascading in balls of fire to splash among the inferno below. A pilot had to take whatever action he could to get across the target area. One practice was to fly near a coned aircraft and hope the action against it would help him get across. This wasn’t always possible because although the brightness was less intense they could be seen. When a raid was at its peak with 800 aircraft bombing in a 20-minute period, the illuminations had to be seen to be believed. The target indicators – red and green chandeliers, 200 feet in length – cascaded down with a shimmering brightness, flak was bursting, filling every part of the sky with twinkling bursts and, as you flew towards them, there was no escape. You thought you would never get through it. Many years afterwards I read that a bomb-aimer who flew on the raid was so awed by the experience that he just repeated, “Jesus Skipper, look at that flak, just look at it, we’ll never get through it, just look at it”. That summed it up perfectly.
‘After bombing the target I gained height to 25,000 feet and with relief at surviving the anti aircraft, searchlights and night fighter defences but we had another fight on our hands before we reached England. The strong head winds and night fighters had not finished with us. It soon became apparent that our ground speed was very slow and we did not appear to be making much progress. As we crawled our way west to the next change of course, which was to take us north-west between Hanover and Osnabrück, the navigator was continuously amending his air plot to try and keep us on course but we were being blown south of our intended track. It soon became apparent that the conditions were getting worse and because of the effect of the wind on navigation found ourselves further west than the point where we should have turned north-west to fly between Hanover and Osnabrück. Instead we amended our course to fly between Osnabrück and the Ruhr making sure we kept well clear of the latter area.
‘We had seen many aircraft shot down since we left Berlin, proof that the force was well scattered and aircraft were being picked off. As we looked towards the Ruhr we saw many more that had wandered over that area shot down, so they had flown into the two heaviest defended areas in Germany – Berlin and the Ruhr – in one night. I was concentrating our efforts to get to the coast without further trouble when a radar-controlled searchlight was suddenly switched on just below the aircraft. (These searchlights had a blue-white beam and more often than not hit the aircraft at the first attempt.) The searchlight knew they were near us because the beam started creeping up in front of the aircraft. I put more power on and raised the nose to maintain our position above the beam but it still continued creeping towards us. I was just on the point of putting the nose down and diving through it when it was switched off. Talk about a dry mouth. If the searchlight had found us it would have been joined by others and, as was the customary practice, a night fighter in the vicinity would have attacked us as we were caught in the beam.
‘Our last turning point was near the Dutch border. Although our ground speed was very slow the intensity of the defences had slackened off and for the first time in the raid, fighter activity had ceased. Maybe they had landed to refuel because we were approaching their airfields in Holland. We did not have any further trouble and eventually reached the North Sea coast. I pushed down the nose of the aircraft and did a very fast descent to 2,000 feet to the relief of the crew who were thankful to have the raid almost behind them. The wireless operator, Sergeant George Walker received a signal ordering us to divert to Wing, an OTU near Luton. It was a dark night and normally as you approached the coast you saw the odd searchlight. But we did not see one light. I was surprised when the navigator told me that according to his calculations we had already crossed the coast and gave me a course to Wing. We were by then well inland with navigation lights on flying at 2,000 feet but could not see a thing. Suddenly a searchlight switched on to us followed by two more. They could not have been practising because they could see the lights of our aircraft. I cursed as they held us, thinking back to the hundreds we had evaded over Germany only to be caught in the beams of a searchlight battery in England. I was told afterwards that a crew of ATS girls operated the lights. We eventually landed at Wing after a flight of seven and a half hours on the last big raid to Berlin.’
On board T-Tommy in 57 Squadron meanwhile, ‘Ginger’ Hammersley decoded the weather reports as they came in. ‘It became apparent from “Mack’s” findings that they were not as he expected them. We were faced with greater wind speeds than those indicated in the signals being sent to us from Command, so we used our own. We were late arriving over the target and we could see there were great fires as the run in towards the target commenced. Having bombed successfully we headed back towards home, only to be told that we would have to land at the fighter airfield at RAF Coltishall in Norfolk. The time we spent flying was seven hours, 30 minutes. We were debriefed and fed, then shown to our sleeping quarters. We made the 35 minutes flight back to East Kirkby the following afternoon, leaving at 15.00 hours by which time the fog that had prevented our landing the previous night had cleared. Of the 17 Lancasters from the squadron that flew this operation, one made an early return and two others failed to return. We made our reports at the squadron office before heading for our huts to await the evening meal.’ At Skellingthorpe, there was no sign of Pilot Officer Michael Beetham’s crew but all was well, as Flight Sergeant Les Bartlett, recalls:
‘Luckily, we got through and back home although we had to divert to another base. In the debrief we found out that it had been a bad night although our squadron had suffered no losses.’5
At Coningsby there was no sign of Hellzapoppin and Tommy Farmiloe’s crew either. Sergeant Eddie Davidson recalls the events that had unfolded after nearing the target:
‘As we approached the German coast between Lübeck and Rostock, bomb-aimer Ken Vowe reported heavy flak and searchlights ahead. Shortly afterwards the gunners reported a burst of air to air tracer very close on the port side and shortly afterwards saw an aircraft explode and fall away in a number of burning fireballs. It was always a sickening sight to see one of our own aircraft go down. Soon afterwards the visual Monica equipment6 pinpointed an enemy night fighter only 500 feet away at 2 o’clock. Both gunners shouted almost together over the intercom, “I can see the bastard” followed by Ray Noble, the rear-gunner, shouting over the intercom, “Dive to port skipper”. All six Brownings of the rear and mid-upper turrets started firing as the skipper dived at the start of the corkscrew manoeuvre, which was so sharp and steep that after hitting my head on the roof, I ended up on the floor with all my signals books scattered around me. My stomach was in my mouth as the corkscrew seemed to go on forever, then the skipper pulled sharply out of the dive and flew straight and level while Ray Noble and “Wally” Patchett, the mid-upper gunner, scanned the sky. It had worked; the enemy fighter had lost us.
‘After getting a new course from the navigator, Stan Halliwell, the skipper started to climb, hoping to get back to 20,000 feet. After picking up and sorting out my papers I realized it was time to listen out for the half hourly Met Report from Group, which again gave no indication of the true wind velocity. About half an hour later I saw another blip on the Monica screen indicating an aircraft about 600 yards away at 11 o’clock and as I opened my mouth to yell a warning, Ray Noble shouted, “Enemy at 11 o’clock, corkscrew starboard go”. This time I stayed in my seat having fastened my belt and heard the gunners opening up but I could still see the blip on the Monica screen following us down on the port side and I instructed the skipper “Corkscrew port”. We could feel the kite shudder as the skipper tried to level out and George Jerry, the flight engineer screamed, “For Christ sake Tommy, take it easy or you will tear the bloody wings off”. The violent corkscrew manoeuvre worked, for we lost the fighter and as we tried to gain height Ken the bomb-aimer said, “I can see a glow right in front of us; it must be Berlin”. Sure enough, as we climbed we could see the glow spreading and there was a sigh of relief when the skipper said, “We’re early but I’m going in”. The high winds had scattered the main force and some aircraft bombed Berlin half an hour before the Pathfinders marked the target area. It was time to listen out again for the half hourly reports from Group. With all the excitement I had missed the last two reports, so as usual I disconnected myself from the intercom and listened out on the W/T for the wind speed broadcast. Reading the message I could see they still were not reporting the actual wind speeds! Switching the set off I suddenly became aware of a high-pitched whine coming from one of the engines. In a panic, I switched back into the intercom system and heard the flight engineer saying the revs on the port outer had increased to 3,800 rpm and the skipper telling him to shut down the engine and feather the prop. “The runaway prop,” says Farmiloe, “created a fearsome noise and sent ice splinters against the fuselage. I tried to feather it but without success and it was not long before there were indications of fire. I tried diving, etc, but nothing, including the fire extinguisher, solved the problem and the fire continued on and off all the way. Worse, the port inner also gave problems and had to be feathered, this time fortunately successfully. Flying just above stalling speed and rapidly losing height, I managed to keep the plane under control and continue towards Berlin.”’
Eddie Davidson was standing in the astrodome on fighter watch when he saw flames pouring out of the faulty engine and thick smoke trailing back over the wing and tail. ‘We were ordered to prepare to abandon aircraft. With both port engines dead we were in a desperate situation. The port outer was still burning with its un-feathered prop windmilling, thereby making the aircraft very difficult to control even with full rudder trim and full opposite rudder. By now we were approaching the illuminated target area and still on course for the aiming point. Shouting over the whine from the port inner the skipper ordered “Stand by, let’s go in and drop the load and get out of the target area as quickly as possible, then we will bale out”. Without a word Ken Vowe got back into his position in the nose of the aircraft. Ahead, red and green target indicators could be seen going down punctually at 22.30 hours and in the glow of the following bomb flashes on the ground and enemy searchlights I could see hundreds of black flak clouds exploding against the illuminated background. This indicated only too clearly the fierce flak barrage put up by the defenders against our attacking aircraft. With all these distractions going on around him I could hardly believe I was hearing Ken’s seemingly unconcerned, quiet but distinctive Yorkshire accent begin his patter to the skipper “Left, left, no tight, left again, steady!”
‘In the meantime molten metal and flames still poured out of the port outer and incredibly, the enemy’s searchlights, fighters and flak batteries ignored us. Still losing height we continued our bombing run and at 22.35 hours, with a green target indicator in the bombsight, Ken dropped our bomb load on the burning city below. Not waiting for a target point photograph to be taken, the skipper quickly closed the bomb bay doors and turned away onto a westerly course of 208 degrees, which led to position ‘E’ on the return route. Then started the debate over the intercom, should we bale out so close to the target area or try to get as far away as possible. Of course we really had no choice, if Tommy ordered us to “Bale out” we would have to go. I for one did not fancy baling out and was delighted when he decided to keep going as far as possible. We were now down to 13,000 feet. By keeping the aircraft’s indicated air speed (IAS) at 140 mph, just above stalling speed, the skipper found the fire and whine of the port outer was at a minimum but the physical effort of controlling the aircraft was taking its toll on him. At this point, Ken came out of the bomb-aimer’s position and wrapped his arms round the rudder bars and braced himself, thus taking some of the strain off the skipper’s legs. In the meantime the flight engineer tried to trim the aircraft by draining petrol from the port tanks into the two starboard wing tanks.
‘Despite everyone’s efforts we continued losing height and at 9,000 feet we decided to jettison as much equipment as possible. Opening the starboard rear door I started by chucking out the flame floats, rest bed and even the Elsan toilet. As I passed the D.C. power accumulator I glanced at the dial and saw it was indicating zero. Not believing it I tested my radio receiver. It was almost dead and even the interference mush was faint. I called the skipper to tell him the bad news that our electrical power was almost gone and I couldn’t use the wireless transmitter. Only the generator on the starboard inner engine was working, the port outer, because of the fire, was dead. We decided to switch off everything electrical apart from essential equipment so that with luck we might build up enough power in the accumulator to send out an SOS. The two gunners were ordered to leave their turrets. If they tried to rotate them the accumulators would be completely drained. After much argument they agreed to dismantle their guns and with my help the six Brownings were thrown out along with all the ammunition. This left us feeling naked and defenceless. Unbelievably we had not been attacked by night fighters or been caught by flak and searchlights. We had the feeling that “somebody was looking after us”. The navigation Gee box, identification friend or foe set (IFF), oxygen bottles and anything else I could lay my hands on was thrown out. The mid-upper and rear-gunner, with nothing else to do, sat near me with their backs against the main spar and learned the secret of the wireless operator’s crew position in Lancaster aircraft. Being near the main hot air duct it was the warmest place on board. With the Gee box gone and the radio direction finding (RDF) compass unserviceable the bomb-aimer obtained a visual fix of a river east of the Zuider Zee and a course alteration was made. In order to confirm this position the skipper asked me if I could try to get a radio fix. Switching on, I tuned to the emergency frequency and sent out an SOS. At 01.20 hours I logged a third class fix and a request for details, in code, of our situation. Nine minutes later Group Air Traffic Control gave me a first class fix and a further request for information. Halfway through my reply the power went, but this fix showed we were heading south down the Belgian coast. We were now down to 4,000 feet and still losing height so the skipper decided to set a westerly course for the Norfolk coast and he ordered the crew to prepare for ditching. Donning our life jackets we prayed we would not have to ditch in the cold North Sea.’
‘We were struggling to hold 4,000 feet’, recalls Tommy Farmiloe ‘and we were slowly losing height. Once over the coast the order to “prepare to jump” was changed to “prepare to ditch”. We got shot at by coastal flak ships (actually a British convoy proceeding up the North Sea) but managed to survive. Then my wireless operator got a home bearing in response to his Mayday call. As we neared the East Coast (lucky it was not the South Coast, as we would not have got over the cliffs!) a single searchlight came on and pointed us in the direction of Little Snoring, a long runway emergency aerodrome.’
‘After what seemed like an eternity’ continues Eddie Davidson ‘we crossed the coast near Cromer at about 500 feet. The skipper then used his VHF R/T set to send out a Mayday call and received the reply, “Give details”. In the circumstances, Tommy’s reply was quite polite. “Just look up and you will see the problem for yourself. We are on fire”. There was a pause and then a voice said, “Follow the searchlights”. Immediately on our port side a searchlight came on making an “O” on the clouds and then it came down to lay a beam along the ground. As we reached the end of its light, another searchlight came on and pointed us forward. This happened three times until the runway lights of an airfield came on and we were told, “Circle at 400 feet”. The skipper replied, “For God’s sake I am at 150 feet now. I’m coming straight in”. In preparation for a possible crash landing the navigator joined the two gunners and myself as we sat facing the rear with our backs against the main spar. Ken, the bomb-aimer, refused to leave his position holding the rudder bars and the flight engineer also refused to move. They both very bravely stayed to help the skipper land the aircraft. The undercarriage was then lowered [using the emergency air bottle] but nobody knew if it was locked and would stay down or if the brakes would work. With tremendous effort the skipper got us down in one piece in spite of the runway lights being switched off half way down the landing run.’
‘With the port outer still burning and no services’, continues Tommy Farmiloe, ‘we were unable to signal our approach but struggled in with no flaps at 140 mph. We reached the centre of the runway but to my horror, instead of slowing down, we went faster and faster, eventually going off the end of the runway into complete darkness. We shut off everything that could be shut off and rolled through hedges and across several fields until we hit wet ground. The plane stopped and tipped up on its nose with the tail straight up in the air. We got out FAST, ran away and sat in a group laughing ourselves silly! My crew said that it was the only good landing I ever made, but I like to think that there was at least one other! Then we set off to follow the wheel tracks back to the Little Snoring field and control tower. It was still pitch dark. The control staff were amazed, as we had not been noticed! All I cared about was getting all my crew home safely and that we did!’7
Eddie Davidson continues:
‘The engine fire at last went out and it was only when we climbed out on to the fuselage we saw the nose of the aircraft was embedded in a water-filled ditch. “Just my luck,” said Tommy, “to fall off here and drown in some rotten ditch”. Someone quickly answered “Not you skipper, you could walk on water tonight”. As we waited by the side of the aircraft we were puzzled why no fire engine or any other emergency vehicle had followed us to investigate our predicament. So I climbed back into the aircraft through the cockpit escape hatch to get the Very pistol and cartridges. After climbing out again I stood on the wing and started firing off some red distress flares. It was the first time I had ever had the opportunity to use the Very pistol and I enjoyed it. About half an hour later a wagon drove up and we were taken to flying control where we found out we had landed at RAF Little Snoring, a Mosquito base near Fakenham. Later the skipper and navigator were driven away to the officers’ mess while the rest of us were taken to a very cold and empty dormitory hut for what was left of the night. In the morning after inspecting the damage to Hellzapoppin we waited for our Squadron to send an aircraft over to collect us. Shortly after lunch O-Orange arrived and we returned to Coningsby. Later we learned that the exceptionally strong winds experienced during the operation had scattered the main force and many aircraft flew south of the intended return route over the strongly defended Ruhr area with disastrous results.’
While considerable damage had been inflicted on the German capital, the cost paid by Bomber Command was high. Ferocious German defences, aided by the un-forecast winds that scattered the bomber stream, claimed a staggering total of 44 Lancasters and 28 Halifaxes. Night fighters in the target area shot 14 of these bombers down8 and it was believed that about 50 aircraft were brought down by flak. The BBC announcer calmly announced towards the end of the news bulletin that, ‘Seventy-three of our aircraft are missing’. ‘Missing’ seemed to lessen the blow for civilians listening at home and to RAF morale. No one ever said they had died. In RAF circles they had ‘got the chop’, ‘bought it’ or had ‘gone for a Burton’. The life expectancy of a wartime pilot was 40 hours and that did not do a lot for the confidence but almost everyone got on with the job. One never thought that one day he could be the one who did not return. It always happened to someone else. That the loss of 73 aircraft was 8.9 per cent of the force was not for public consumption and ‘Missing’ did not include additional losses in men and machines caused by aircraft that crashed in England like Hellzapoppin or those that returned with dead and wounded on board. One Lancaster returned with two seriously injured gunners after a reported fight with a Focke-Wulf Kondor and the wireless operator, Sergeant K. T. C. Williams, had to direct the pilot, Flight Lieutenant R. W. Picton, from the astrodome. A Lancaster of 57 Squadron landed at East Kirkby having been very badly damaged by an encounter with a Fw 190 Wilde Sau. The turrets were put out of action, there was a five-foot diameter hole in the main plane and flaps were shot away and the tanks holed. Both rudders were shattered, the instruments smashed and the intercom system disrupted; yet the bomber made it home. The pilot had extreme difficulty in maintaining control and had to land without flaps and instruments. He touched down at 160 mph and the Lancaster swung off the runway and collided with another aircraft. Apart from the rear-gunner, who had been killed in action, the crew were remarkably uninjured but this was another Lancaster that had to be written off.
The heavies of Bomber Command were destined never to return to the dreaded ‘Big City’. The night of the last Berlin raid went down in Bomber Command folklore, as ‘the night of the strong winds’.
The morning of the 26th found Pilot Officer Ron Walker’s crew at East Kirkby on the battle order again as ‘Ginger’ Hammersley recalls:
‘Again a thorough check was made of the aircraft and its equipment. Later there was the full briefing on similar lines to that for the Berlin operation. The target was to be Essen and our bomb load was one 4,000lb, 85 × 30lb and 1,500 × 4lb bombs. Twelve crews were briefed for the operation. My own crew took off at 19.24 hours, bombing the target in spite of a heavy barrage by anti-aircraft guns. It was 00.55 hours when we landed back at base. Results of the attack were not observed due to prevailing cloud conditions and some crews did not see the target indicators. All our colleagues arrived safely after making their attack and we suffered no losses. At debriefing the coffee and rum were served to us while we waited for our turn. There were two days off from flying which gave us the chance to take stock of what we had so far achieved and I made my first visit to Boston, transport being supplied by our own M/T section.
‘When the two local pubs, the ‘Red Lion’ in East Kirkby and the ‘Red Lion’ at Revesby had beer available and we were not flying, the lads would go along and spend an enjoyable evening drinking and singing. Sometimes the ‘Red Lion’ at Revesby would run out of glasses and we drank out of jam jars. I am sure we enjoyed our beer more when we were drinking from jam jars than when we had normal beer glasses. These evenings relaxed the tension and for a while we could forget the war and our flying missions. During the period between the attack on Aachen and Juvisy, I was able to get away from the airfield into Boston, transport being provided from the motor transport section. There was a late night pick-up point at Boston Stump, if I missed my transport home then it was a long walk to East Kirkby. I enjoyed myself, even though I still only had a vague idea about how to dance. Girls accepted that of others like me, and myself. The walk sobered me up.’
On the night of 26/27 March, Frank Dengate’s crew at Mildenhall did their first trip to the Ruhr when the target for 811 aircraft, 577 of them Lancasters, was Essen. Adverse winds had delayed the opening of the attack on the crew’s first op to Stuttgart 12 nights earlier and at Essen the city was covered by cloud although the Oboe Mosquitoes marked the target well and this was a successful attack. Only nine aircraft, six of them Lancasters, were lost. Dengate’s crew returned safely to Mildenhall and waited for their next op, wherever it might be. By now the crew had settled down to the operational routine, as Frank Dengate recalls:
‘Between raids we did training with our own fighters on mock attacks and also formation flying and cross-country. Also, we did practice bombing, mainly in daylight, as all our raids on Germany at this time were at night. Mildenhall was an old base so we had comfortable quarters and very nice brick buildings with mess halls and bars. As long as you weren’t listed you were free. We would know by about 10 o’clock whether we were operating or we had to go and test our aeroplane. The ground crew were waiting to test to make sure that everything was satisfactory so you’d be ready for the next day. We had a very close relationship with our ground crew. They were wonderful chaps. They waved us off and they waited for us to return. Between the period when we landed to the time we were ready to do our next test, which would probably be a day and a half, quite often they’d work flat out, day and night to get it done. They were very important and we were so dependent on them that we got very close to them. Quite often they didn’t sleep at all during busy operating periods [and] we’d have to take another aeroplane because they hadn’t finished the inspection. Our individual aircraft was K-King and my second name is Hercules so we put Hercules K-King on it. We’d do a test flight in the morning, before the next trip the following night. We’d test everything ready for the next run. You could never be sure whether they’d found all the problems that were involved.
‘Unless it was a special trip of some kind we went to the briefing straight after lunch. It might have alternatives, in which case you went to your briefing earlier. The different members of the crew had already completed their briefing. The navigator set up his route. The wireless operator would be getting useful information from the wireless mob. The gunners would be checking their information about fighters and so forth. Then you all come together into the main briefing. It told you the targets, whether you were backup crew or third across the target or something like that. The Met gave details of what they presumed the weather was going to be like. They’d never be sure, but they had a fair idea. It could change very easily; especially when we went to a place like Friedrichshafen when 3½ hours was the time to the target. We did a lot of trips to the Ruhr. Industry and the people that operated the machinery were in the same category. Blood flowed fast if it was the Ruhr because it was a terrible area. The flak concentration was terrific. If we were on backup, then we’d be first into the target for the attack, which was better than being last. The risk of fighters was the same the whole way though. In most cases the planners would try to keep us away from flak areas on our route so that you didn’t get a lot of flak other than when you crossed the coast. The target area was the risky part. You held your breath until the bombs were gone because we had to wait until the flash would turn up and indicated where the bombs fell and we could clear out and get cracking on the way home.
‘The briefing lasted about an hour and the navigators had to be there early because they had a lot of work to do. Sometimes the radio fellow was there with him to get his information. We depended on the navigator to tell us what speed, height, direction and so forth were required. If I varied our speed, it upset the navigator. It was very exciting being told the target and everyone took a big sigh of relief. We were on edge from the time we got all the information till the time that we got back. The station CO wished us goodbye. After the briefing we went straight over to our aeroplane, normally in a small van driven by one of the WAAFs, with all our parachutes and gear. Once in the aircraft we checked that everything was correct, that the switches for the bombs were all OK and that the radio was operating satisfactorily. Then we waited for start up time. The crew would be checking their equipment. The gunners would be setting themselves down; putting their electric plugs in and making sure their heating was working. The engineer, who was sitting beside me, would be checking all these gauges and making sure we had the correct amount of fuel and that the temperatures and everything was right. I would start up when we were about due for take-off. Then I lined up on the taxi track, came round to the take-off point and got a green light that told me that we were the next and away we’d go. There was always tension on take-off. You had a terrific load to lift off the runway. Everyone was holding their breath and hoping that nothing went wrong until we were in the air. The aeroplane was very heavy with fuel and bombs, which varied according to the distance we were going. At full power the loading on the aircraft was horrific and it probably took the full length of the runway to get the wheels off the ground. I’d whip the wheels up as soon as possible to get maximum speed. This was the dangerous point, because if you crashed with the load you had on, you would finish. This happened sometimes. Testing the aeroplane beforehand was the big thing that made it satisfactory. The Lancaster behaved very well under fully loaded conditions really but if one of your motors lost power for some reason or other, that was enough. You were in need of full power and full speed to get that load off the ground. So everyone was tensed up until they saw the trees clearing under them.
‘We flew straight off and up to a point on the coast and across the sea. We couldn’t climb much higher than 20,000 feet with a bomb load. We’d try and get to 20 because this was a reasonable height to get away from as much of the flak as possible. Some got brave and dropped down to 12,000 feet over the target but it didn’t help because we were in a mass of aeroplanes. If you got out of that stream, the radar got you straight away and the fighters would be vectored onto you so the great advantage was to stay in the stream. We were routed over the lightest covered flak points but it was usually a pretty heavy flak run along the enemy coast. You soon knew when you were passing over enemy territory. Inside the aircraft there was plenty of noise but not much vibration. The Lancaster was quite comfortable. The only talking was to make sure the gunners were awake and checking every now and again that everyone was satisfied and awake in their positions. You quite often got air bumps from the aircraft ahead. Sometimes you didn’t even have an indication of whether you were on the right track or in a stream. You simply paid attention to the navigator and timing. We were supposed to go over the target within a ten-minute period, so we had to be fairly accurate on our timing so that a mass of aeroplanes went over at the same time. The bomb-aimer was normally preparing himself for the bombing run. The flight engineer was pretty busy all the time on the instruments, monitoring the petrol consumption, checking temperatures and the oil and calculating what you’ve got to get to the target and home again. The wireless operator was listening out the whole time for any coded emergency signals from home to warn of a change of route or overcast conditions.
‘Approaching the target, everyone tensed up and hoped that the bomb-aimer would get his job done quickly. Flak passed you all the time. All you saw was the spot where it went off and then it came slowly and then “pssht” past. You hoped it didn’t stop on you. Big explosions in the air were pretty frightening. It was a bit of a shock to a young fellow, and mostly young fellows we were. There’d be terrific flak. In the middle of all this there should be some Target Indicators dropping. If there wasn’t it was up to you to find the aiming point. Over the intercom the bomb-aimer would be saying, “Left, left, steady” and, “right, right, steady”. If there was wind you would drift to one side. Then the bomb-aimer pressed his button, which automatically dropped the photoflash. The flash meant he’d taken his photograph of the aiming point and he’d tell me to clear out. A straight and steady approach was the final breathtaking section of the trip. You’re in the middle of all the flak and other aeroplanes and you’re moving your aeroplane about to get on the same track as everybody else so you’re likely to collide with other aeroplanes in the process. It was certainly a great relief when you felt the aeroplane leap and you knew the bombs had gone. We had a set point to turn on, probably 45 degrees first and then another 45 so that you didn’t make a quick turn away. Then we’d get onto our home run route. That’s when we had to be very careful because the fighters, who normally didn’t attack over the flak infested target, wanted to get into our track so that they could shoot us down. You turned your aeroplane continually to check they were not underneath. If the gunners spotted a fighter aircraft they had to straight away tell you, “Aircraft starboard go”. You would dive straight away towards that side, whether left or right, so that they could not fire their guns at you. They didn’t have to manoeuvre at all except to get under the aeroplane. If you weren’t seen they just pulled the trigger and blew your tanks to pieces. They might get the bombs at the same time. These were not normally live until after they left the aeroplane when the spinners on the front activated the bomb. If there was a fire onboard the aircraft everyone would grab the nearest extinguisher and try to extinguish it and the engineer would decide whether to evacuate or not. The rear-gunner would simply swing his rear turret right round and fall out backwards. He had to put his parachute on first though. The mid-upper gunner and all the other crew would have to go down and out through the bottom. The pilot would stay in his seat as long as possible to hold the aeroplane level. He was last in the queue. If there was an explosion everyone got out where they could. As long as it wasn’t fire in the petrol tanks, there was a reasonable amount of time to get out.
‘As far as searchlights were concerned it was a matter of diving and increasing speed, getting away from the lights if it were possible. They were pretty good, particularly if a mass of them came on together. Then we were blinded by the power of light. We would have to dive and get down, increase speed and get away. As soon as the light got us, then all the flak was concentrated on the one aeroplane.
‘On the way home we had to watch that we weren’t too relaxed because enemy fighters could be following us, even over Britain, to shoot us down around the home aerodrome. If we had engines out we had priority to land. Otherwise we just took our turn. If we got a red light, we had to go round again. We normally had plenty of fuel to spare unless there’d been a loss of fuel. We would report this and get priority to land if necessary. If we lost an engine, that got landing priority too. It was a big relief to be home. The ground crew would be there to welcome us and always carried out a very careful inspection because we didn’t know what flak we’d collected on the way. It could have gone through a cable and left it hanging. We went straight over to debriefing and took our turn. We’d get a ration of rum if we wanted it and we’d pour it into Joe Ell our bomb-aimer. He got really high on the rum. The briefing officers asked if we’d had flak on the way across, whether we’d had any attacks, what our calculated point of the bombing was and whether we reckoned that we were at an aiming point or not. If we were on backup they wanted to know how the master bomber was, whether we got the right instructions and if you saw any aircraft shot down. Quite often there’d be plenty of them, but we wouldn’t know who they were. We were pretty weary by this time but they were quite quick in getting us through. Then we went and had a meal and off to bed. We’d be absolutely “plonked” out by this time.’
Notes
1
The Leipzig raid cost 82 Lancasters and Halifaxes and one Mosquito; the worst casualties so far. The majority were destroyed by Zahme Sau (four aircraft were destroyed in collisions). Feldwebel Rudolf Frank of 3./NJG 3 destroyed five Lancasters to take his score to 34 kills. Oberleutnant Martin ‘Tino’ Becker, Staffelkapitän, 2./NJG 6 aided by his Bordfunker Unteroffizier Karl-Ludwig Johanssen claimed two Halifaxes and two Lancasters to take his score to 10 victories. Becker’s Gruppe, I./NJG 6 claimed eight victories. Nachtjagd lost just 17 fighters.
2
Two further effective Zahme Sau operations were directed against Bomber Command raids before February was out. On the 24/25th 209 1 Jagdkorps Zahme Sau crews destroyed 31 Lancasters and Halifaxes of a 734 strong force raiding Schweinfurt (Bomber Command lost 33 aircraft). I./NJG 6 claimed a Lancaster and a Halifax destroyed but NJG 6 lost five Bf 110s and four crewmen in air combat. Oberfeldwebel Fritz Schellwat of 6./NJG 1 downed a Lancaster SE of Saverne for his 17th victory and Hauptmann Eckart-Wilhelm ‘Hugo’ von Bonin, Ritterkreuzträger and Kommandeur of II./NJG 1 destroyed two Viermots for his 28th-29th kills. One of his victims was Lancaster JB721 of 156 Squadron with the loss of five crew. Three 156 Squadron aircraft failed to return from Schweinfurt. The next night 165 twin-engined Zahme Sau claimed 19 heavies during the raid on Augsburg. Four other bombers were lost in collisions and three were probably lost to flak. Total Nachtjagd claims for February were 183 bombers destroyed.
3
Frankfurt was raided on the night of 18/19 March by 846 aircraft, including 620 Lancasters. For the loss of six twin-engined night fighters (including two of I./NJG 6) the German defences claimed 22 heavies, 11 of which were attributed to the Zahme Sau of I Jagdkorps. Five crews of I. and II./NJG 6 destroyed four Halifaxes and a Lancaster. The same city was subjected to another devastating raid by 816 aircraft on 22/23 March, from which 26 Lancasters and seven Halifaxes failed to return. Frankfurt all but ceased to exist. Almost 1,400 people perished in these two raids and 175,000 inhabitants were bombed out. I Jagdkorps crews claimed 38 heavies destroyed. Six of these (four Halifaxes and two Lancasters) went to Oberleutnant Martin ‘Tino’ Becker, Staffelkapitän,2./NJG 6 and Unteroffizier Karl-Ludwig Johanssen, his Funker, during a Zahme Sau sortie from Finthen aerodrome. Four victory claims were credited to I./NJG 2, three of which, were destroyed by Oberleutnant Heinz Rökker.
4
Diary entry. See The Lancaster Story by Peter Jacobs (Cassell, 2002).
5
ibid.
6
Monica was a radar warning transmitter with a tail mounted aerial and had a range of between 1,000 feet and up to 2 – 4 miles.
7
‘It was a “team effort” like so many. As a result, I think that I was the youngest pilot officer to be awarded a DSO. My navigator got a bar to his DFC and my bomb-aimer and wireless operator each got DFMs. Nobody goes for medals – you just want to do the job and get home! I never saw the field again in daylight until years later when Tom Cushing kindly invited my wife and I over. When he drove us along the old runway in his Land Rover it was immediately apparent as to why we accelerated instead of slowing down. The field was like an inverted saucer and once we had reached the middle it was all downhill!’
8
Feldwebel Rudolf Frank of 3./NJG 3 claimed three aircraft, including Lancaster ME640 of 460 Squadron RAAF at Teglingen and ND657 of 630 Squadron at Altharen. Oberleutnant Heinz Rökker, Staffelkapitän 1./NJG 2 destroyed two Lancasters and a Halifax. Oberleutnant Martin ‘Tino’ Becker of 2./NJG 6 claimed a Lancaster at Wörlitz/Passau. Rökker claimed another Lancaster near Mönchengladbach on 26/27 March when a 705-strong force went to Essen. Nine Lancasters and Halifaxes failed to return, most probably all being shot down by twin-engined Zahme Sau.