358 WG CDR TG JEFFERSON DSO AFC AE By an

WG CDR T.G. JEFFERSON DSO AFC AE
By an odd set of circumstances, Tom Jefferson's biography is the last one to be
written. In January 1996, I included the current version at that time in my submission
to a local publisher. Clearly, I considered it one of my finest efforts! When I was
informed that a book about the raid itself may merit consideration, but regretfully I
would have to drop the biographies, I naturally declined to accept the offer. The
typescript remained on the shelf for another 18 years. In early 2014, I had an attack of
conscience, and recalled what Richard Passmore (real name, Roger Peacock) had told
me many years ago, after reading my typescript. He had advised me that what I had
written was not commercially viable, but the RAF Museum would dearly like to get
their hands on it! As author of Blenheim Boy (1981) and Moving Tent (1982), this
former Blenheim WOp/AG was in a position to offer me sound advice. As I
approached my mid-70s, I thought that it was high time to peruse the typescript for
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Mast High Over Rotterdam, and see if it was of an acceptable standard to be offered
to the RAF Museum.
Imagine my horror when I discovered that the biography of Tom Jefferson was
missing! For some strange reason, I had sent my top copy to the publishers, and they
had not returned it! However, I had given a complete copy of my book to my second
cousin, in Australia (David Mynott is the son of my cousin Len's brother), and he
kindly emailed me the missing biography. My heart sank when I read the notes that I
had appended to this: Superseded by entirely new version! I had been reasonably
happy with this effort, as I had gleaned much first-hand information from Tom's
Blenheim WOp/AG, 'Scotty' Scotney. Other 18 Sqn members had filled in some of
the gaps. In September 1990, I had decided to pay a visit to the Oxfordshire village
where the Jeffersons had lived in the late 40s: I wondered why it had taken so long to
try this avenue of research! A quick word with the local postmistress, and I was
directed to a lady who had lived in the village from the year dot. Had she known the
Jeffersons, when they lived in Tudor Cottage? Mrs H. replied that not only had she
known the family very well, but it was she who had lived in Tudor Cottage, while the
Jeffersons had lived in nearby End Cottage! She remembered 'Thomas' as having a
big moustache, plump and very much overweight - in fact, a good candidate for a
heart attack! She recalled that Mrs Jefferson had visited the village about 15 years
ago, but that she had now lost contact with the family. This biography finished with
the words: 'I got no further, but the lines of communication remain open...'
Once again, I had been slow off the mark, and almost certainly thwarted by the
Grim Reaper. What a pity! I would have loved to have met Tom, and discover what
sort of person can go from sergeant to squadron leader in only ten weeks. Of course,
the wastage rate in No 2 Group led to some spectacularly rapid promotions. To
survive just a few weeks on a Blenheim squadron usually resulted in that person
becoming one of its most senior members. However, my interviews with Tom's
surviving 18 Sqn colleagues convinced me that he was a born leader, and someone
who richly deserved his rapid promotion.
In April 1993, my enquiries in that Oxfordshire village finally rewarded me someone had tracked down Tom Jefferson! He was alive and well, and living in
Guernsey. I wasted no time, and rang Tom on the afternoon of Good Friday, 9th
April. My contemporaneous notes state: 'Wg Cdr Jefferson answered the phone. He
was bowled over to be talking about something which had taken place over 50 years
ago. Very good long-term memory - once I started the ball rolling, the memories
really came flooding out.' Over several visits and hours and hours of taped interviews,
I built up a complete picture of Tom's illustrious career. The amended biography
proved the best of all those I had written, hence my submission of it to the publishers.
But it was now lost! The only answer was to transcribe from tape all the interviews I
had had with Tom (surely I had done this many years ago, but they also had
disappeared!). This proved a bad luck/good luck situation. Firstly, it was wonderful
hearing Tom's voice again and secondly, it has given me a chance to write an even
better biography of Tom. Finally, it has encouraged me to transfer my hard copy of
Mast High Over Rotterdam into Microsoft Word - something not available when I
wrote it. I approached this task with some trepidation. I needed to précis 88 foolscap
pages into a concise biography, but still convey to readers the outstanding and
impressive career of Wg Cdr Tom Jefferson. It is a privilege to be in a position to
place on record the memories of a pilot who joined the RAFVR before the outbreak of
the Second World War, and flew continuously throughout all hostilities (except for
the period in 1942 when he was convalescing after his right knee was shot up).
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Throughout the interviews, I kept asking myself if I could have done all this! In all
honesty, I reached the conclusion that I was glad that I was born in 1940 and not
1920!
I wasted no time in arranging a meeting with Tom. At 5.30pm on 15th April 1993,
just six days after my phone call, I was standing outside the airport building in
Guernsey, courtesy of MAFF, who had decided that they would like the Channel
Islands Fisheries inspected. On arrival, I had phoned Tom, who kindly offered to pick
me up. He told me to look out for 'a metallic gold car with a brown roof'. Imagine my
surprise and delight when a magnificent Rolls Royce appeared! I quickly formed the
impression that Tom's post-war business had been rather successful, which came as
no real surprise when considering his dynamic personality and motivation.
Before I had had sufficient time to savour the delights of my first ride in a Rolls
Royce, we arrived at Tom's home - Adolphus House, Fort George - a sumptuous villa
perched high up on the southeast corner of Guernsey, with extensive views of Herm,
Sark, and beyond to the French coast. It was quite breathtaking! I was introduced to
Tom's charming wife, Audrey. Tom's first wife, Elsie, had died about 22 years
previously. They were natural hosts and made me extremely welcome. Tom was
vastly overweight and told me that he was no longer bothered about what he ate,
because it did not seem to matter - a philosophy with which I could readily identify!
Unfortunately, the bullet wound in his right knee, which he sustained in January 1942,
had developed into arthritis, and Tom could now move only with great difficulty, and
with the aid of two walking sticks. I quickly assessed him as a very nice person, and
extremely modest. He reciprocated by telling me that he was finding it hard to believe
where I got all my information! I thanked him for his kind observation, but reminded
him that he was there, and I was not, and I would be delighted to record any of his
memories that I hoped to probe and unlock.
One of Tom's recurring statements during our many interviews was 'And we had a
right old session!' Most aircrew would identify with this, both in war and peace. In
fact, Tom conducted all his post-war commercial transactions during a 'session' - I
wonder how commonplace this is nowadays? Of course, Tom had a wonderfully
equipped bar in his house, probably better than many pubs! I gasped when he showed
me his collection of whiskies: from floor to ceiling there was the greatest array one
could ever imagine, except, perhaps, when reading Whisky Galore. Bell's whisky was
his clear favourite. I made a mental note that if I were to survive this evening, I would
have to seriously pace myself! My notes state that I started with four or five
Waddington's beers, before moving onto the hard stuff. 'What would you like, Rusty?'
I dot-crossed as I gazed at his huge selection. I think he was expecting me to choose a
nice Bell's, but my eyes fell on a bottle of 'Chivas Regal'. I told Tom that I had never
tried this before, so could I start with this? I was most impressed and judged this
excellent blended Scotch whisky as good as any of my single-malt whiskies, even
'Jura'. Tom, of course, was the barman, and Audrey and myself were his customers.
Or was it more a case of the Commanding Officer being convivial with his squadron
pilots? I was surprised how quickly we both slipped back into this modus operandi!
The evening flashed by. It was suddenly 1.30am, and too late for taxies, so Tom
and Audrey kindly put me up for the night. It was a wonderful first meeting, the first
of several, and Tom and Audrey soon became close friends.
Between 4th and 7th June of that year, my wife Carol and I were invited to stay
with the Jeffersons. Guernsey is a delightful island, and the Jefferson villa is as good
as it gets, but I was mostly looking forward to interviewing Tom over the four days,
and extracting every memory I could! I armed myself with a goodly supply of mini360
tapes. It proved the best and most comprehensive of all my interviews with the
Rotterdam veterans. During our stay, Tom and Audrey entertained us lavishly, and we
all had the pleasure of swimming in their outdoor swimming pool. RAF plaques are
fairly common in the homes of those who have served in the Royal Air Force, but one
of Tom's collection caught my eye. It was an RAF Stornoway plaque, inscribed
Officer at the Bar 7 February 1993. Clearly there was a story behind this, which will
be explained later. Carol somehow steered the conversation away from aviation
matters, for the odd brief moment, and discovered that Tom had a lifelong interest in
the poet Thomas Gray, and his favourite poem was Elegy Written In A Country
Churchyard. He quoted his best-loved stanza, which Carol made a mental note of. On
a subsequent visit, I presented Tom with a framed version of this stanza, in beautiful
cross-stitch, which Carol had painstakingly embroidered. I too have always loved this
poem, but my choice would have been the first stanza, which ends And leaves the
world to darkness and to me. This thought may well have been in Tom's mind, when
taxiing out in his Pathfinder Mosquito in 1944/5 - another subject that will be covered
later. Tom proved to be the most generous and hospitable person I have ever met.
How could I find a way of showing my appreciation? The answer soon became
obvious. Tom had loved flying in his time, and I was in a position to rekindle this
love. On the occasions that we flew, Tom clearly enjoyed every minute, especially
when I handed him control of the aircraft. I was no less ecstatic - sitting next to me
was a first-class World War Two pilot, and the only Rotterdam veteran whom I had
had the privilege of taking flying. I can still clearly remember his words when I gave
him the safety briefing before we first flew: 'Don't worry about that, Rusty! I've had a
good run for my money, and at this stage of my life, I am quite philosophical about
what Fate has to offer!' After reading this biography, you will understand where this
was coming from!
My wife Carol, Tom and Audrey Jefferson, Guernsey June 1993 (Author's photo)
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Tom was born in Walthamstow, London, on 16th June 1914, just a few weeks
before the outbreak of World War One. He was educated at St Egbert's College,
Chingford (ten miles northeast of Charing Cross). After a period of being articled to a
firm of surveyors, he moved into insurance and became manager of a company based
on Hyde Park Corner.
In the mid-30s, Tom's love of flying literally took off, when he joined Ipswich
Aero Club. 'I was dreadfully keen in those days', Tom recalled. But his progress was
severely curtailed by the cost - 25 shillings (£1.25) per flying hour! In 2014, this
sounds ludicrous, but not when you are only earning about £12/10/0 (£12.50) a week!
'And they had incredible aeroplanes', Tom added. With my aircraft recognition honed
to perfection during my years in the Air Training Corps (1954-1958), augmented by a
healthy (or unhealthy?) collection of John Player & Sons Aeroplane Cigarette Cards,
kindly donated by my parents (who were both heavy smokers), I was ready for any
aircraft type that Tom could throw at me. But his next words threw me: 'We had
things like a Miles Whitney Straight, and we had a Czechoslovakian machine called a
Hillson Praga.' I had vaguely heard of the former, but told Tom that I had certainly
not heard of the latter! He replied: 'No - I doubt whether many people have!' Tom
explained that the Miles Whitney Straight was a low-wing monoplane, with side by
side seating and dual controls. The Miles Magister, which followed shortly
afterwards, was similar, both being powered by a Gipsy Major I engine, but the
Magister had tandem seating. The Hillson Praga 'had got quite a big high monoplane,
and two seats, side-by-side, and it had got a throttle, which was a long rod with a knob
on, which you pressed in like this.' A Google search reveals that it is not unlike the
Auster Autocrat.
Assuming the requirements for a Private Pilot's 'A' Licence (single-engine
machines) were the same in 1935 as they were in 1957, when I took mine, then Tom
would have had to amass a total of 40 hours flying at Ipswich Aero Club, or just 30 if
the course was approved by the Ministry of Transport (the suffix 'and Civil Aviation'
was not added until 1953). Either way, this was a challenge for someone paying hard
cash out of limited resources. 'So I just built a number of hours up, and eventually got
an 'A' Licence', Tom explained.
Ipswich was clearly the place to be in the late 1930s. In July 1938, Sir Kingsley
Wood, Secretary of State for Air, announced the creation of the Civil Air Guard
scheme. The aim was to provide pilots who could assist the RAF in a time of
emergency. Ipswich became part of this scheme. Tom did not allude to the fact that he
could have obtained his 'A' Licence through this scheme at an absolute knock-down
price, but concentrated on the other qualities he would require as a potential RAF
pilot. 'And then [came] the Civil Air Guard', Tom recalled. 'I became aware of it, and
I joined it because they ran lessons in Ipswich. You could learn all about radio, and
practise sending and receiving Morse, and practise navigation, and things like this.'
He remembered building up his flying hours by sharing the flying (and cost) with a
fellow member, usually by means of long cross-countries, such as flying down to
Exeter for lunch, then to Redhill for tea, and returning to Ipswich in the evening.
Just less than two years after it formed (July 1936), the RAF Volunteer Reserve
came to Ipswich. This was what Tom had been waiting for. Unlike many wartime
aircrew, who waited to be called up after the commencement of hostilities, Tom
enlisted on 12th June 1939 as an AC2, and was promoted to sergeant the next day.
The RAFVR had a similar object to the Civil Air Guard - to provide a reserve of
aircrew in the event of war. As aircrew had already signed on the dotted line, it
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became the principal means of recruitment in the RAF on 3rd September 1939. Tom
recalls:
'And then they opened an RAF Reserve Station at Ipswich, on the aerodrome. A big
new building - there was lovely parquet flooring and everything in it, even a link
trainer. And this was a first class thing....And, of course, a lot of people tried to get in,
and I was one of the lucky ones that, say, passed into that....About 17 got in [out of
about 311] and some of them never went solo. So they either went out, or went on to
be navigators, or WOp/AGs or something. And then, I always think about three days
before the war, they said, right, you're in! Now we want the aircraft moved. We're
moving aircraft from the east coast to the west coast, because the naughty Germans
might come and pinch them, or something. So I remember taking these, and flying to
Filton and to Weston-super-Mare and places like that. And round London, they'd got
these barrage balloons - a most incredible sight. And then I went to 3 ITW, which was
only a holding place that sorted people out, where they were going.'
I asked Tom where No 3 Initial Training Wing was located then. He explained:
'That was at Hastings. A big place - I think it's called Marina Court. It's still there it's a very big concrete building. I don't know how many storeys - there must be seven
or eight. The ends were rounded like the bridge of the Queen Mary, and it wasn't
finished. It hadn't even got plaster on the walls inside! And we all arrived down there,
while they sorted us out - where we were going to go, for training and so on. All these
bare concrete stairs, and mattresses on the floor, and all this sort of thing. So I was
down there for a while [3rd October - 5th November 1939] and then they said, right,
you're for Sealand.'
Before we head northwards, this fascinating building deserves a second look. The
Marine Court, situated in St Leonards-on-Sea (adjacent to Hastings), was 'completed'
in 1938! It was actually 14 storeys high. Tom was quite right with his reference to the
Queen Mary. This was exactly what the designers Kenneth Dalgleish and Roger K.
Pullen had in mind. The Cunard White Star Line Queen Mary had entered commercial
transatlantic service in 1936, the same year as building had commenced on the Marine
Court. The delightful art-deco style of the liner was replicated in the Marine Court in
a number of ways. The impressive eastern end is designed to imitate the curved,
stacked bridge of the Queen Mary. The eastern restaurant is shaped to imitate the
fo'c'sle deck of the liner. The southern elevation is vertical, with balconies like the
promenade deck on the Queen Mary. Finally, the upper storeys of the Marine Court
are stepped-in from those below, like the superstructure of a ship, while those below
give the impression of the hull of a huge liner. The eastern end of the building was
damaged by bombing during World War Two, with restoration being carried out
between 1949 and 1950. Over the years, the Marine Court suffered from the ravages
of the sea air, general neglect, and, worst of all, thoughtless alterations to the original
and lovely art-deco style. Thankfully, in 1999, it was awarded Grade-II listed status.
On 6th November 1939, Tom reported to No 5 FTS, RAF Sealand, Flintshire, in
the northeast corner of Wales. He recalls: 'It was suggested I fly the Oxford, and I
thought, yes, that seems to be the thing for me. I like a decent-sized aeroplane, with
two engines!' Clearly the single-engined route into Fighter Command, via the Miles
Master I, was not to Tom's taste (as it was for that great fighter ace, Johnnie Johnson,
who trained here). I queried the fact that Tom was going straight onto twins, with no
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formal basic training. Apparently, his 'A' Licence and handful of single-engine hours
obviated the necessity of going through the EFTS (Elementary Flying Training
School) route. How refreshing, I thought, being given credit for this former flying
experience. When I started my RAF flying training in 1959, with similar background
to what Tom had, my Piston Provost instructor told me: 'You can forget all that,
Russell!' He was an A2 QFI, no less! Maybe they cut corners in wartime?
Tom can vividly remember his time here:
'We lost quite a lot of people, because I think they weren't really geared up, and
people were not having enough basic training first. And taking off at night, with
hardly any lights: there was Summers Ironworks at one end of this grass aerodrome,
and people used to hit the chimneys. There's a little church there, on the hill, and it's
just full of RAF graves. And the weather was diabolical. The first winter of the war,
[there] was thick, actually thick snow. I've had a number of experiences of fog, and I
remember taking off from Sealand, in an Oxford, solo, and banking to the left,
looking round, and the fog coming down the Dee Estuary was beginning to roll right
over the aerodrome. I couldn't have got round and down [in time]. So I went up to
Speke, near Liverpool - no distance away - and landed there.' [My cousin's Blenheim,
V6240, was built here]
But this was as nothing compared with a practice forced-landing in the middle of
winter. I am a firm believer in Guardian Angels. Some people may use the term Lady
Luck. Listening to Tom's memories, I believe we had something wonderful in
common - a first-class Guardian Angel, with an impeccable grasp of aviation matters.
Mine came to my rescue on several occasions. Tom's had to work even harder - this
was wartime, after all!
Before relating the incident, I have to address the concept of practice forcedlandings in a twin-engined aeroplane. How many of you pilots out there have ever
tried this? I certainly have not! With an engine failure on a twin, you just flew
asymmetric, relied on your good engine, and landed at the nearest suitable airfield.
But not if the single-engine performance of your twin was negative - i.e. your live
engine did not have enough power to keep you level, let alone climb. This was the
case with the Avro Anson, and probably so with the Airspeed Oxford. In marked
contrast, the English Electric Canberra had what was termed a good single-engine
performance. Tom recalls the weather conditions on this particular day:
'It was in the middle of the first winter of the war, and it was diabolically cold, but
we had suddenly a bright sunny day. But [there was] snow everywhere, and [it was]
freezing very hard.'
In his enthusiasm to complete the day's task, Tom ignored what would come in his
Take Off Vital Actions - harness tight and locked. On strapping in, or trying to, Tom
discovered that the little triangle securing his Sutton harness was missing! He threw
his straps off and taxied out. Luckily for him, an eagle-eyed CFI (probably using
binoculars in the Watch Tower) saw Tom's loose straps and rushed out in his car to
confront him. 'That's against the rules', he told Tom. 'You can't go off without your
straps on.' This kind gentleman went off, returned with a Sutton triangle, and made
Tom strap in properly. Tom continues:
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'Well, I took off, and the form was to go and find a quiet place - look around [to see
that] there was nobody else - throttle back, and go down and make a pretended forcedlanding on a field, the size of which didn't really matter. And then gently open up and
go away again - and do this a few times, until you'd got the approach and forcedlanding right, without, of course, touching down. And I did this around a place called
Beeston Castle, near Tarporley - that's in Cheshire - and I made an approach and came
down to 200 feet. All the fields there were very small, with lots of trees around them,
and little woods and copses. And when I opened up - no engines!'
I asked Tom if he thought that this was due to carburettor icing. He replied;
'Yes! It would have been carburettor icing. And so, there was nothing that I could
do about it! You know, I tried what I could do, but I'd only got two feet, and I was
heading towards a pocket handkerchief-sized field, with a wood at one end, and odd
trees around. And I just couldn't get any response from the engines at all! So I
thought, right! There was nowhere else I could go to except down into this too-small
field. And I was concerned [not only] about the wood at the other end, but also
[about] getting over some trees at the beginning. And I remember clearly seeing a
hare get up and belt across this field in front of me. And I thought, you lucky little
bugger - you'll be alive long after me! And then there was a "bang", and I hit a tree
with my port wing, which cut the wing off just outside the engine, and slewed me
round, so that I ran into the wood ahead of me, between a lot of big trees - sideways with the starboard wing going in first. And another tree cut the nose off, and the tree
behind me cut the fuselage off, leaving the tail and turret up in the tree. And I finally
came to rest, with the two engines buried in the ground. I'd been pulled out of the well
of my seat, by the Sutton harness - which held! Otherwise I'd have been pulped right
through the instrument panel! And I pulled the little triangle out - that the CFI had
made me put in - and just stood up on the ground, in what seemed a great cloud of
smoke, but it was all snow and frost off those trees!'
I asked Tom if he emerged from this spectacular crash unscathed. 'Yes', he replied. I
wasn't marked! I pulled a fly-button off, I think!' He remained eternally grateful to
that eagle-eyed CFI, who made sure his harness was tight and locked before take-off!
The last part of the course was less stressful: 'Anyway', Tom recalls, 'I went
through this [course], and we finally got to a stage where we did cross-countries, up to
little places like Wem [near Shawbury, Shrewsbury] and then Market Drayton [near
Tern Hill, Shropshire].'
On 20th May 1940, Tom reported to No 14 OTU, Cottesmore, 'when they started
losing Hampdens'. He was referring to the big raid on shipping at Stavanger, by 36
Wellingtons, 24 Hampdens and 23 Blenheims .On this raid, six Hampdens and three
Wellingtons were lost due to intense flak and fighters. For once, the Blenheims were
not attacked by German fighters. This proved to be the largest bombing operation of
the war so far, and, more importantly, the last major daylight raid made by both
Hampdens and Wellingtons. It was certainly not for the Blenheim squadrons. Tom
explained why the poor old Hampden was so vulnerable:
'The Germans had found out that [the Hampden gunners] could only fire forward or
astern. They couldn't fire aside, and the Germans merely came alongside and picked
them off, one after one.' [This sounds like the tactics used later in the war, when
Messerschmitt Bf 110s would creep up underneath our night bombers, in their
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vulnerable undefended area, and shoot them down with their upward-firing
autocannons, a procedure known as Schräge Musik.] One ingenious observer found a
solution to this problem. He had a Vickers Gas Operated [machine gun] with a round
pan on the top [as in the early Blenheims]. And he broke the Perspex at the side of the
aircraft, and fired this [gun] out of it, at some Messerschmitts coming in. That put the
wind up them and they belted off! Hello, what's this? We've got a funny aircraft here!
And then they made a loose slot in the side of the Hampden, so that the Vickers GO
could purposely be put out, without smashing anything!'
I hope that observer received an appropriate commendation for his initiative! Once
again, Tom exposed the horrific casualty rate of aircrew during flying training, due to
insufficient basic instruction. They were being asked to tackle an advanced and
complicated aircraft before they had built up enough experience and confidence on
more basic machines. Tom recalls:
'At Cottesmore in those days, it was deadly, because people had only just learned to
fly an Oxford, or some going there, an Anson. And a Hampden was fairly high off the
ground. - I mean, not compared with Jumbos, but compared with anything else at the
time. An instructor would show you what all the levers were for. Well, when we got
there, we'd never had a Constant Speed Unit on the propeller. We hadn't had gills for
controlling the heat [to the engines] on take-off and so on. And this thing had got
quite a lot of gadgets and levers and things, which we knew nothing about. And of
course, they'd got Peggy 18s [Bristol Pegasus XVIII, 9-cylinder radial air-cooled] so
they were to us, big and powerful engines. Now, what happened was, when you
arrived at Cottesmore, you settled in and you did two weeks ground training, where
you learned everything you could about the Hampden, and a bit about the local area.
But, you see, there was no dual instruction. So you learned about it, and then you had
a big card [Flight Reference Cards in today's terminology] - it had all the things you
do when you get in - there were the fuel cocks and so on - and all the things you do to
taxi out - and all the things you do to take-off - and all the things you do in the circuit
- and all the things you do to land, on the other side, you see. This whole lot - dozens
of things really. And you learn this right off parrot-fashion. Now this was the idea!
Well, I got hold of one of these, and I was, I suppose, an eager- beaver, and I went
into the hangar, when I hadn't been into Ground School, even! Very stupid, this. But,
nonetheless, I did!'
I have to disagree with Tom here. He explains how he sat in the cockpit to
thoroughly familiarise himself with the drills and the layout. I think it was exactly the
right thing to do. It was a true reflection of his motivation and sound airmanship. I
used to do this before every new aircraft I flew. Tom continues:
'And I was reading this card, and I thought, well, you know, I've got the hang of
this. I asked one or two questions. And the next day, I got into one outside, and the
Chief Flying Instructor, or [another] instructor, came alongside and said: "Oh, you
must be really familiar with it by now. Taxi it round the aerodrome, and come back. If
you really feel confident, and you've got it all weighed up, you can take off! But don't
be afraid to come back." You know, I hadn't been to Ground School, but I thought,
well, I've got that card - I can read it all, you see. So I stuck the card in my battle
dress, and taxied round to the edge of the aerodrome. Well, I'm not the sort of bloke
who would go back - I'm not going to go back and say I didn't like to take off! So I
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had this card stuck down my battle dress, and took off with the roof open
[recommended procedure]. One of the things you did at 300 feet was to close the roof,
as well as raise a bit of flap. You'd already got the wheels up. Well, at 300 feet, there
was a bloody great wind, and out went my card! Now I'd got absolutely nothing! And
in a very short time, I was about 10,000 feet, and I don't know how far west of
Cottesmore! But it was a beautiful day, and there was no cloud or anything. So I
turned round, and went in the opposite direction, on a reciprocal, knowing that at
Stamford, there was a cement works, with a whacking great tall chimney. I eventually
saw that, and I went round and I thought, right, now then, [how do] these Constant
Speed Units [work]? There were six levers - two throttles, two for the mixture
controls, and two for the Constant Speed Units. And I looked at all of these. And I
thought, well now, this Fine Pitch - it must be like going into bottom gear - that's got
to be in a lower gear - it's got to be the best thing for going down. So I got into this,
and the engines screamed their heads off! [The expression 'He took off in fine pitch',
meaning that he quickly disappeared, had not entered current usage in the English
language until well after 1940!]. And I opened the fuels [mixture controls?] about
half-way, because I didn't know if they had to be fully open or shut! I kept playing
around with a bit of flap on, and threw it round a while, and I got down and managed
to stop before the end of the runway! It was a grass aerodrome then, of course.'
In 1964, when I was posted there on Vulcans, it had a 9,000-foot metal runway!
Amazingly, Tom received no criticism for his precociousness!
So that was the start of Tom's experiences on the Hampden. It was certainly not the
last! He recalls:
'The losses were great. I think there were 40-odd crews on my course, and about
four got through.'
There were various reasons for departures from the course, most of them due to fatal
crashes. It seems that the crunch came during night flying. Tom continues:
'Now, I was told - and I don't know whether it's right or not - that Hampdens had a
high-speed tail-stall, that if they were a bit badly handled, at about 140 knots, if you
were in the circuit, the tail could stall. Now, whether this is right or not, I always tried
to handle it right, but people did fall out of the sky. [I can find no reference to a tail
stall]. And another thing - this was a time when intruder aircraft came over, and tried
to shoot you down. So we had a row of paraffin goose-necks up the aerodrome, with a
'T' across the top, and an airman sat by each one. But if you had an air-raid message
yellow, they started putting them out! Red or purple was an immediate one. So as
soon as there was any sort of air-raid threatened, they put all these things out! Of
course, people used to take off, looking over their shoulder, hoping to God they could
get round, and come in to land before the flare-path went out! If you didn't get round
while you could see [the flare-path], you didn't know where you were. You hadn't got
a navigator with you - you were just solo, in the dark, in an unfamiliar aircraft - a
great big and powerful one to people in those days - and I think this is what caused a
lot of accidents. And there were an awful lot of accidents. I've seen the CO stand at
the gate, at the salute, when all six or eight coffins went out - on most days. Well, I
remember coming in one night, and, you see, there was no Glide Path Indicator,
which came out later on.'
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This statement took me by surprise! I am not sure of the exact date they were
introduced, but the Instructor's Handbook of Advanced Flying Training - Air Ministry
May 1943 - quotes 'The angle of descent is judged by the Descent-Path Indicator and
the flarepath, but from a height of about 150 feet the former should be ignored.' The
Descent-Path Indicator was renamed Visual Approach Slope Indicator by the time
that I started flying training, and was then upgraded to the Precision Approach Path
Indicator. It was one thing to expect an experienced pilot to land a Lysander in a field
behind enemy lines, with just a line of hand-held torches for approach guidance, and
another to expect a tyro on a 'heavies' OTU to do something fairly similar. Tom
continues:
'You merely judged your height and angle of approach by how near or far apart the
paraffin flares were, which were blowing in the wind anyway! So you were looking at
this "T", and judging what your height was. And I was a bit low, and I thought to
myself, I've never tried this landing light - I'll try it, and I put it on - and there was a
bloody great tree in front of me! And I pulled it up until the thing was shaking straight through the top of the tree and landed!'
Tom called this one of his many 'flukes': I believe it was yet another intervention by
his excellent Guardian Angel. This disturbed me, and I asked Tom if they were told
not to use their landing lights, for whatever reason - perhaps to avoid the attentions of
a night intruder. Tom's answer was rather vague: 'Errr, you used them at some time,
but...' I shocked him by relating the modus operandi in 1959, when I was learning to
fly on Piston Provosts. It was considered 'sissy' to use one's landing light, and if you
were spotted, it would be drinks all round on your bar bill afterwards! Thankfully, the
use of landing lights became more or less Standard Operational Procedure, with the
odd practice without them. I personally considered them a great asset - they converted
mere 'arrivals' into much more acceptable 'greasers'! Tom agreed: 'Now it's vital - they
come in with landing lights on, like Christmas trees, so that the aerodrome can see
them - Air Traffic Control and other aircraft.'
Thankfully, not all Tom's time on Hampdens at Cottesmore was white-knuckle
stuff. He recalls one such incident, which surely rates as a Good Show or even a
Green Endorsement:
'There was a great worry in those days, you know - everybody carried gas masks
and things, believing that the Germans would use gas. So we had to have gas, and we
had to go and deliver it, and so on. [I think it is fairly well known that, had the
Germans attempted an invasion under Operation Sealion in 1940, Churchill would
have given the order for gas to be used.] So they fitted a Hampden out with a tank,
with some liquid in, and I was told that I had to go and do a simulated gas raid on
Scampton. [My guess is that Tom volunteered for this, but was too modest to admit
it!] So I took off, and I looked at [the topography] - and Lincolnshire is very flat
country, but there was a bit of a gully away from the aerodrome, and the wind was
blowing down it towards the station. I then went down, very low level, and flew along
this little depression and released all of this "gas". [I suspect this method of attacking
a target influenced Tom later on, when he attacked the German-controlled aerodrome
of Castelvetrano, on Sicily]. When I got back, I was called up to the Station
Commander, who said: " I've had the AOC on me - you made an absolute cock-up,
and what the hell were you doing? You didn't even go near the aerodrome!" So I said:
"I did sir! I bombed it, upwind of the aerodrome, so the 'gas' would go over the
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aerodrome. He said: "Well, Scampton have been on, taking the mike out of us, and the
AOC is bloody mad!" "Well, I'm very sorry sir! I did it, and I thought [I'd hit the
target] - there's my chart and map, and all the rest of it." He said: "That's not really
good enough - you ought to have been a bit more careful about this sort of thing."
And I went back to the flight. Half an hour later, he called me back again, and said:
"I've got to apologise, which I do myself. I've got to apologise for the CO and for
Scampton. The CO's car and the whole of Headquarters are covered with pink spots!
And they can't get them off!" But they had been decent enough to ring up and
apologise. You see, what all these senior people, all these Station Commanders, didn't
understand, was that if you flew over Station Headquarters, with a spray of "gas"
coming out, and the wind's blowing, it's not going to drop over there, is it - it doesn't
just come down through the wind. You had to put it down upwind. I would have
thought that this was elementary for them. I mean, I knew it [as a sergeant] and these
were all senior people. Why they didn't know that, I can't imagine!'
It just so happens, that I am currently reading Vincent Orange's excellent book
DOWDING OF FIGHTER COMMAND:VICTOR OF THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN
(Grub Street, London, 2011). There is no doubt, from reading this, that we would
have lost the Battle of Britain in 1940, had we not been in the superbly capable hands
of the C-in-C, Fighter Command, Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding and his equallygifted AOC No 11 Group, Air Vice-Marshal Keith Park. If Fate had put us in the
charge of their successors, who connived with other officers of senior air rank to oust
Dowding and Park after the battle had been won, then I dread to think of the
consequences. Readers of Lord Dowding's books (I now have all of them!) would not
be surprised to note that Chapter VII of TWELVE LEGIONS OF ANGELS (Jarrolds,
London, 1946) is entitled Why are senior officers so stupid?!
On 13th July 1940, Tom was posted to No 13 OTU, Upwood, onto Blenheims!
Tom recalls:
'I thought it was because 2 Group had big losses, and they wanted pilots there. So I
was switched, and so were other people, onto Blenheims! A friend of mine, whose
name was Rob Royle [not sure of the spelling] - he went through, and went onto a
Hampden squadron. Now, looking at my notes, I can't understand why we were there
so long! Because I thought we'd been sent onto Blenheims, because of the [high] chop
rate - they wanted replacement pilots quickly.'
I told Tom that I thought I knew why: 'I've heard about this, and it was apparently
due to Wg Cdr Webster [Sqn Ldr at that time] who was the CO [25th October 1940 1st May 1941] - he didn't really push crews through very quickly - they took an
enormous time to get through. I think that he reasoned that they needed longer on the
OTU to assimilate everything - if you throw them out too quickly, they are just going
to die through lack of experience.' This is what happened, of course, when we were
desperately short of pilots during the Battle of Britain, and they were sent to
squadrons with no more than a dozen hours on type, with predictable results. This
made me recheck how long my cousin was on the course at No 17 OTU. Just four
months - 5th March to 3rd July 1941! It would seem that Tom Webster's replacement
held a different view.
Tom continues:
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'I first went solo on a bull-nosed Mk I Blenheim. A chap called Cree - I think he
was a flying officer - took me round to familiarise me with it, and sent me solo, and
all the rest of it, which was straightforward.'
I have already mentioned in my biography of Wg Cdr Tom Webster the occasion he
took Tom Jefferson flying through a front, and explained the effect of flying through
different atmospheric pressures. In my time, we learned the pneumonic HIGH-LOWHIGH, i.e., if flying from high pressure toward low pressure, your altimeter would
read high. Tom concluded, as I wrote earlier, with this glowing accolade for Wg Cdr
Webster: 'He was a helluva nice chap, being unusually helpful to some miserable little
sprog sergeant.'
One good reason for the lack of progress on No 17 OTU at this time was the
appalling weather during the winter of 1940/41. Tom recalls:
'In this very bad winter, the grass aerodrome was waterlogged - covered with snow
and slush - and we were absolutely grounded. So somebody, probably a crew, thought
up the idea of using nearby Alconbury.'
This airfield had been used as a satellite since the outbreak of World War Two, but
it was then in the process of a major upgrade to a fully operational one, with a
concrete runway and associated infrastructure. The only snag was that it wasn't
actually open! Tom was instructed to 'nip over there' and assess the situation. He
found the runway usable but most of the buildings were only half-finished. Good
enough, they thought! Tom continues:
'So we took some Blenheims over, and had some guards over there to look after
them. The crews used to go over every morning, in lorries, with an ambulance, and all
the rest of [the flying back-up]. And we'd do some flying from there and then go back
in the evening. I used to go back with the doc, in the ambulance! And he had great big
stone jars of really 100%-proof Naval rum, because the guards who were on duty
there, in these diabolical conditions all night, had to have rum! Of course, they
couldn't drink all these big bottles!'
I naturally asked Tom if he had to help! He agreed, laughing!
Tom has good reason for remembering his flights on 14th and 15th March 1941:
'We had an aircraft go down in the Irish Sea, between Blackpool and Jurby (on the
Isle of Man), and somebody had to go up [and identify the bodies]. And I went up to
Fleetwood. Two bodies had been picked up by a fishing boat, but they were not the
actual crew. Not very nice - they had been in the water for some time. Well, coming
back from Fleetwood, to Upwood again, as I was nearing Chester, I experienced a
shudder and judder on, I think, the starboard engine. I tried the mag switches and I got
a mag drop. So I thought, right, I'll just curl her round into Sealand - dead easy, which
I did. I arranged for the aircraft to be serviced and the mag drop checked. Then,
because my fiancée was in Chester, I nipped down and saw her. And on the spur of
the moment, we went for a walk in the park at Chester, and I said, let's get married!
Because I thought, well, at least you'll get a little pension, or something [if I am
killed]. I thought, you know, I'm sure to go in before long, and it was the beginning of
the war, and to live the whole of the war wasn't a [strong possibility]. It seemed it
was going to go on for a great long time, and the chop rate was high, and I'd had some
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lucky escapes, one way or another. This was the sort of thinking in those days. We
went to the vicar of All Saints Church, in Hoole [2 Vicarage Road, Chester], the
parish in which my fiancée lived. Very fortunately, he was in, because he had broken
his leg! He accepted that my fiancée had lived in the parish long enough, but said,
well, you haven't! I said, well, I have, because I was at Sealand. He replied, ah, well, I
think that I can allow that! And he married us. Ralph [Millns, Tom's observer] was a
witness. And we spent the night in Chester, went home and told my wife's mother. Oh
dear - she nearly passed out! Fortunately, I'd had the presence of mind to take her half
a bottle of whisky, or something, to get the old girl [come to terms with the news].
And we went off, and spent the night in Chester. The next morning, I put my wife on
the train at Chester station, bound for Peterborough. I then went back to Sealand,
picked up my aircraft, checked it out, and took off. I found my wife's train, and gave it
a real thorough beating up, flying alongside the carriage and waving to each other.
After landing at Upwood, I explained [my new marital status] to the CO. And he said:
"You're supposed to get the CO's permission before you get married!" And I said:
"Well, I didn't know, sir. I'm very sorry about that." And he said: "Well, you know,
we're not going to make any fuss about it, but you ought to have remembered it!" I
don't think it was Tom Webster - it must have been a Flight Commander. Anyway, he
added: "It was a very good trip - you getting up there and helping us identify the
[dead] corporal." So I got in my car - drove into Peterborough - met the train in - took
my wife down to Ramsey, on the edge of Upwood, and found some lodgings for her all that same night! Very hectic this was!'
A sedate formation transit height over the East Anglian countryside. Tom Jefferson's
trusty steed, V6519 (WV:X), from his arrival on 18 Sqn (28th June 1941) until 14th
July 1941, encompassing 4 Shipping Beats, a 'Circus' Operation and the attack on Le
Havre docks (10th July 1941). He reluctantly had to change his Blenheim for the
Rotterdam raid of 16th July 1941 (via Tom Jefferson)
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On 28th June 1941, Tom joined No 18 Squadron, RAF Oulton, situated to the west
of the market town of Aylsham, in Norfolk. This was a satellite airfield for nearby
RAF Horsham St Faith (now Norwich Airport). He hardly had time to unpack his
bags before he was operational. He recalls;
'The first trip I did was a Circus [30th June - target, the power plant near Lens]. And
although this was alarming, it's nothing like a shipping beat. You know these Circuses
- we used to go over France at about 12, or 13, or 14 thousand feet. And we would
bomb a power station, or something. And that would bring all their fighters up. But
we had some fighters staying up a bit later. We wanted to get their fighters up, to
shoot some of them down, and that's what it was all about. We were really decoys!
And you sit there, flying along, and there would be all these black puffs coming!
Well, we'd never seen black puffs! And sometimes, when they were near, there was a
great rattling on the aircraft, and they would bang you up and down. And we were
issued with ordinary round tin hats, which soldiers had, and which we were supposed
to put on our heads - over our helmets, for shrapnel coming through, you see. Of
course, everyone put them under their seats! And every time we got back, if
somebody crashed, all pilots tore over to the crash, to see who could get there first.
Providing the crew could all be got out, there was all this fighting! The only piece of
armour plating any good at all in the Blenheim was behind the pilot's seat. A good old
thick piece of steel. And if you could unbolt that, and get it out, you would take it
down to Station Workshops, get it cut to the right shape, and have it fitted under your
feet - which meant, of course, you had to swing the compass. At Oulton, we did one
or two Circuses, which were good, and then we did these shipping beats, which
weren't good! And I remember, we'd go down to the Flight Office in the morning, and
if there wasn't something we were told to do, we would sit outside on the grass, and
watch the bomb trolleys go out. If the bombs were semi-armour-piercing, you'd say,
ah, jeez, and your stomach would sink! Shipping beat off the Frisians! [In fact this
was precisely Tom's first shipping sweep - off the Frisians, on 5th July, recording an
attack on 10 'R' boats with machine gun fire.] And if they were 250-pound antipersonnel bombs, or General Purpose bombs, well, it was a Circus, and everyone was
as pleased as could be.'
At this stage, it is worth recording a few thoughts on these shipping beats, or
sweeps. All the Blenheim crews I interviewed, not surprisingly, held similar views to
Tom's. The targets attacked would either be heavily armed, such as destroyers, or
merchant vessels escorted by destroyers and flakships, all bristling with instruments
of sudden death. The run-in would be in daylight, at very low level, and at an
unbelievably slow speed - 180 to 220 mph. The German gunners would have had
ample opportunity to train their weapons on the attacking Blenheims. Very few
aircraft got through without either being shot down, or being severely damaged. To
my mind, the only difference between these attacks, and the kamikaze attacks later on,
in the Pacific War, is that our brave Blenheim crews hoped to live, and the Japanese
pilots expected to die.
On 7th July, Tom did another shipping sweep - in Heligoland Bight - where he
bombed a tug and sea-going barges. The next sortie, on 10th July, was a low-level
attack on shipping in Le Havre, recording a hit on a 3,000-ton vessel. With a map of
the French coast in front of us, Tom talked me through it:
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'I remember this very well. First, we headed for the Seine, like this, and then the
coast went out, like that, and you've got the harbour here. And we came right down
here, and in like that, and bombed the docks like that, and up over this headland and
out again.'
I asked Tom to confirm that he attacked from the south. He replied:
'Yes. We did the same sort of thing at Rotterdam [six days later]'.
This was the answer I was looking for - perhaps a template used by the planners for
the larger raid?
On 12th July, Tom flew a long shipping sweep (over four hours) up to Borkum,
though no attacks were logged on the record kept by his observer, Ralph Millns. Then
followed, on 14th July, yet another shipping sweep, off IJmuiden this time. On this
sortie, a 6,000-ton MV was hit, and Tom was attacked by two Messerschmitt Bf 109s.
The biography of Tom's WOp/AG, 'Scotty' Scotney, describes this in detail. Scotty
shot down one of these Messerschmitts. Unfortunately, this action was not witnessed,
so Scotty received no credit for his heroic feat. He should have been award the DFM.
This is a good time for pointing out why Scotty refers to his pilot as 'Jeff'. Tom
informs me that he was known throughout the war as 'Jeff', and this continued until
the mid- or late-50s, after which he settled for 'Tom'.
On 13th July, No 18 Sqn moved from Oulton to Horsham St Faith. This was a
popular move with everybody.
Scotty Scotney, Tom Jefferson and Ralph Millns - No 18 Sqn, Horsham St Faith
(Scotty Scotney)
And then came Rotterdam, on 16th July 1941. Ralph Millns records it thus: 'Low
level attack on shipping in Rotterdam harbour - hit 4,000-ton MV. 2.40 [two hours
and 40 minutes].' This is really what I came for! I had the privilege of interviewing a
pilot on the Rotterdam raid, in which my cousin was killed, and someone who had an
extraordinarily good memory! Over the course of my several interviews with Tom, I
extracted every detail I possibly could! I will now assemble these memories in a
chronological order of the raid. Some of the following recollections have already been
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incorporated into the narrative of the raid, but for reasons of continuity and
clarification, I have included them in this biography. Perceptive readers may pick up a
variance in the actual words spoken by Tom. This is because I recorded several
versions of the same incidents - better to have multiple coverage than miss something
out!
Tom recalls:
'Now, what happened that morning was, Tim [Wg Cdr Tim Partridge, CO of 18
Sqn] was called by the Station Commander, and he flew over to 2 Group
Headquarters [all these years later, I was able to update Tom - the meeting was at
RAF Watton, not RAF Wyton]. And we all sat around and waited - you know, the
CO's gone to [Watton] - what's this all about? Or why? Perhaps we are going to have
a day off? Anything ! We didn't know!'
This shows how tight the security was. Tom continues:
'So we were all hanging about in bright rooms, and just wondering why he went.
And then he [Tim] came back, and there was a great bustle of activity, and we were
told, right, up to Briefing! And we gathered that Tim had had a meeting with other
squadron commanders, and that they had all worked it out between them. So then
there appeared a big rough plan of Rotterdam, on one board, and I think another one
would have been the route out, generally. And so all we knew was, you'll be Number
Two to the CO [immediately to his right, in echelon starboard], and you're flying here,
and you're flying with other people. They told us what the bomb load was, and that
the Operation was to bomb some ships in the docks at Rotterdam. And we're going to
take off at a certain time. The Met Man came in just after the details, to tell us what
the weather would be like. We were going to take off, and formate round the
aerodrome, and then go to Wattisham, where we would join up with another squadron
[the First Wave].'
When I brought up the subject of cable-cutters, it was clearly not one of his
memories from the Rotterdam briefing given at Horsham St Faith. Perhaps they only
mentioned this at the Watton briefing? I asked Tom: 'Thinking about those great big
crane cables - can you imagine that a Blenheim cable-cutter could go through one of
those, and chop it? Because you had them fitted to your leading edge. Did you have
any confidence in them?' Tom thought for a moment, and replied: ' I, er, no! I did at
one time, but they were for cutting...' I quickly interjected: 'Cheese?' After the
laughter had subsided, Tom continued: 'Barrage balloon cables, which I would
imagine are a bit thinner than those [crane cables]'. 'Well', I replied, 'On the
Rotterdam raid, one chap did cut through one, but my cousin also hit one,
unfortunately, and it pulled a large chunk of his wing off. So it seems unlikely, doesn't
it?' Tom added: 'Well, I wouldn't imagine it - cutting it - I mean, you are going to hit it
very fast, so you'd have to really be right in the jaws of the cutters, wouldn't you?' I
agreed: 'That's right! In fact, it was on the inside of the engine, where the wing is
strongest, and there was a cable-cutter there, and Wotherspoon [21 Sqn] cut it!'
I asked Tom to clarify the method of departure: 'Can you tell me when you had
these big formations, and you were taking off on grass airfields, did you take off in
loose formation, or did you take off singly?' Tom confirmed: 'Singly!' 'Thank you', I
replied. 'Because when I wrote the book, I thought, now, what did they do? I reasoned
that if you've got a full load, a 16,000-pound aircraft, and trying to take off in
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formation, that would be dangerous! So, five seconds streaming? Or ten?' Tom's
answer was emphatic:
'No - you'd wait until the aircraft in front had become unstuck, and had got to the
end of the aerodrome or runway, just so that his slipstream wouldn't really upset the
next one's take-off. And the leader would fly slowly round the airfield until they all
came up and got into position. I seem to remember, there were a great lot of aircraft
went off like this, or more than usual. And I remember meeting another large
formation [the First Wave]. But I wasn't just sort of sitting there, watching, or
working it out - what I was doing was concentrating on doing my job. And that was
keeping really good formation on Tim, so that other people could keep good
formation on me. It's what you do, really. But I was conscious of a lot of other aircraft
in the sky, and us all meeting up [overhead Wattisham]'.
Time and time again, Tom stressed how much of his concentration was spent on
keeping good formation - there was very little opportunity for observing, amongst
other things, the friendly Dutch waving their support for the Blenheims. This luxury
was mainly the reserve of the WOp/AGs!
Tom recalls the transit:
'Occasionally, Ralph [Millns] would say, yes, we're right on course, and so on. And
we would be down low over the sea, and you'd have an eye looking for the enemy
coast. And the enemy coast came up, and I would imagine - I can't be specific - but
I'm certain Ralph would have said, we're hitting the coast at the right place. And we
would go across, and then I would be waiting for Tim to start his turn to port - which
he did. Then we would get a little bit loose, because we would be looking - even
though we were very low - ahead to the horizon, and you would suddenly see all the
cranes and things of docks. And so you are making sure that you keep as low as you
can, but without going in, but also, you're really searching these things for some sign
of where your dock is.'
The attack phase is understandably still clear in Tom's mind:
'And Ralph was looking out, forward, and said, right, there's our ship over there! On
the far side of the Waterway. [I believe Tom overflew Maashaven, then Katendrecht
Havens One and Two, before crossing the New Waterway, and bombing his ship in
Dock 28, moored up on Westerkade]. So we belt up over it, to bomb it. And I knew
we hit it! That's how it is! You hadn't got time to think about it or analyse it.'
I asked Tom: 'What were you like at estimating the tonnage of ships during the war?
Were you trained? Did you have your own principles?' He replied:
' No. There was no special training. You estimated what you thought about it, and if
you had photographs, then other people estimated whether you were right or not. And
how accurate you were. But you never did know - especially if you sunk it! There was
a fair amount of flak about, in places, and you really concentrated on making sure it
wasn't a wasted effort, with your bombs missing the target.'
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Tom's WOp/AG, Scotty, captured the transit and attack for posterity, with some
excellent photos, using his hand-held Leica camera. The euphoria of scoring direct
hits on his ship was quickly dissipated, as Tom recalls:
'I remember joining up with Tim Partridge when he was in real trouble. I could see
the flak going straight into his aircraft, and then it seemed to catch fire inside. There
was a great stream of fire and sparks and things going back inside the aircraft, and
enveloping poor old Dvorjetz [Tim's observer]. And then they turned over,
disappeared under my port wing, and went straight in. And this was a really horrible
sight, you know. I knew Tim had gone in, but I didn't see him actually hit the ground.
I was dodging buildings, you see.'
The withdrawal phase is a well-preserved memory. Just about the time that Tim
Partridge crashed into the Noordsingel canal, Tom received a hail of bullets from a
motor-cycle and sidecar combination. As he returned fire with his Browning 'for all I
was worth', he was struck with the image that the sidecar was the 'wrong way round'!
He continues:
'I remember flying up the main street of Rotterdam [such as it was, in the middle of
the bombed-out area devastated by the Germans on 14th May 1940], or a big wide
street. And there was a building, like a bank building on my left, with a dome on the
top, and there was a big weather vane, which was a horse, rearing up - this was above
me.'
It would appear that Tom flew up the Coolsingel, between the City Hall/Post
Office/Exchange Building combination and the St. Laurens Church - the only four
major buildings to survive the bombing in 1940. I believe that he mistook the golden
'Angel of Peace', with up-stretched wings, for a horse, rearing up! After passing these
buildings, Tom flew 'right down across a lot of greenhouses, as low as we could get just like the greenhouses here, at Guernsey.' He added: 'The thing was, now, to get
yourself out.' Tom recalled that the generally accepted, if unwritten, procedure at that
time was that, if anything happened to the leader of the formation, his Number Two
would take over. So he found himself in the hot seat, as a sergeant, leading the Second
Wave back to England. He explains his position: 'Well, with Tim going down, I had
to take the lead of what was left of the [Second Wave], to be able to formate on me,
and come back.' I asked Tom: 'Were you nominated as Deputy Leader?' Tom replied:
'Well, I was his Number Two, and that's what it meant. No one said, you're the
Deputy Leader! In later times, when I was in the position of giving the briefing, and I
was leading, I would always say, Number Two, if anything happens to me, you take
over, and bring [the formation] back. I remember telling you about coming back from
Castelvetrano.' I will be covering this amazing event later.
Like most others on the Rotterdam raid, Tom has vivid memories of those
greenhouses:
'And I was right over the top of those - that must have rattled the glass quite a bit!
And as soon as we were clear of the flak area, I throttled back and we started looking
for any of the other [wave], and they were looking for me! And a number formated
onto us. When we got over the coast, we were looking for the rendezvous point,
where our fighters would proceed to escort us back. And there were some Me 109s
around, but while I was busy doing other things, I left that to Scotty! Then we caught
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up with the fighter escort - the fighter escort engaged the enemy fighters, and we
didn't see them any more.'
On 19th July 1941, Tom was commissioned. I was at a loss to understand why it
had taken so long for the RAF to spot his officer qualities, so I asked Tom for an
explanation. Tom confessed that he was offered a commission at No 5 FTS, Sealand,
in November 1939. 'And why did you turn it down?', I replied. 'I don't know', Tom
confessed, then adding this explanation:
'I was very friendly with an instructor, Flt Sgt Marshal. He was a helluva nice chap,
and I wondered why he never wanted a commission. It was one of those silly things.
He came over to me and said: "Look, would you like to be put up for a commission?"
And I then prepared a return. But I thought, well, I'll stay with Ralph and Scotty and
old Marshal, in the Sergeants' Mess, without sort of breaking away from them. As
simple as that! Well now, since then, I've thought how bloody naive and stupid I was!
But then I'm a bit of a philosopher. You never know! If I'd been commissioned then,
I'd probably have been a squadron leader or a wing commander much quicker, and I'd
have gone straight in dead! So you don't know. I don't shoot a line, but I had a number
of pretty desperate crashes, and I was absolutely sheer dead lucky.'
At this stage, I was hoping that Tom would thank his Guardian Angel, who had
faithfully kept him safe all his life, but sadly he did not.
From the 16th to the 26th August 1941, it was the turn of 18 Sqn to detach to RAF
Manston, an 11 Group station in Kent, and take part in the dreaded Channel Stop.
This operation had been inaugurated in late April, with the intention of closing the
Straits of Dover to enemy shipping during daylight. At night, the Royal Navy would
attack the ships with their MTBs. I wonder if they were as successful as the
Cherbourg-based German E-boats, which created so much carnage against the
American ships during Exercise Tiger in Lyme Bay on 28th April 1944? Probably
not, when reading the following quote by Wg Cdr 'Attie' Atkinson (2 Group RAF: A
Complete History, 1936-1945, by Michael J.F. Bowyer - Faber & Faber, London,
1974):
'The ships used to do the port run at night, and the object of the exercise was to
catch ships leaving port a bit early or not having made it in time. Consequently attacks
were nearly always at dawn or dusk, and very seldom in the middle of the day.'
After chatting to my Rotterdam (and Channel Stop) veterans, I feel uneasy about
this explanation. It seems to me, that this operation was nothing short of a low-level,
and much more dangerous Circus operation, in which the poor Blenheim crews were
once again used as bait. It was really a war of attrition. More often than not, the ship
to be attacked turned out to be a 'rust bucket', usually in ballast, and escorted by up to
19 flakships! The scenario was that a squadron of cannon-firing Hurricane IICs
(preferably) would precede the Blenheims, and soften up the flakships, while a
squadron (or preferably a wing) of Spitfires would provide top cover against
marauding Messerschmitt Bf 109s,which were based uncomfortably close to the
action. Even with all this support, the Blenheims were shot out of the sky, by either
flak or fighters, and a detachment would rarely last its allocated two weeks. Again, I
am not sure about the veracity of another of Attie's quotes: 'Although the casualty rate
was tremendous, the morale was never higher.' Tom compared his time at Manston,
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on Channel Stop, with his later detachment to Malta. Though the attrition rate was
horrific in both spheres, there was a marked difference between the two:
'The position was, that if you were in Malta, you were doing a job. Because you
were in a situation where Rommel was pushing our army back. And the bigger
strategy was, the Germans had got down into Greece, and if Rommel had got right
along into Egypt - and he was within an ace of doing it - and the pincers had closed,
we'd have lost the route through Suez to our Colonies, for ever, and the Germans
would have had the whole of the Middle East! A great strategy, and it had to be
stopped. Plus the fact that we'd got armies of poor blokes suffering in the desert, and
getting a helluva pasting. So, the only thing that could be done to help them, and to
help the greater strategy, was to do your job, and stop supplies getting over to
Rommel. So, every gallon of petrol you destroy, was a gallon of petrol not being used
against our chaps in the Middle East. So these sort of conditions, nasty as they were,
attacking ships, heavily defended, and although that was still terrifying, it was
something you just had to do, and you wouldn't turn back for any reason at all. Now
the business in the Channel was quite the opposite - they just wanted to draw our
Blenheims and our fighters, so they could shoot some of them down. Now this is a
dead loss - this isn't the sort of thing that is worth dying for. But I think attacking
convoys in the Mediterranean, dreadful as it was, would be worth dying for - you
know, you were part of the scene, and you were doing the right thing.'
As someone who has never dropped a bomb in anger, or has never (to the best of
my knowledge!) been fired at, this gave me much food for thought. As always, I find
it hard to express my admiration for such courage. There is an interesting comparison
to be drawn here, between the AOC of 2 Group, 'Butcher' Stevenson, and the AOC,
Malta, Hugh Pugh Lloyd. Though both of them were daily sending their Blenheim
crews out on near-suicidal missions, the former earned himself a reputation for sheer
callousness, making his subordinates feel like cannon fodder. In marked contrast,
Hugh Pugh Lloyd was well known for his pep talks, and for explaining the vital role
his crews were involved in. There will be more coverage of the AOC Malta later.
During Channel Stop, it was clearly out of the question for the Blenheim crews to
continue their attacks without fighter escort. This would result in almost certain
annihilation. One or two crews, who realised that their fighter escort had not
materialised, actually had the courage of their convictions, and refused to continue
with their sorties. On return to Manston, the squadron commanders and station
commander would support their decisions. But not the AOC, 'Butcher' Stevenson. He
would be furious and demand an explanation for this unwillingness to 'press on' and to
commit suicide. Luckily, he was outgunned, probably by the C-in-C, and had to back
down. By early October, the Blenheim squadrons were relieved of their commitment
to Channel Stop - much to the relief of all concerned!
Tom has an interesting tale to tell of his time on Channel Stop at Manston:
'Now you know what that was like. I remember that we used to get up, in the
morning, and you always had to stay around waiting, to see if any ships had been
sighted, and you'd go and play snooker - I can see it as clearly now as if I was looking
at Steve Davis! Playing snooker, but you've got both ears listening for the bell - they
used to ring a bell, and you would belt off. They said, briefing at this time, and off
you went. This was the most nerve-wracking thing. And I had a little joke at that time.
I used to say: "In the next war, I'm going to be Bar Officer at Stornoway!" Because,
378
you know, it seemed about as far away as you could possibly get! And I thought bar
officer would be right up my street [I have to agree with that]! It's just about the very
opposite of Manston and Channel Stop. I'd never been to the Outer Hebrides, but in
February 1993, [my wife and I] were up at Ullapool, on a day that seemed reasonably
calm. So I said to Audrey: "Come on - let's go over to the Hebrides - we're so near only three and a half hours on the ferry, that's all!" So we went over, took the car, and
I thought, well, I'm here now, I'm going to have a look at RAF Stornoway. They were
very security conscious - they'd got three or four locks on every door! I asked to speak
to the Mess Secretary. Why? Who are you? So I told them. Oh, they said, he's not
here! Well, who's the senior officer in the Mess at the moment? I said, all I want to do
is just come in and buy a drink in the Mess - that's all! Oh well, come in, and they
brought in another person a bit more senior. The CO happened to be on leave at the
time. In the end, they were satisfied that I hadn't got bombs in my pocket! I don't
blame them for being careful. And this was a Sunday - a Sunday in the Isle of Lewis,
or anywhere in the Hebrides, and Stornoway is absolutely incredible. There's not a
thing open! You couldn't buy one crisp - you couldn't buy a drink - you couldn't buy
anything whatever! Anyway, it was Sunday, and we were in the Mess. Well, I'll tell
you what - we had a party! Oh dear, oh dear! There were a lot of helicopter chaps
there, who were on Air/Sea Rescue, and a number of other people - all in this Mess,
and it was the biggest jolliest Mess you'd ever seen! And we had a right old session.
So I was explaining to the people there - I said, well, quite honestly, years ago, before
your time, because these people were all young, I was in a place where things were a
little bit dicey, and I always said, in the next war, I was going to be Bar Officer at
Stornoway. And they thought this was a great big hoot! And so, we had this great big
party - jolly nice - shook hands, said farewell to everybody, came back, went though
all sorts of other places, and got home about four weeks later. In the large mountain of
post awaiting us, there was a package -marked "OHMS" - I thought, that's funny, I
can't have been called up. So I opened it, and it was a station plaque of RAF
Stornoway, with a little brass plate on the bottom, engraved Officer at the Bar 7
February 1993.'
On 27th August 1941, Tom was back on Circus operations - firstly against Lille
Power Plant, followed shortly after by an attack on Mazingarbe Chemical Works. On
10th September, another very long (4.40) shipping sweep, up to Heligoland Bight,
recording the bombing of a 'reporting vessel' - clearly one of those squealers. Two
days later, on a shipping sweep of The Hague, Tom was attacked and chased by four
Messerschmitt Bf 109s. I suspect that they disengaged when they realised that the
man behind the twin-Brownings was none other than Scotty Scotney - who had shot
down one of their number on 14th July!
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Tom Jefferson - 18 Sqn, Horsham St Faith (Tom Jefferson)
The next shipping sweep, on 14th September, again off The Hague, was even more
memorable. Tom attacked an MV of 10,000-12,000 tons, escorted by six flakships
and three Messerschmitt Bf 109s. One of the best photographs of the war, in my
opinion, was taken of Tom as he squared up for the bombing run at wave-top height.
Tom remembers this attack vividly:
'I went out between the masts of that ship -so low, below the deck of the ship, that I
couldn't see the flakships the other side., and they couldn't see me either. So I went up
between the masts of this ship, to bomb it, and I suddenly saw a flakship right the
other side, in my way! Now, if I'd turned either way, he'd have shot me from
underneath - poured a round into my belly, so that was no good. So I really took him
head on - I shoved the nose right down, and went flat out for him, as though I was
going to crash straight into him. Damn it! So I thought, well, it frightened me enough,
so I'll frighten the hell out of them! And I put my nose down and went straight for this
thing, missing it by actually inches, firing off my Browning - you know, the pilot had
one Browning in the wing, that's all. So I whipped over them, and got away with it.'
Well, not quite - three of the formation, including Tom's aircraft (Z7308, WV:Y)
were seriously damaged by flak, one also hitting the mast of the merchant vessel.
Tom's observer, Ralph Millns, coolly took a photograph as they flew over their target.
Scotty recalls:
'On the original, you could see the swastika there; machine-gun posts there; these
are all flakships, as you can see. At home, hanging on the wall very discreetly, is a bit
of the wing of that very aeroplane; it was hit by flak, and when it was repaired, I got
the mechanics to cut it out, and they gave it to me. The aeroplane was out of it for a
week or two, and then we did an air test on it, and went back on it.'
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Into the valley of the shadow of death... 14th September 1941. No 2 Group's bread
and butter: Tom Jefferson, Ralph Millns and Scotty Scotney running in to attack a
10,000-ton merchant vessel, which was escorted by six flakships. Z7308 (WV:Y) was
seriously damaged by flak but limped back to base. Scotty still has a piece of the
wing... (Scotty Scotney)
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This close-up shot of the 10,000-tonner that Tom Jefferson attacked was taken by his
observer, Ralph Millns. The harmless-looking 'trawler' is actually a flakship, one of
six intent on shooting down Z7308 (via Tom Jefferson)
Blenheim pilots were very lucky if they returned to base after an operation, and
completed a normal landing. The slightest damage to the hydraulic system would lead
to complete hydraulic failure, and prevent the undercarriage working properly, so a
belly landing was the order of the day. Many pilots, such as Tom, treated such arrivals
as almost routine events! But the return to Horsham St Faith after the flak damage on
14th September (previous paragraph) caught Tom by surprise. Though his wheels
locked down OK, as he came over the aerodrome boundary, and operated the final
stages of flap, 'one wing dropped right down'. At that moment, he did not suspect
asymmetric operation of the flaps. Instead, he suspected a malfunction of one of his
engines. He recalls:
'And I thought, well, it's only a two-speed Fine or Coarse Pitch that we had on then not like a Constant Speed Unit - and I thought that the pitch had gone. So I opened up
the engine on the side that the wing was falling - absolutely fully, right through the
boost - but this was giving me speed when I wanted to be stopping, and getting on the
ground. There was no way I could get up and go round, because I was going a bit
sideways, with one engine fully on and the other just enough to keep me above the
ground. And I was running out of aerodrome rapidly! There was a bungalow [on the
edge of the aerodrome], and I can see it now. An old couple lived there, and they had
an old-fashioned sideboard, with a big mirror on the back, and I could see that
382
through the window! Funny what you can see at these times! I said to myself, I'm not
going straight into that old couple's bungalow. So I switched everything off, and went
under some pylons, and put it in a ploughed field, the other side of the aerodrome.
Poor old Scotty - he got shaken about in the back. I was all right, but Ralph got
thrown down into the nose, and cut his nose, and had [other minor injuries] - he was
in hospital I think two days, might have been three.'
Tom wanted to know what had caused this accident. He recalls:
'I was told a couple of days later that the flaps were operated by a hydraulic ram, on
the port side of the aircraft, and when the ram went down when working the port flap,
it pulled a cable over a number of pulleys, which put the starboard flap down the same
amount. So this one ram operated both flaps. One it was fixed to, and the other one
worked on these pulleys! When this cable had been hit [by flak], 11 strands had been
broken, leaving just one to operate the other flap! So when I put the last amount of
flap down, the pressure on this cable [snapped it and] lifted one wing flap up.'
After consulting the technical notes on the Blenheim (Air Publication 1530A), I
have to agree with Tom! What an amazing memory for such detail after all these
years! But what a time to get asymmetric flap!
On 16th, 18th and 20th September, Tom completed shipping sweeps off Borkum,
IJmuiden (hit 1,000-ton ship) and Zandvoort (hit 3,000-ton MV, seen to explode). His
operations from Horsham St Faith concluded with a Circus on 21st September target, the Power Plant at Gosnay, Northern France.
On 28th September, Tom was promoted to squadron leader. As stated earlier - a
meteoric rise, sergeant to squadron leader in just ten weeks!
No 18 Sqn officers, Horsham St Faith, 5th October 1941. L to R:
Sqn Ldr Banner, Tony Aldridge, Flt Lt Hervath (Adjutant), Don Smythe (CO), Johnnie
Monroe, Tom Jefferson, George Lerwill (Scotty Scotney)
383
Before leaving Horsham St Faith, I need to record a few items of interest. Tom
recalls:
'We had a Line Book in the Mess, at Horsham St Faith, and, you know, people were
always "shooting a line" about this and that. And the best entry that's ever been in any
Line Book anywhere - and most squadrons had them - must have been this one. A
chap had been on a hectic [shipping sweep] off the Frisians, and he came home, and
said: "Bugger it! There were five destroyers and I'd only got four bombs!" And I'll tell
you a very true story, that happened in the Mess at Horsham St Faith. This took place
in one of those standard, beautiful great ante-rooms. One evening, there was a
[visiting] air commodore, whose name was Johnnie Gray, the Station Commander, the
Squadron Commander and myself. And this was early evening, before dinner - we
were standing in the middle of the ante-room, having a discussion, and all the other
officers were sitting round the outside, respectfully. And the discussion was about
whether we should do targets at "high level" - which then was 12,000 feet - or go in
low. The [18] Squadron CO and I were in favour of going in low, to get surprise, and
better results. And the air commodore and the Station Commander were wondering
whether we ought to try at 12,000 feet. Now 12,000 feet, if you were over warships,
for example, wasn't very good. So, whether the risk was greater at low level, or not this is what we were talking about. Now, there was an absolutely brand-new actingpilot officer on probation, who had only arrived on the squadron about two or three
days previously, and hadn't flown one single trip. And he was a very young chap,
who'd had two or three pints, which he wasn't really used to - you know, he hadn't got
really broken in. Well, he saw us standing there, and he ambled across, with his mug
like this [not unlike Turner, when he buttonholes the AOC in the film Reach for the
Sky!]. He listened for two or three minutes, and said: "I agree with you, sir!", digging
the air commodore in the ribs, and slopping beer over his uniform! "You know, we
one-ringers must stick together!" And he'd got the little tiny [and barely discernible!]
ring of an acting pilot officer, and the air commodore had got his great big one! Well,
of course, he was marched off! But the air commodore was a good bloke, actually Johnnie Gray - and the next morning, this chap went in to see the Station Commander,
who only gave him a mild strip, and told him how he ought to behave in the Mess¸
especially to air commodores! And that was it - he just went on, and nothing else was
said!'
To earn the description 'He was a character' meant that person had to perform a
succession of outrageous acts. In 2 Group, and more specifically at Horsham St Faith,
most serving officers would have been acquainted with the antics of Wg Cdr L.V.E.
'Attie' Atkinson, and Sqn Ldr Johnnie Monroe. I first heard of Attie via Tim
Partridge's widow, Mary, who spoke of her great friend in glowing terms. Here are
Tom's recollections:
'He [Attie] and Johnnie Monroe used to do the most diabolical things. They always
had two or three uniforms, because they kept trading their rings - they were wing
commander, squadron leader, flight lieutenant, flying officer and pilot officer - up and
down all the time! They put up blacks! It has to be said that they were terrific blokes
at operating, particularly when they were sent out to the Middle East. But outside of
that, they did all the most diabolical and ridiculous things, as far as the Services were
concerned. For example, I stayed in the Rock Hotel, Gibraltar, at the same time as
these two were there. At that time - I've stayed there since, and it's now been altered 384
there was a large lounge, with tall Corinthian pillars all round, and big easy chairs,
like a very good London club. And there were admirals, air commodores and other
such people sitting there, reading the Financial Times, and no one dare whisper, or
anything. Well, Attie and Johnnie Monroe went in one night, after a great session.
They pinched a bike, and they rode the bike round, ringing the bell, with Johnnie on
Attie's shoulders. And with cigarette lighters, they were setting these very senior
officers' papers on fire! So, of course, they were right on the carpet, and everyone
tried to find some tiny island in the middle of the Pacific that they could be sent to!
They were demoted to flying officer and, after they had done some gallant trips, they
were back up to squadron leader again in no time!'
The latter promotion was enforced, but the other was optional, so who could
possibly know what their true ranks were at any one time?
Finally, I can't leave this out of the Horsham St Faith period. Whilst looking at an
informal photo of 18 Sqn, my wife Carol picked out the slim figure of Tom. I think
she was being serious when she asked Tom: 'Were there enough rations? I mean, why
are you so slim? During that wartime, was there a great shortage?' After the laughter
had died down, Tom replied: 'I didn't get fat until long after the war!'
One morning in late October 1941, Tom and his crew were, as usual, assessing the
bomb trolleys as they went past. Tom recalls:
'The bombs were semi-armour-piercing. But a little while later, they all came back!
And they went back down to the bomb dump. Well, that's funny! They can't have
scrubbed operations - they wouldn't do that! So we couldn't make out what was
happening. Then we were told that the Station Commander wanted to see us all at 2
o'clock, at Station Headquarters. And we went down there, and he said: "Well, chaps,
you're going to Malta, on Monday! Now, what we are going to do is, we're going to
put a fuel tank in your bomb bay, and a number of spares, and you're going to take a
mechanic with you, and you've got to go up to 10,000 feet. And when you've used so
many gallons out of your main tanks, you've got to pump - or the mechanic with you,
whose wanted as a replacement out there anyway - has got to pump the petrol out of
this thing, with a hand pump, into your wing tanks. Now, you've all got to make sure
you know how you're operating your wing tanks, when the petrol is coming from this
outside source, and all this." This modification had to be done in a couple of hours they worked all night on it. And we had to go up and test it. So, on the Monday, we
went down to Portreath.'
Off tape, Tom informed me how it was decided who would take the squadron out to
Malta. The two flight commanders, Pete Channer and Tom simply tossed a coin, and
Pete won! So Tom found himself in the hot seat!
On 20th October 1941, Tom positioned at Portreath, in Cornwall - the departure
point for the long haul to Gibraltar. Just after touchdown, a voice came over the R/T:
'Bbbbbloody awful landing, Jefferson!' It was the unmistakable stutter of Tom's
friend, Johnnie Monroe (see above!). 'And so, we went out and had a few drinks',
Tom added. He explained the set-up at Portreath:
'We were living in bell tents, on the aerodrome. And the scheme was that, every
morning, you got up and went to briefing at 6 o'clock. And if you'd got a 30 mph wind
on your quarter, you were off! If you hadn't, you just couldn't get to Gibraltar! So, this
went on for two or three days, with Met saying, no chance! And then one night,
385
Johnnie Monroe said: "Come on - we're going on a pub crawl! We're going to
Redruth", and I forget where else, and all his favourite pubs. He assured me that he
had spoken to the Met Office, and that there was no chance whatsoever of having a
[favourable] wind in the morning. So, several of us all went out - on this great big pub
crawl, all round Cornwall. Jolly good! Got back to the Mess. And we played snooker,
and drank pints of Pims after a bellyful of beer! And when the barman couldn't stay
up any longer, he left the bottle. And instead of having them filled up with lemonade,
we were pouring neat Pims into our pint mugs! And I'll tell you what, trying to play
snooker - I couldn't see which ball was which! Nor could anybody else! I thought,
well, never mind [I'll have all day tomorrow to recover]. So I went and found my tent,
got into bed, and got called the next morning. I thought, right, I'll slip along to
briefing, and be back here in about fifteen minutes. Then I'll see what I can do about
getting rid of the most diabolical hangover - the worst I've ever had. So I went along
to briefing and, of course, you can guess what's coming! The Met Officer said, good
news chaps - the wind's just right - you're off! I thought, Oh God, I could only just
stand!'
Before joining Tom on his epic Portreath to Gibraltar sortie, we might spare a
thought for modern flight planning. Nowadays, you need enough fuel to get to your
destination, then enough to take you to your diversion airfield, if required, plus a
further 10% contingency fuel. Woe betide any pilot who fails to follow these rules!
But this was wartime. More often than not, all that was left in the tanks when turning
finals at Gibraltar or Malta was vapour. Unlucky pilots did not even have that, and
would have to ditch. As for diversion airfields (if a pilot realised that he was not going
to make Gibraltar) there was a choice between neutral Spain (loss of aircraft and
difficulty leaving the country) and much more friendly Portugal - 'our oldest ally' who nevertheless would be grateful for the 'gift' of a Blenheim! At Malta, there were
no weather diversions, just one or two airfields that could be used if the runways at
Luqa were blocked. Finally, when were Performance Charts introduced, to check,
amongst many other things, if your airfield had sufficient take-off distance available especially when your aircraft was loaded to the gunwales? Chris Ashworth, writing in
ACTION STATIONS 5: Military airfields of the South-West (Patrick Stephens,
London, 1982) states: 'The main runway [at Portreath, R/W 27 - 5,480 feet] was only
just long enough for a heavily loaded Blenheim and many heart-stopping take-offs
were made, the aircraft disappearing over the cliffs to reappear, seemingly minutes
later, struggling for height over the sea.' I shudder to think that most, if not all,
departures during the war were based on suck-it-and-see, or a feeling in one's water!
Which leads me nicely to one of Tom's pre-take-off vital actions. Before every single
flight, especially on operations or very long transit sorties, Tom would urinate on the
tailwheel! Though this practice was clearly unpopular with the groundcrew, who can
doubt the efficacy of this action, when pilots returned safely to base? 'He never
missed!', Scotty asserted. I believe that he was referring to frequency, rather than aim!
Tom added: 'Do you know, Group Headquarters had to bring out an Order to try and
stop it, because the Engineering Branch were all complaining about tailwheels
corroding!'
So, Tom found himself at the end of Runway 27, at Portreath, on 23rd October
1941, with blood in his alcohol stream, a severe hangover, dog-tired, and wondering if
he would be able to rotate before the runway disappeared! Here are his recollections:
386
'Well, we were laden right up. I revved up, holding it on the brakes, and took off
[fell?] over the cliff. And to get enough flying speed, I had to dive down towards the
sea. But we set off, and by the Grace of God, we got to Gibraltar.'
Awaiting him, was one of the most unpredictable airfields on the planet. The
adjacency of the Rock can cause strong headwinds to become equally strong tailwinds
in seconds! In fact, in the modern RAF, and probably Civil Aviation, you are not
allowed to go there unless you have been before! I managed to circumvent this
obstacle, on 12th September 1969, when I took a Canberra T4 from RRE Pershore to
Gibraltar. My Wing Commander Flying, Wg Cdr John Phillips, who had been to Gib
before, kindly offered to come along as my co-pilot! The leg from St Mawgan to
Gibraltar was just two hours and fifty minutes, and the prevailing conditions were
quite docile! I also had stacks of spare fuel and a huge metal runway to land on - not a
small grass racecourse! Contrast this with Tom's arrival and conditions in October
1941, as he recalls:
'That was dicey, because when we got there, oh, for ten minutes, the [fuel] gauges
had been on zero - not a thing. And people were calling up "Ditching, ditching", and
all the rest of it. And I went round the Rock, and saw the position of the windsock.
The wind was coming from that direction. So I thought, right, go out there, do a great
big turn, and come in to land. And the bloody wind had changed right round. Now, it
was really treacherous there, and this so-called aerodrome was really a grass
racecourse, between Spain and the face of the high end of the Rock. This was dicey the wind had changed right round, and there was no way - I hadn't got any fuel at all that I could have gone round again. But it wasn't blowing all that strong. Anyway, I
managed to land, [after a total of 7hrs 15 mins] though I had to swing it round, to
avoid going into the sea at the other end. This was all right except that it just tipped up
and bent the props.'
Scotty remembers the incident well:
'Some chap came roaring up on a motor-cycle, and said to Jeff [Tom]: "Press your
bloody buttons, you fool - your port engine's on fire!" Which it was! And the funny
part was, that when Jeff got out, this chap was a squadron leader, being all
authoritarian you see; and when old Jeff got out - I think he was a squadron leader at
the time [correct] - and he was telling Jeff to suck eggs really! We had a couple of
buttons on the Blenheim which extinguished fires, and he'd already done that.'
Tom recalls:
' I had a little do with some cocky little squadron leader, who came out. And I
happened to have just become a squadron leader! So I put him in his place - you see,
he didn't know who I was! But people used to gamble there, on how many would get
in, and so on. And there was a great pile of aircraft, at the side of the so-called
aerodrome. They used to have bulldozers. When aircraft came in, and didn't make it,
what was left of them was all scraped to one side, so the next bloke coming in had got
a space to land.'
Tom's Blenheim was on the ground for three days. This was probably due to the
inevitable wait for a favourable wind, but it was a Godsend to the groundcrew, as
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Scotty recalls 'And do you know what they did? They had no spares or anything. They
hammered out and straightened out the tips of our propellers, and that's the aircraft we
flew on to Malta!'
The next leg to Malta was even more crucial, as Tom would be leading a formation
this time. The wind had to be just right, or suffer the dire consequences. Tom
explains:
'I don't know the figures, but I was once told that only 25% of the aircraft setting off
for Malta ever got there! So the people who were lost were quite a lot. I mean,
inexperienced navigators, unknown winds, unknown met conditions, and everything
had to be absolutely 100% right and perfect. And you had to be really spot on. Even
when the wind was right, you barely made it, with nothing in the tanks. And they
were sending trainee pilots out like that! So, a number of other people had got caught
up with our squadron, or had been left over, and I was supposed to take all these. Well
now, if you are leading a number of aircraft [you have to bear in mind that] the people
on the outside of any turn, or any way, have got bigger problems, and tend to use their
throttles more. And if they are trying to keep in any sort of formation, they'll pump
their throttles. I briefed them very strongly to keep their throttle movement down to
an absolute minimum. And, you know, without any of that, [just] flying by yourself,
you've got a job to get there.'
On 26th October 1941, with a promised tailwind component of at least 30 mph,
Tom set off for Malta, closely followed by his formation. The other pilots must have
held their breath whilst they witnessed the following. Tom explains:
'Taking off from Gibraltar, an engine tried to cut - I had a real mag cut there. Now, I
was taking off from East to West, where the runway goes out now into the Bay of
Algeciras. Remember, it was grass in those days - no runway. And you'd use all the
little ground available, because you were still overloaded. And there were lots of ships
at the other end, in the Bay. We took off, and the starboard engine started to cut, and
the revs were going right down - I was just coming off, unsticking, and I'd got no
other choice than to go down amongst the masts of those ships! So I was looking for
any little space between the ships, because we were heading right into the Bay!
Luckily, the engine kept going and picked up! But at that speed, the aircraft wouldn't
have stayed airborne for many seconds on one engine! And I kept the nose down
initially, then slowly climbed up. Now, the Spaniards were very anti-us at that time. If
you went a little bit over the agreed government line of their territory, they'd love to
shoot you down! And I thought, we're not supposed to go to the other side of the Bay
of Algeciras - but that didn't matter - I was trying to keep airborne. Climbing very
slowly, I eventually got up to 1,000 feet, and then tested the mags again. They weren't
too bad, so I set course for Malta!'
Tom's excellent observer, Ralph Millns, soon realised that all was not well. Tom
recalls:
'I was concerned, because Ralph was really worried - he thought that the Met
officers were wrong, and that there was no tailwind at all. If anything, the wind was
going across us, and he kept saying that he didn't like the look of it. But he'd got
nothing to really check on - you didn't get wireless bearings then, at all, and with no
definite pinpoint, you couldn't check exactly where you were. Now, we did have
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smoke markers, and Ralph dropped one; he took a bearing on it, and he said: "I'm
absolutely convinced that the wind is coming more from the North, than from West to
East, and I don't like it!" I thought, well, I can't just say we didn't like the look of it,
and turn back. So I said, we'll have to go into the African coast, and get a definite
pinpoint, and know exactly where we were on the chart, so that we could calculate
whether we could get to Malta, or not.'
Before continuing with the narrative, I need to make an observation, especially for
the benefit of you ex-Kipper Fleet navigators reading this! I had assumed that Tom
was flying in grufty weather, with no contact with the sea, but the dropping of a
smoke marker excludes this. In the early 1960s, when I was on my first squadron (PR
Canberras) I remember flying over the sea with a certain Flt Lt Pete Sinclair, who was
a former navigator in Coastal Command ('Kipper Fleet'). He looked at the sea and
said: 'The surface wind is 250 degrees at 20 knots!' I was impressed and asked him
how he did it. He explained that you looked for the wind lanes, which stood out as
lines of spray being blown off from the wave caps, and travelling in the same
direction as the wind. He added that you had to distinguish these wind lanes from
ordinary waves of the sea, or swell, since either of these might give a direction quite
different from that of the wind, especially if the latter had changed recently. The wind
speed could be calculated by the magnitude of the waves ('white horses' and suchlike).
He even taught me how to do it! However, all things considered, a smoke marker
probably gave the more accurate reading!
As Tom approached the African coast, he recalled the specific warning at the
briefing - not to go anywhere near Oran. Since the Vichy French Fleet had been
destroyed by the Royal Navy (on the specific orders of the Prime Minister, Winston
Churchill, on 3rd July 1940), anything British was likely to get a very hot reception. It
remains as controversial an action today as the sinking of the Argentine cruiser,
General Belgrano, during the Falklands War in 1982. Tom was horrified when he
realised that he had coasted in overhead Oran! With his definite pinpoint established,
he beat a hasty retreat! He recalls: 'There's no doubt about it - we should have been
miles ahead of that point, at that time. So there was nothing for it, but to return to
Gibraltar, and get more petrol, and try again the next day.' In fact, it was another three
days before the wind was judged favourable, and Tom departed for Malta on 29th
October, this time successfully, in 'only' 6 hours and 45 minutes.
I think that I can safely say that Malta was one of the, if not the, most feared
postings for aircrew. The island was bombed almost continuously for a large part of
the war, and Blenheim crews were engaged in deadly shipping sweeps to interrupt
Rommel's supplies for his African campaign. The loss rate was so horrendous that the
AOC, Air Vice-Marshal Hugh Pugh Lloyd, used to intercept, or 'hijack' Blenheim
crews who were en route to destinations in the Middle East or beyond. To gain a full
appreciation of these harrowing times, I can highly recommend the following books:
Briefed to Attack: Malta's part in African victory, by Air Marshal Sir Hugh Lloyd
(Hodder & Stoughton, London 1949); CLEAN SWEEP: The Life of Air Marshal Sir
Ivor Broom by Tony Spooner (Crécy Books Ltd, 1994); and THE SHIPHUNTERS, by
R.E. Gillman (John Murray, London 1976). I had the honour of meeting both Sir Ivor
and Ron Gillman on several occasions.
Tom's first operation was a high-level raid on the factory at Licata, on the south
coast of Sicily. This was not the relative 'milk-run' it should have been, as he was
attacked by a Macchi C.200 Saetta. Although described as underpowered and
underarmed for a modern fighter, it would have posed a threat but for the magic hands
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of Tom's WOp/AG, Scotty Scotney! The next sortie, on 1st November, was much
further afield - a shipping sweep in the Gulf of Sirte, Libya. Here he bombed a 2,000ton MV, which was escorted by a destroyer and a Caproni Ca.310 Libeccio, the latter
being just a twin-engined reconnaissance aircraft. The following day brought another
shipping sweep, this time around the Kerkennah Islands, off the east coast of Tunisia,
in the Gulf of Gabes. Here, Tom hit a 2-3,000-ton MV, escorted by a destroyer. This
sortie included a search for a Swordfish that had come down in the sea. The very next
day, he was sent on a shipping sweep off the Greek coast, with nothing to report in a
five-hour search.
On 5th November, Tom was back in the Gulf of Sirte, on another five-hour
shipping sweep. Ralph Millns records that they hit a 2-3,000-ton MV, which was
escorted by a destroyer, adding that the ship was seen to explode. Tom's next sortie
was not until 31st December! Tom explains:
'This was a time that was so desperate, that 18 Sqn was virtually written off, and
'Ginger' Smythe [the CO] had gone back to England. And I was left there, in charge of
the squadron.'
Actually, I believe Tom constituted the entire squadron during this period, or was
the only operational pilot left, while sprog crews required training up. Tom's New
Year's Eve sortie sounds memorable. It was a reconnaissance off the Tunisian coast,
during which he met up with a large force of enemy fighters and bombers. When the
high escort of 18 Messerschmitt Bf 109s showed an interest in him, Tom escaped
using cloud cover!
The next sortie, on New Year's Day 1942, was at night, and is an absolute classic. I
shall record Ralph Millns' comments first:
'Malta to Bwayrat [al Hasun] harbour - Bombed and machine-gunned 7-900 ton MV
in Bwayrat harbour - Hit confirmed - Machine-gunned MT and buildings on TripoliBenghazi Road, South of Bwayrat and the North between Bwayrat and Misrata Badly shot up by flak over Misrata at 50 feet. Starboard engine on fire for short
period. One hour 20 minutes over enemy territory. 5.00.'
Tom can recall every detail of this amazing operation:
'We had just made up the squadron with new boys, who were going on to the
Middle East, and then down to Kenya, to finish their flying training! How they dare
let chaps like this, who had done, you know, only 35 or 40 hours, prior to Gibraltar,
and then to Malta, is incredible! So if there was a night flight, I was the only one on
the squadron who could fly at night! These chaps had not done any night flying! And
so, I went one night [1st January 1942] to a place called Bwayrat al Hasun, in the Gulf
of Sirte, with Ralph Millns and [my new WOp/AG] John Taylor. Now John had lost
his mother and two sisters in the London Blitz. And he didn't like Germans! He never
brought one round of ammunition back. He emptied his guns, and he would have
jumped out after them, if he could! So, we went down and bombed some ships in the
harbour. These ships had to be attacked at night, for some reason, probably to catch
them in port before they could move on. It had been cloudy all over the Mediterranean
but, a mile before the coast, it was absolutely gin clear - a bright moonlight night - the
sort of weather you would expect over the desert. We had came out over this little
place called Bwayrat, which shows what an absolute spot-on navigator Ralph was - he
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was terrific! After our bombing run, and knowing how John Taylor felt about the
Germans, I said to him: "John, it looks as though there's a lot of traffic along the
Tripoli-Benghazi Road - would you like to have a go at it?" He came back with [an
enthusiastic]: " Oh! Yes sir!" So we went up and down there, and there was all this
transport going up to support Rommel, against our troops. I felt that we were doing a
jolly good and right thing - an extra little bit on our bombing trip - but it was sort of
helping our troops. So we went up and down the Tripoli-Benghazi Road, at "nought"
feet, shooting up these people: I was using my front gun and John was using his twinBrownings in the turret, and we didn't stop until we had run out of ammunition! You
wouldn't believe it - it was quite interesting - they were all pouring out of their petrol
tankers, ammunition and troop carriers, and other vehicles into the sand. Then we
came right over Misrata: I can see it now - on a flat roof, there were sand bags round a
gun emplacement, and they were firing right at us! I had a round come up between
my legs and into the instrument panel, and others rounds hit the starboard engine,
which caught fire. Now, Middle East Blenheims didn't really fly on one engine! How
this one did, I don't know! [Perhaps the colder, and denser, night air might have
tipped the balance?] And I whipped down over all these flat-topped houses or
buildings in the moonlight, thinking, right, this is it! We're going right in amongst this
lot, or, if I clear them, I might land 200 yards out to sea - pancake onto the sea - and
we could swim ashore. Not that that would do a great lot of good there, because the
local people weren't very friendly - especially since we'd been shooting at them! So
thereafter, I always carried a Smith & Wesson '45! Anyway, we went down, but we
just managed to hold our own, about ten feet above the water. And I thought, right, I'd
got the fire out in the starboard engine, using the Graviner switch, which I thought
was a ruddy miracle! But we're still airborne, and not going to crash until I have to. So
we went along the coast on one engine, and I thought, well, I'm all for getting back to
Malta, but this is a very bad risk. So I said to Ralph and [John] Taylor, look, the
chance of getting back to Malta on one engine is not very good - there will be cloud
all the way there. Do you want to have a go, or shall we sort of put it down as near to
the coast as we can? I thought it was fair for me not to gamble with their lives. They
said, well, if you think we might have a chance of getting to Malta, we'll go with you.
So I said, right! And we broke up everything we possibly could - broke up the guns chucked 'em over - chopped up and threw out every single thing, except some parallel
rulers, a torch, a chart and a pencil - and that was it! We even threw out seats! And
then we nearly lost the torch, when it fell down into the bomb bay. But Ralph
somehow managed to retrieve it! So, with this lightened load, we gradually got a bit
of height - I got up to 50 feet or so - and we went on, and set course for Malta. Now
you will understand the situation - the instruments weren't working properly, and we
were returning in cloud - I didn't really know which way up we were! And I could
hear every valve spring going up and down - every valve on every cylinder! I was so
tensed up! Do you know what I mean?'
I knew exactly what Tom meant! So will anyone else who has read Richard Bach's
very exciting account of a night flight over France, in very grufty weather, in an F84
Thunderstreak (Stranger to the Ground, 1963 and subsequent reprints).Tom
continues:
'And it went on - it seemed to be for hours and hours - it seemed a dreadful long
time. I thought, well, the chances of finding this little dot Malta were not all that great.
If you missed it, you might get Sicily, but we hadn't got the fuel to get to Sicily! In
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fact, I couldn't see whether there was any fuel in the tanks - those fuel gauges had
gone. And I was waiting at any moment to suddenly see the sea at an extreme angle,
and that's it, bang - we are in! Then all of a sudden, there was a great glow in the
cloud, about two miles over to starboard. And I thought, my God, that's Malta being
bombed, because it was bombed every night, and the Germans did us a great turn! So
Ralph Millns' navigation was fantastic! He was the most brilliant chap ever! So I
headed straight for the glow. Now, we normally had to go round a little rocky islet
called Filfla, and put the IFF on, so they knew it was a friendly aircraft - otherwise
our own gunners would shoot us down. There was no time for that, because I didn't
think we had any fuel left, whatsoever! So we went straight in - we'd got no
hydraulics, or anything - we went right in and did a good old belly-landing on the
grass, right amongst this air raid. We got out, picked up some grass and kissed it, and
then rushed into the Mess. Now, the Mess was being bombed at that time, so we went
into the kitchen, and got under the kitchen table - a great big wooden table.
Unfortunately, there were about eight Maltese sheltering under this table, so we gave
up and I managed to find a bottle of whisky in the Mess, which we punished!. An
interesting old trip, that was! We had got away with it that night!'
There then followed a shipping sweep off the Tunisian coast on 2nd January, and
two reconnaissance sorties off the same coast the following day - the first aborted due
to W/T failure, and the second recording the sighting of a convoy of four MVs,
escorted by five destroyers!
The sortie on 4th January was to prove the last one that Tom flew from Malta, and
is succinctly summarized by Ralph Millns on his Record of Operations list:
'Low-level attack on Castelvetrano aerodrome in N/W Sicily. Destroyed several
Ju52s. Our plane badly damaged.'
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Reconnaissance photo of Castelvetrano airfield, Sicily, which spurred Tom Jefferson
into action on 4th January 1942. This was to prove Tom's last sortie in Malta, after he
was shot through his right knee-cap (via Tom Jefferson)
This is one of Tom's most vivid wartime memories. Here is his account of that
famous raid:
'Now we sent out four chaps on reconnaissance that day [probably the 69 Sqn
Maryland I pilots]. They covered all four quarters around Malta. And one of these
early morning chaps came back and said: "There are hundreds of Ju.52s on
Castelvetrano, sir!" I said: "Oh, yes! Really?" I was sceptical, as he was a young lad,
with only about 35 hours experience. "Really!", he replied. So I said: "Good, well,
have you got any photographs?" He confirmed that he had. I thought, he sounds dead
certain, so we had the photographs developed as quickly as we could - and the
aerodrome was covered with them! There were about 80 or 90 there!'
Having never heard of Castelvetrano (who has?) I asked Tom for a quick geography
lesson. He explained:
'You've got your way out, Malta there, and you've got the Straits of Messina
[northeast tip of Sicily], and Sicily along here, like this. And you've got an island
called Pantelleria there [about 150 miles northwest of Malta], and another one out
here called Lampedusa [about 105 miles southwest of Malta]. And they both had Me
393
109s on them. Along here is Licata [south coast of Sicily] - I remember bombing
Licata - an aerodrome with 109s on it. Palermo's up here [northwest Sicily] and
Marsala is there [western tip of Sicily]. And Castelvetrano aerodrome is on a plateau
here [about 25 miles southeast of Marsala].'
As Tom described his attack, I wondered if he had adopted the same tactics as he
had used against Scampton, in his simulated gas attack in a Hampden. He continues:
'We came down right as low as we could, because we had probably given the game
away to all these islands around here. And round Marsala, we came up a big gully, or
ravine - I brushed the head of a chap on one of those big wagons, high-sided wagons,
that carried rakes and things. He was going along, shaking the reins to, I think, make
his mule go a bit faster, and we zoomed over him within a few feet - must have scared
the life out of him! So the idea was to go up this big gap, or gully, below the
aerodrome, then come over the edge of the aerodrome, and catch all these 'planes
napping. Which we did. And as we approached the aerodrome, they'd got some
sentries on the edge, who saw us, and decided to poop off their machine-guns, and
that's when one round went straight through my right knee-cap, which broke into five
bits. As we swept over the edge of the aerodrome, I could see these Ju.52s, all around
the place. I remember one, with all the troops sitting on the grass around it, using the
shade from the wings, with a chap on the end of the wing - I don't know what he was
doing - it looked as though he was doing something to the navigation light on the
wing. There's this instant picture in just a fraction of a second. So we dropped our
bombs, and we got 44 of them - 44 Junkers 52s on the ground! [Royal Air Force
1939-1945, by Denis Richards, HMSO 1953 confirms that 11 were destroyed and 28
damaged]. Then I got hit [again], and lost my port engine, hydraulics and instruments.
All the fuel and oil came over the windscreen, and I couldn't see outside. The aircraft
virtually stood up on its tail, and I thought, that's it, bang, I've had it at last! Then
again, you always try for the very last second. But I got over the aerodrome, and
found another biggish rocky sort of ravine, which sloped down towards the sea - I
thought, put her nose down here - but I didn't want to hit those rocks. Then I started
getting things right. I thought, if I can manage to keep it in the air, until I get down to
the coast, I'd rather flop onto the sea than amongst all these rocks.'
At this stage, Tom's top priority was to control his Blenheim. The loss of his port
engine meant that the massive turning moment to port exerted by his remaining
engine, the starboard , had to be counteracted by up to full right rudder - an
asymmetric situation acceptable with a nice healthy right leg. But Tom had just been
shot through his right leg! Here is another example of his impressive airmanship. He
recalls:
'I trained myself in those days to fly with my hands crossed, and with my legs
crossed. You try riding a bicycle like that - it's very difficult! And it's a jolly good job
that I did, because I needed to go right through the boost override on the starboard
engine, and I needed full right rudder to counteract it - which was the leg that had
been injured! So I put my left foot on the right rudder, like this, as hard as I could
possibly get it, and the incredible thing is that I kept above the sea! [The much lighter
fuel load required for this relatively short raid must have swung the balance here!]
Now the thing that should have been done is, and it was all laid down at the briefing
[see my reference to this during the Rotterdam raid], if anything happened to me, my
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Number Two had to lead the chaps back. Well, I'd got my wheels hanging down and
was going dead slowly, about 130 mph, and the squadron, or what remained of them we'd lost a few [Tom started with a total force of ten Blenheims] - instead of belting
off, they all slowed down and stayed in formation round me! So we came back, and
for some reason, none of the fighter stations on Sicily, or Pantelleria, or Lampedusa,
came after us. I thought they would know: the only place you can go to is Malta - we
couldn't have come from anywhere else! And all they had to do was just wait for us.
For some reason, we'd just knocked off 44 of their troop carriers, and they did nothing
about it! And we got back to Malta and did another belly-landing [wheels not locked
down with hydraulics failed]. That was all right - that was nothing. [This sort of
arrival was becoming somewhat run-of-the-mill for Tom!] Ralph had informed Air
Traffic about my knee, when we were in the circuit, because you hadn't got any range
on your R/T then. Not only the ambulance was there to meet us, but also the AOC,
Hugh Pugh Lloyd and the Station Commander, Group Captain Harris. I had my leg
bound up, and over a few scotches at the debrief, the AOC and Station Commander
told me that they were absolutely delighted with the results. All very nice! Now, they
were waiting for me up at Imtarfa Hospital [just north of Mdina and Rabat - about 6
miles northwest of Luqa]. They'd heard that I had been wounded, and they were
waiting, and waiting, and waiting! And, of course, we drank more and more whisky all of us - and in the end we dismissed the ambulance. Much later, Hugh Pugh and the
Station Commander took me up to the hospital, with me sitting across their knees in
the back of the car! And when we got there, the matron came out to tear me off a right
old strip, but then saw the AOC. She was nearly bursting a vein, but she daren't tear
him off a strip! And so I went in, was put into a ward, went to bed and fell asleep
fairly quickly, because I'd had a few drinks! But an hour or two later, when the scotch
had worn off, I could really feel my leg throbbing. So I staggered along, on one leg, to
a sort of kitchen place, or butler's pantry, to get a glass of water, or something. Then a
little orderly came out, and said: "Would you like a pot of tea, sir?" "Oh, thanks very
much!" I said. So he made this pot of tea, and stood it on the edge of a counter, but
not properly, as it all tipped over and went down the front of me! And I'll tell you
what - that woke everybody up! That caused me far more pain than my injury! So I
was smothered in some sort of ointment, and got into bed. In no time at all, they came
and woke me up, because you had to be washed at 6 o'clock, or something.'
The strict hospital regime had its more relaxed moments, as Tom recalls:
'Squadron leaders and above could have a bottle of whisky in their room, provided
that they hadn't got head injuries and the doctor said OK. And everybody else, who
was below squadron leader, had either a bottle of Bass or a bottle of Guinness every
day! [Rank hath its privileges!] This was the normal sort of treatment. Well, the next
day, I was moved into a little room, and the chaps from my squadron used to come up
in the evening - they'd bring out a bottle of whisky, open the wardrobe, and a great
shower of bottles used to fall out! [Shades of Tom's vast stock of Bell's at his home in
Guernsey!] We used to sit around and have a right old party! Very good!'
Tom's next recollection is similar to those practices adopted by the Royal Flying
Corps during the early part of World War One, when shot-down German aircrew were
wined and dined before being handed over to the authorities. In other words, a great
opportunity to show kindness and compassion and to reveal that neither side were
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actually ogres! It is a theme brilliantly portrayed by D.K. Broster in her excellent
book about the '45 Jacobite Rebellion, Flight of the Heron. Tom explains:
'Now, a few days before [the raid on Castelvetrano], we were out on a flight
dispersal, and Junkers 88s were bombing us - in fact, they killed several of the people
on the dispersal. And one of them was going over us, on fire, with a great lot of
smoke coming from one engine. By this time, he was down to about seven or eight
hundred feet. Three crew came out, one after the other, and I thought, you know, the
pilot's doing a good job, because he was crabbing the aircraft away from the burning
engine, so that they could get out. And he was sticking at the controls - I thought he
had left it too late. The aircraft went in, with a great big explosion, so I thought, well,
that's him [finished]! He was a very good chap. Now the room opposite to me in the
hospital always had a sentry standing outside, with a rifle and fixed bayonet, who kept
coming to attention. So I said, who the devil's in there? And they replied that he was
the pilot of the Junkers 88 I had seen crash. They said that he had come down on the
edge of the flames, and was a bit burnt and shaken up, but overall he was not too bad.
Well, one evening, when I had got a lot of chaps in, including some submariners
covered in plaster, who had to be wheeled in, I suggested we invite the German across
the hall to join us. They said, yes - good idea! So I sent one of the chaps over to the
sentry to explain that we would like to invite the pilot over for a drink, adding that he
could come in and keep guard over him. The sentry was reluctant to go along with
this, but I assured him that I would take full responsibility. So the chap was brought
over, invited to sit down, and we gave him a drink. Everybody was a bit quiet at first.
He spoke a little English and, of course, we didn't speak German. We told him that
he'd done a good job when his aircraft crashed. Ah yes, he said, I was shot down by a
Spitfire. I told him that he'd been shot down by a Hurricane, as we did not have any
Spitfires on Malta [the first Spitfires touched down on 7th March 1942]! He was not
too happy with this! Then he said, well, the Spitfire is all right - it's a good 'plane - but
soon, in northern Germany, and northern Europe, we shall have a much better one!
And, he added, with a round radial engine. This, of course, was when the Focke-Wulf
190 was coming out - which was very interesting, and we were all making notes about
it!'
The Focke-Wulf Fw 190 was actually introduced as early as June 1941 - so, a
surprising lack of knowledge on both sides!
As the whisky flowed, the Luftwaffe pilot opened up much more. Tom explains:
'And it turned out, this chap had had a bit of a hard war. Early in the war, he was
shot down, and crash-landed on the German-French border. When he went back to the
aircraft, to pull his observer out, it blew up, and they spent some time in hospital
recovering. He got over that. I think he next went to the Russian Front, and he got
shot down a couple of times - he bailed out once, and got back to Germany. And then
he was shot down over the Baltic, and he spent about six days in a dinghy, in very bad
weather - but he got back! Those commanders pushed their boys a bit! Then he was
sent out to Sicily, to attack Malta. He tried to explain to us that his brother was a noncombatant, with a special collar. We eventually cottoned on to the fact that his brother
was a padre! Yes, he was an interesting chap.'
Tom was eventually discharged from Imtarfa Hospital, but his knee was far from
healing, as he recalls:
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'Now, after a while, I went back to the squadron, and I had a window in here
[pointing at his right knee] so that the wound could be dressed in the plaster. But it
wouldn't heal up! Well, we'd been living on a diet of Maconochie's stew, ship's
biscuits, whisky and all sorts of other things for a long time - but no greens whatever,
in Malta. [I wonder where the vitamin C came from to keep scurvy at bay?] So it
might have been caused by that. Anyway, it just wouldn't heal up. Every time they
took the dressing off, it was absolutely full of puss. I just couldn't move my leg. And
then I was sent to stay with a surgeon commander in Valetta, overlooking Sliema
Creek. He was living there with his wife - could have been there a number of years,
and he was very nice indeed - they were a lovely couple. They had this balcony
overlooking Sliema Creek, with loads of oranges growing up the side. [Just what the
doctor ordered!] It was very nice - I told him that I didn't mind how long I stayed
there! And then I got a message one morning, about 9 o'clock, to report to Valetta
Harbour, and board the Argyll, which was an armed merchant cruiser - a very big one,
with a fair amount of guns.'
Before relating Tom's departure from Malta, there are a couple of recollections
worth recording. Earlier in this biography, I mentioned the pep-talks that the AOC
Malta, AVM Hugh Pugh Lloyd gave to his troops. Tom recalls:
' He [the AOC] would come along, when the aerodrome was being bombed, and the
runway was being bombed, and give us a sort of pep-talk. Now, on this particular day,
we were in the Briefing Room, and then we went outside -all lined up - and he gave
us this great big pep-talk, just when a raid was starting! I remember a Junkers 88
came over about thirteen feet - did a shallow dive to ten - and dropped its bombs
across the aerodrome. And we were all standing there, and he was saying: "We have
been hit very hard, but we can take it, can't we?" Then some lad at the back said:
"We're about to take it now, sir!" You could hear the revs going up on this Junkers 88!
So he looked around, with a bit of a grin, and said: "All right! Dismissed!" And before
he got to the s bit on the end of dismissed, there wasn't a soul in sight! They'd all
gone! I was in the Briefing Room, under an armchair, and had got it on top of my
head!'
When Tom was taken to Imtarfa Hospital by AVM Hugh Pugh Lloyd, he very
clearly remembers the AOC sitting on his bed chatting to him. A few days later, the
AOC came back and said to Tom: 'I'd like you to take over the squadron [18], and we
are going to re-equip with Hudsons.' Tom replied: 'Right! Thank you sir!' But the
failure of Tom's knee to heal put paid to that command.
Tom's other recollections of the AOC make interesting reading:
'He was a very, very tough bloke. Now I thought he was over-tough, because
thinning people out on these shipping attacks, against destroyers, with only four 250lb
bombs, was so stupid! I mean, you go and do it once, and if you got away with it, you
said, thank God, I got away with that! But he would send you out every day, until you
did get shot down.'
I have already recorded Tom's comparison with these operations vis-à-vis his period
spent on Channel Stop. Yes, the AOC constantly reminded his crews of their vital
importance in interrupting Rommel's supplies, but, when push turns to shove, these
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poor Blenheim aircrew had to search deep into their souls to find the guts, no,
incredible courage, to continue, knowing that the 'chop rate' was so uncomfortably
high. Meanwhile, in 2 Group, it gradually dawned on those in command, that the
Blenheim was not really suited to low-level daylight operations against shipping,
escorted by heavily armed destroyers and flakships, considering the aircraft's
ridiculously slow speed and laughable bomb load. Thus the Group's attacks on
shipping were virtually over by the end of October 1941, and ceased completely on
25th November. But in Malta, the suicidal attacks continued, often reducing
squadrons to one crew only. Not everyone held his nerve, but the vast majority did don't ask me how! There was an occasion when a squadron commander refused to
lead his squadron out on what was most certainly a one-way ticket. He was backed up
on his decision by all except the AOC, who was powerless to reprimand him for lack
of press-on-itus, as he had an impeccable record of courage. He was quietly sent back
to Blighty. Anyone perusing the Operations Record Books for these Maltese
operations might wonder why the COs of squadrons did not feature too often on the
flying programme. Air Marshal Sir Ivor Broom clarified this, when he told me that
they were losing one wing commander a week, and this was considered very bad for
morale.
Most people are aware of the dire shortage of food for Maltese civilians during the
war. Though the combatants could not be allowed to starve, they had to endure a
weird diet, as already intimated. Tom recalls:
'We actually did eat ship's biscuits, with weevils in - this is true - and occasionally
you got some Maconochie's, a sort of stewed beef, and I wouldn't be surprised if that
didn't come from the First World War! And we also had some stuff called Macon,
which they had in Gib too. It was bacon made from sheep, but it was fat. Out of a tin
like this came a big roll of fat, with a little pinky rind around, which was lean. And
you had it fried for breakfast, you had it stewed for lunch, and you had it fried again
in the evening - well, if you could eat anything at all in the evening! Generally, you
didn't - you mainly drank whisky. Somehow or other, they got whisky! When the
whisky ran out, they'd got great reserves of port. And we drank a lot of old port.'
At this stage of the interview, Tom's wife, Audrey asked: 'What was the stuff they
were doctoring - was that whisky or what?' Tom explains:
'That was in a place called Tony's - it was a sort of night club. God, we used to have
rugger matches in there, in the middle of the night! I could tell you a few stories about
that, but I won't! There were only certain places that officers could go to - you could
go into the Union Jack Club, or there was a naval officers' club at Sliema, or you
could go into this night club called Tony's. Tony was a big chap, with very thick
pebble glasses. He owned this place, which was on the first floor in the, I think,
Stradivari - on the main street in Malta. The Army weren't popular, even though they
operated the anti-aircraft guns, but the Navy was, and we were working very closely
with the Navy. But the Air Force were doing a very good and dicey job, and so were
the Navy, and all the submariners were in there. So this place would be full for the
first part of the evening - everyone drinking - and there were lots of shelves at the
back, which went up in steps, with hundreds of bottles. But chaps started to get more
than hung-over the next day, and it got so bad that if they couldn't clear it themselves,
they'd go to Sick Quarters. The doc would ask if it were mostly stomach or mostly
head, and you would say, well, both! He'd give you something, and you'd be all right.
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But it got so bad that chaps were getting really ill. And so they suspected the liquor.
They then put pressure on this chap, Tony, and said, look, you're serving some really
duff liquor to our people, and we don't like it. You'd better stop it, or we'll close you
down! He denied it, of course. And from then on, you'd go down and there would be a
bottle of Dimple Haig, or something, and he would show you how he took the top off,
but people were still ill. So the Senior Medical Officer on the island went along, and
said to Tony: "Look, you're doing all this, and putting on this great big show. But I'll
tell you what, any one RAF officer who is ill, and I don't mean a hangover - I mean ill
- after tonight, and your place will be closed down and you will go to jail! Do you
understand?" And it stopped! What they found was that they were making some local
whisky, and drilling a minute hole in the bottom of Dimple Haig bottles. They would
then drain off the good whisky and refill the bottles with their own stuff, without
disturbing the nice gold seal on top! And from that moment, everybody just got drunk
normally!'
Well done to the MOs for distinguishing this poisoning from the ever prevalent and
unpleasant sandfly fever!
As stated, Tom was reluctant to leave his excellent hosts and their delightful home.
He recalls his departure:
'So, I had to say goodbye to these people, and I had to go down and get aboard the
Argyll. And then we put some German prisoners on, including this Luftwaffe officer.
But every time there was an air raid, they had to come on deck. Well, that's what we
did, but the Germans didn't bother to bring our prisoners up. So, I was on the bridge
with the captain, because I was the Senior RAF Officer, and a reconnaissance plane
came over and found us. We knew that was bad news and reckoned on having a raid
within two hours - which we did! So we were bombed. Then some Italian warships
came out, but our Naval escort chased them off right away. Then we were attacked by
Italian torpedo bombers [probably Savoia-Marchetti SM.79 Sparviero]. They came in
low over the sea, with torpedoes, and tried to weave in among our ships and bomb us,
but they didn't. We had a hectic time - we had submarines, and we had the Italian
fleet. We countered by zigzagging and taking a different route to the one expected.
When we got to Alexandria, I remember watching these chaps [POWs] being
unloaded. One of them happened to smile at the bridge, and a big German sergeant
gave him a right old slap across the face. I reported to the RTO's office [Rail
Transport Officer?], and we were ordered to go up to Aboukir - a few miles out into
the desert - an old RAF station.'
At Aboukir, Tom's phenomenal run of luck continued, as he relates:
'There were about 6,000 troops here, of all sorts. And there weren't enough knives,
forks, blankets, tents or anything! They were pouring in from all over the place nobody knew where they had come from, or where they were supposed to go! Talk
about the Muddle East, it was utter and absolute chaos. They were trying to find
enough food to keep these boys alive, and it was really dreadful! So I went hobbling
round with my stick, and my leg in plaster, trying to find the CO, but couldn't find
him. I did manage to find an adjutant, and I said, look, these sergeants [five, making
just two crews] - they've had a very tough time in Malta. Now, they've all got to be
provided with cutlery, crockery, whatever's needed, and some food! And somewhere
to sleep - proper accommodation. I got a bit shirty, and saw that they were kitted out
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and fitted up. Then I was put in the Victoria Hotel - a nice old largish hotel in the
middle of a little village. And I thought, bloody hellfire! I had been told that people
had been there for six and eight months, and no one knew what to do with them, or
anything about them. Absolute chaos! And I thought, God, what am I going to do
about this? So I went into the bar, and ordered one or two large drinks. I sat down in a
chair, found a footstall to place my leg on, and tried to work out what to do. Then a
chap came in and said: "Oh, are you Jefferson?" I said: "Yes, who are you?", because
I was in a right old mood! He said: "My name's Miller." So I said: "Right!" He was a
squadron leader and I was then. So I added: "Good luck! What do you want me for?"
He said: "Well, I'm the CO of the place." I said: " Are you? Well, come and sit down,
because I'd like to talk to you!" So he came up, and I got him a drink. Then he said:
"Are you on 18 Squadron?" I said: "Yes!" And he said: "Well, I was on 18
Squadron!" - I forget how many years ago! He was an old chap, with a little military
moustache, and he was doing this sort of job. And he said: "God, fancy meeting you!
My old squadron - fantastic!" So we had another drink. And he said: "What have you
been doing?" I told him all about the squadron. I said: "God, you know, we've been
doing these blasted shipping attacks, and in the Mess at home, we've got hanging up
ships' wireless aerials, all coiled up. People had been flying between the masts and
they'd brought the aerials back - it was a common thing!" He was absolutely tickled
pink! Well, we started a binge, and I know we went out - he'd got an estate wagon.
Out there, the form was that people worked from 6 until about 8 [in the evening] and
then got up and worked from about 6 in the morning until about 8, and then it was too
hot to work - and so on. But we went off this evening, and I remember going past a lot
of palm trees in the moonlight to, I think, an Army Mess that he knew. So we went
into this place, and had another great session.'
Anyone who has got this far with Tom's biography will now realise that the
consumption of alcohol has had a very bad press, because Tom lived to the ripe old
age of 85! He continues:
'And this went on nearly all night. The next thing I remember is a corporal waking
me up and trying to shave me! At first, I didn't really know where I was, but found out
that I was back in my hotel, with my bags packed. The corporal said: "Come on, sir!
We must get you finished shaved, and on the train - it's been waiting in the station for
over an hour!" So I said: "What are you talking about?" He said: "Well, all your
sergeants are on board, and you have a small saloon to yourself - but we've got to get
you there quickly." I thanked him profusely, and asked him the whereabouts of Sqn
Ldr Miller. "Oh", he said, "He's gone off somewhere - he always works early in the
morning!" He'd been up about 6 o'clock! Because we were on 18 Sqn, he'd made out
this Movement Order, and it was well done and organised. So we arrived at
Alexandria Station, where the RTO had arranged transport to take us all to the other
main station, where we were put aboard this train down to Cairo. Now, normally, you
had to wait about six weeks to get on a train to Cairo, because it had a huge backlog
of people trying to get there. And I was sitting in a sort of drawing-room car, with a
general, some colonels and some other senior naval officers, and a couple of their
wives - real VIP stuff! So I sat in this, and had a snack and a few drinks. In Cairo, we
were all taken to the Metropolitan Hotel, and put on the list to go to Suez, and back to
England, as soon as could be arranged. And this chap Miller had arranged all this
before I had even come round that morning, and just because he had been on 18 Sqn
at one time! What a good chap he was! If it hadn't been for him, and this piece of very
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good luck, I'd probably still be in the desert somewhere near Aboukir! We were
actually waiting in Cairo for six weeks, before we were taken down by train to Suez,
and put on the Viceroy of India. Our route back to England took us round the Cape.
We stopped in Durban for a few days, then Cape Town for a few days, then Dakar for
a few more days!'
The year 1942 was a set-back for Tom. From 4th January, he had spent some time
in Imtarfa Hospital, Malta, before going on a Mediterranean cruise to Alexandria,
Egypt, during which the enemy tried to sink his ship! A chance meeting in Aboukir
short-circuited what could have been a considerably long stay there, which was
followed by a six-week wait in Cairo, before a leisurely cruise back to England. Home
in Blighty, Tom's injured knee was treated in Princess Mary's Hospital, RAF Halton.,
before he was sent to the RAF Officers' Convalescent Home, at the Palace Hotel,
Torquay. I know it well, as I was born and brought up in this delightful town - the
Queen of the English Riviera! He arrived here in May, just around the time that
William Simpson, a terribly burned pilot, came back for his second convalescence.
William had spent much of the previous two years in the care of that incredible plastic
surgeon, Archibald McIndoe, at East Grinstead Hospital, West Sussex. If you enjoy
reading a story of courage against dreadful adversity, then I can highly recommend
his three books: One Of Our Pilots Is Safe (1942), The Way Of Recovery (1944) and I
Burned My Fingers (1955). I had the honour of talking to him on the telephone,
several years ago, when I was researching the Rotterdam Raid. He gives good
coverage of the Palace Hotel in his book, The Way Of Recovery, Chapter 2, 'RAF
Convalescence' and Chapter 6, 'Devon Summer'. Another famous person was here
during this period, a Battle of Britain fighter pilot who will need no introduction,
Richard Hillary. He too had been badly burned. Most readers of my book will have
read his outstanding autobiography, The Last Enemy (1942). This was a wartime
classic. William Simpson had good reason to be grateful to Richard Hillary, as the
latter recommended the manuscript of One Of Our Pilots Is Safe to the publishers, and
they accepted it! In the Chapter Devon Summer, William Simpson writes: 'I would
have liked to have known him better, but he was always rather reserved in his
relationship with me. This was my great loss, for I felt that we had many things in
common.' Though Tom Jefferson got to know William Simpson well during the
summer of 1942, he never met Richard Hillary, which I believe was his great loss.
Tom recalls his period spent at the RAF Officers' Convalescent Home, which
spanned about five months, from May to October 1942:
'Now the Palace Hotel at Torquay, on the cliffs, was a lovely place - acres of ground
and a nine-hole golf course. A great big lounge area, with all glass, overlooking the
sea. A luxury hotel - I haven't been there for donkey's years. When you arrived there,
you saw the doc. And if he said, yes, OK, and you hadn't got any head injuries or
anything else, or needed any special medicament, you were given a chit. With this,
you could then go into the bar and drink what you liked - or what you paid for! So it
was very nice! I had the run of this bar, and there were a lot of good people there. And
downstairs, there were volley-ball courts, and indoor tennis courts. There were also
gymnasia with all sorts of gadgets - for you to go down and move your legs, or arms,
or do what you liked. So, a tremendous place! Nice dining room. I remember a young
chap there, I think a pilot officer, who'd got an unusual condition, with calcium
forming around his heart. And he was finding it more and more difficult to breathe,
because this was forming and squeezing his heart. When he asked the doctors how
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long he had got to live, they told him six months at the most. He asked them if there
was anything they could do about it, but they told him they could not. However, they
then added that they could do a very major operation, which hadn't been tried before,
which would involve removing his heart, chipping the stuff away, and then putting it
back. He did not like the sound of this, but they said that the alternative was to just let
the growth squeeze his heart until it stopped, adding that he'd get more and more
breathless until he just couldn't move. So he said that he'd like to have it done. Terrific
chap! And some great surgeon down there did all of this, very successfully, put his
heart back and sewed him up. This happened before I got there. When I arrived, this
chap was walking about, and he went round this nine-hole golf course - an absolutely
successful cure for what in those days was a miraculous operation.'
This, of course, ranks alongside the first human heart transplant, which was
performed by the South African doctor, Christiaan Barnard, on 3rd December 1967.
We have all heard of that, but the gallant surgeon of 1942 has gone unnoticed.
Tom then added a very sad sequel to this remarkable story:
'Now, there were hit-and-run raids [Baedeker Raids] on this hospital, if you could
believe it. And I remember one on a Sunday morning [25th October 1942]. I had
found a place for my wife, in a nice house across the road, and one late Sunday
morning, I was walking up a little path there to see the work on this house. Suddenly,
there was a roar, and over came some 'planes. And I was just thinking to myself, now,
I've done a lot of beating up in my own time, and unauthorised low flying, but I
thought it very wrong that these fighter boys could beat up a hospital. I thought, I'll
have them on the carpet for that, beating up a hospital, where there's a number of
people ill. Then I saw that they'd got these big black crosses on the bottom! And
bombs started to come down. Well, I was some hundreds of yards from the hospital
then. And they got a direct hit in this great big lounge. And on a Sunday, there were a
number of Polish chaps there, who used to sit round playing cards - particularly on a
Sunday morning. You see, people didn't go down to the gymnasium, which in a way
was fortunate. Anyway, the surgeon who did this operation and the young pilot officer
were both killed. This whole floor went in the gymnasium, and the tennis courts, and
things underneath, which would have been full up during the week. So it could have
been worse, but it was a very nasty thing. And I had just walked a few hundred yards
away from the hospital!'
This was the first of the Baedeker Raids on the RAF Officers' Convalescent Home.
Altogether, 64 personnel were killed, including several nurses; one person was
recorded as missing. After the next raid, on 8th January 1943, the hospital was
abandoned for the rest of the war. Tom continues:
'An interesting chap there was Bill Simpson. I met him a few times afterwards. He
got a job with the Daily Express, as Air Correspondent. When I first met him, he'd
been so badly burned that he'd already had a number of operations at East Grinstead.
After these operations, when he'd more or less got over them, he'd come down there
for recuperation and convalescence - to get his strength up for the next operation. And
I remember, he and two or three others of these bad burns cases would come to the
Dining Room and sit with us. We were warned about this, because they looked
revolting. But the idea was, that everyone would speak to them normally, and you're
all RAF buddies together. All this helped them with their recuperation. When he came
in, you could see that his eyelids had been burned away, and they were trying to graft
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bits on. Also, his mouth had been burned away, and all his teeth were like a skeleton's
jaw. And his hands had been burned off. The surgeons had rounded them, and made
little slots, so he could sit at a table and get a spoon into a slot. He would have his
soup, which used to dribble about a bit. And he liked to smoke his pipe - there was
always a nurse keeping an eye on him, to fill his pipe up, and put a match on the table.
He would get the match into one of his slots and strike it!'
After the Palace Hotel was bombed in October 1942, Tom was posted to Abingdon
as an instructor on No 1501 B.A.T. Flight (Beam Approach Training Flight).
Presumably, the medics considered his knee sound enough to endure the rigours of
asymmetric flight! I am willing to bet that the vast majority of people reading this will
never have heard of a Standard Beam Approach. I vaguely recall doing one in the
Link Trainer at RAF Syerston, near the end of my basic training on the Piston
Provost. Sure enough, on 3rd February 1960, my logbook records doing 45 minutes
on Exercise 7 (TBA) - which I assume stands for Terminal Beam Approach! This is
my only flirtation with the intricacies of a SBA - thank God! Keen readers may like
to get hold of Air Publication 1732b: INSTRUCTORS' HANDBOOK of Advanced
Flying Training (Air Ministry May 1943), in which Chapter 34 spells it all out.
Suffice it to say, that it is similar to an NDB (Non Directional Beacon) Approach,
with No Glide Path - but one helluva lot harder! Instead of a needle to tell you when
you are on the centreline, you have to interpret the audible dots and dashes - dots if
you are to the left, dashes if you are to the right, and a steady note if you are ever
lucky enough to find that centreline! You guys flying modern ILS (Instrument
Landing System) Approaches don't know you're born! The Instructors' Handbook
states simply: 'The aim is to enable the pilot to return to base and land in fog or
extremely bad visibility, or from a low cloud base, by means of the Standard BeamApproach system.' The skill required to fly a dead accurate SBA, and even more so to
instruct other pilots in the art, was recognised by the Powers-That-Be when choosing
those select few who would operate the best and most exacting bombing device of the
Second World War - Oboe.
When Tom joined No 1501 B.A.T. Flight, the CO was Sqn Ldr North and his
deputy was Flt Lt Peter Kleboe. He was now back on Oxfords, and set to, learning
about the Standard Beam Approach. This must have been somewhat of a challenge, as
he had been off flying since 4th January 1942 - a gap of about ten months. He recalls:
'I went there as an instructor, and after I really got into the Beam, and was coping,
Sqn Ldr North and Peter Kleboe were posted, and I took over the BAT Flight. Peter
Kleboe went onto Mosquitoes, and I think he shot up Gestapo Headquarters in
Copenhagen at low level. [Is there anything more noble? Shades of that wonderful
sequence in the film, 633 Squadron, when the Norwegian Resistance officer is being
tortured]. Unfortunately, he hit a roof, or a roof mast, or an aerial on a roof, and went
straight in.'
This was Operation Carthage, on 21st March 1945. Wg Cdr Peter A. Kleboe was
leading the first wave, when his Mosquito hit a 30-metre lamp post, then a roof,
damaging his wing, causing him to crash near the Jeanne d'Arc School. Both he and
his navigator, Fg Off Reginald J.W. Hall were killed. Regrettably, the smoke and
flames led the third wave to mistake Kleboe's crashed Mosquito for the target,
resulting in the deaths of 86 children, with another 67 injured. Tom continues:
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'At 1501 B.A.T. Flight, we were training instructors, from all round the Service.
We'd start on a Monday morning, going all through it, and explaining it in detail,
getting them used to it. Then on Monday afternoon, flying - we did all sorts of
exercises, and it finished up the next Saturday morning, where we had to fly off, and
cut an engine on take-off: very stupid but we did! Because that was in the curriculum!
And then we would land at another aerodrome - very frequently it was Harwell, which
is now a nuclear place. Then they would have to come back. We spun the gyro to lose
them, and they'd have to find their way back to Abingdon! They did this by tuning
into Abingdon's frequency [no, not Air Traffic Control for a QDM/magnetic heading
to steer for base, but the Beacon's frequency!]. And you know how the beam goes to
nothing - cone of silence - over the main Beam?'
'Yes!', I replied, with conviction! Tom elaborated:
'And it goes out like this, about two degrees wide, right across the country. So you
then flew until you got to the Beam, flew across it, turned round, and flew across it
again, and if on the second time you crossed it, the Beam was narrower than the first
time, then the aerodrome was this way. So they had to then find it, get on the Beam,
settle down, do a figure of eight, and all these things. [If confused, please read this
again, slowly!] If it wasn't cloudy or foggy, they would have a canvas hood over
them. And I used to pass them out, if they reached the required standard, every
Saturday morning. And I flew every day myself, for about a year, because I liked it.
We used to take off in the thickest fog: our boast was that we were never grounded,
even in the thickest pea-souper, as Thames Valley fogs used to be then - we flew
every single day! We never broke an aeroplane, either, or lost anybody. But there was
one hairy occasion where it was so near it wasn't true. This was one morning, in a
pea-souper, with thick frontal cloud right on the ground, when I had the aircraft
wheeled out onto the end of the runway, and pointed in the right direction. I had two
flight lieutenant students and a flight sergeant wireless operator, named Whitehead.
And we were flying around on the Beam quite happily, when all of a sudden, there
was a bang and a thump, and the aircraft nearly shook itself to pieces. I couldn't think
what happened! And I looked round, and it was obviously in the starboard engine.
There was stuff coming up from the floor, and odd pieces of paper and charts flying
around - it was a very nasty thing! And then smoke started coming in, and I thought,
Oh my God, what's this then? Engine on fire, or something? Well, we were only about
1,200 feet, and it didn't fly at all very well on one engine, because of all the radio
equipment we had, and the four of us on board - and we were just losing height very,
very slowly [see my earlier remarks on single-engined performance in an Oxford!]. I
couldn't do any better than let it come down very slowly to about 1,000 feet. I tried
calling on the R/T, but you hadn't got today's sort of VHF then - you were lucky if
you got through at all, unless you were nearly over the aerodrome. We got back over
Abingdon, and I said, we've got a great problem - we've lost an engine - aircraft is
juddering itself to pieces - can you give me a diversion, probably south of here
(because I knew the way that the front was going) - let me know what it is like at
Harwell. Well, we couldn't get a reply, just a lot of static. So, we were coming down,
and had got to just below 1,000 feet. I said, all right chaps, there's nothing else for it we've got to abandon the aircraft! In an Oxford, it had a little toggle on a wire, by the
door. So I said, right, you two [pilots] go, followed by Whitehead, and eject the door pull the door, which will jettison it, because we didn't want anyone being caught in
the door on the way out. The two pilots jettisoned the door and baled out.
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By this time, I was down to about 800 feet. And I said to Whitehead, at the top of
my voice, or started to say to Whitehead, your turn now! But when I turned round to
say this to him, he was sitting next to me, saying, I'm sorry, sir, I can't go! I thought,
Oh God, we were at 800 feet, and I couldn't see a thing! So I said to him, all right, sit
on this step. Now this step is where the main spar went through, and he sat on it, with
his arms around two posts, in a sort of crab position. And, of course, I had no
hydraulics now. So I said, right, when I say "pump", you pump that handle as hard as
you can. And when I say "now", it means we're going to crash, so you will have to get
your head down. So, with no communications, the only thing that I could do was a
circuit, as though I was landing, and finish up into wind - pump the wheels down,
pump some flap down, and hope that I'd come out crashing amongst some tree tops,
with a field in front of me. In which case, I'd be able to land. And if I couldn't, well,
that's it! But you never know - what else could you do? Nothing! [Pray? Think of
England?] You could either just sit there and say, Oh well, that's it! Or you could at
least do this! So I did all this - I got the wheels and flaps down. Then I said to
Whitehead, right now, keep your arms round there and your head down. And I was
going down and down, and I got down to about 50 or 60 feet [good grief!] - I thought,
any moment now, I ought to see some bloody trees! And I looked out of the window,
and you wouldn't believe it - there was a banjo-standing [aircraft pan] right in front of
me! They were usually round a perimeter track, where an aircraft taxied up to the
circle at the end, and turned round. I thought, there must me an aerodrome over there,
in the direction that the little strip was pointing. And although I hadn't got my
starboard engine, and remembering all your instruction that you shouldn't turn against
the dead engine, I nonetheless put the nose down the last few feet - I did a vertical
turn to starboard - and there was a great runway in front of me! It was a dead fluke!
And I eased back, put all the switches off, because I was worried about the burning
smells, and did an airfield daisy-cutter up the runway, at a place called Oakley [8
miles ENE of Oxford]! And I'll tell you what, when I saw that aerodrome later on, it's
got hills not very far away, on one side of it. [Good job the huge TV mast at nearby
Beckley only materialised in the 1960s!] So I thought, well God, I was absolutely
lucky there! It was sheer luck, because I didn't know where I was. Well, do you
remember my telling you that only four of us out of 44 completed the Course on
Hampdens? Well, after I landed, out came the CO of the station - he was a squadron
leader. It was on sort of maintenance, not an operational station - I think it was
probably a training station.[Action Stations 6 records that it was then an active
satellite of No 11 OTU, Westcott]. Of course, the place was closed [due to the foul
weather]. And this chap started to say: "Can't you see the aerodrome is closed?" Well,
I hadn't been flying around the signals area outside the watch tower. And so I said:
"What the hell?" And he said: "What the hell?" And it was Royle [I trust this is the
correct spelling!] - one of these chaps on Hampdens. He had somehow survived and
had got this job! So I gave Whitehead a few quid, and told him to go down to the
Sergeants' Mess, have a few pints on me, and stay there until I sent for him. I then got
onto Abingdon, and said that we'd had this forced-landing, and asked them what had
happened to my two flight lieutenants. Oh, they said, these two had come down in a
Prisoner of War camp, near Oxford, where they had got a practice invasion alert in
progress, and all these Italians couldn't understand why it had been so thorough as to
have parachutists coming down! I think one of them had wrecked his ankle. Anyway,
they said - leave the aircraft there[!] - and they would send transport out to us, and
pick up the two flight lieutenants on the way. I said, right, I'll be in the Mess. And old
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Royle and I went to the Mess and, of course, we had a right old session. The transport
duly arrived and took us all back to Abingdon, where I made a report of the incident.
Now this is what happened to our engine. There's a bulkhead where the engine
mounting is, to which is fixed a round tubular frame, by four points like this - four
points under the bulkhead. And it's got four little tubes fixed in this round frame, with
the engine fixed on the other side of this round frame by four little tubes and bolts and
so on. So, of these eight points of fixing, seven of them had gone - well, you could
have pulled the engine off with your hand! It was leaning forward, and it had broken
various wires, and oil pipes, which had leaked onto the hot engine, which had caused
the smoke - it wasn't on fire. With the engine hanging on by just one point, it would
have fallen off, had the landing been harder!'
I think that Tom's miraculous arrival at Oakley is one of the luckiest occurrences in
the history of aviation. Time and again, his run of luck has convinced me that his
Guardian Angel competently steered him through all his perilous situations. I do not
make this statement lightly - my own Guardian Angel was every bit as good, or I
would not be typing this biography! Anyone who still believes that this is fanciful
thinking, should read Lorna Byrne's three excellent books on angels. They are the
most outstanding and influential books I have ever read. You will not be disappointed.
I would like to return now to Tom's statement: '...and remembering all your
instruction that you shouldn't turn against the dead engine...' I asked Tom to clarify
this statement. He replied:
'Well, in the early days, you were always told never turn against the dead engine!'
This relic of World War Two has always fascinated me. Tom was an exceptional
pilot, and no doubt related what the current instructors were pumping out. Between
the end of the war, and when I joined the RAF in 1959, it had quietly been swept
under the carpet. Or had it? Not very long ago, one of the engineers involved in the
reconstruction of the world's only airworthy Blenheim actually quoted this to me,
using the word never - to my utter astonishment! So what was the basis for this
teaching? Let's return to the INSTRUCTOR'S HANDBOOK of Advanced Flying
Training (May 1943) - Chapter 33. SINGLE-ENGINE FLYING (M.E. TYPES). Subparagraph (iv) (e) states:
'Owing to the offset thrust line it is easier to start a turn with the live engine on the
outside, but such a turn is difficult to stop and the aircraft may get out of control. For
this reason it is always safer and better to turn against the live engine [my italics];
such a turn will be harder to start but can easily be stopped.'
Under the heading, DELIBERATE TURNING ON ONE ENGINE, sub-paragraph
(x) (a) states:
'Start a turn with the live engine outside...During the turn show the tendencies for
the nose to drop, the bank to increase and the turn to tighten up. The recovery requires
firm application of rudder and ailerons which must be only slightly released when the
aircraft is straight and level; it may be necessary to throttle back the live engine
somewhat during recovery.'
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In other words, emphasise the need for extreme caution when turning towards the
dead engine, but never say never! I can imagine what modern-day examiners would
say if you refused to do a single-engined hold or procedure turn on an ILS approach,
because you said you were not allowed to turn towards the dead engine! Of course,
there may have been some wartime twins which were quite deadly when turning
towards the dead engine - probably due to the inadequate trimming available, leading
to the instruction to never do this! Anybody who has flown the marks of Canberra up
to PR7 will know the meaning of inadequate trimming! After practising asymmetric
on these Canberras, your legs would be shaking for at least two days afterwards - a
phenomenon which we called 'Canberra leg'! The later B8s and PR9s had powered
flying controls, so glory be for those lucky pilots! Tom broke the rules and
demonstrated his superb airmanship and skill by executing a vertical turn against the
dead engine, and following this up with a copybook 'greaser' on the runway at
Oakley! There is an incredible sequence to this forced landing, which I shall relate at
the end of the biography.
When 1501 B.A.T. Flight moved from Abingdon to its satellite at Stanton Harcourt
on 18th April 1943, Tom was appointed CO of the latter station. He recalls:
'It was much bigger than Abingdon. We had over 4,000 bods on there, with a large
proportion of WAAFs. And it had got runways, while Abingdon was still grass. I
remember one day when we had a visit by the Inspector-General of the RAF - Air
Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore - who was accompanied by the AOC and the
Station Commander of Abingdon. And he wanted to know why our aeroplanes were
flying in fog, not in an absolute pea-souper, but in very, very low visibility. The
Station Commander said: "Oh, well, that's the BAT Flight, sir! They always fly!" So
he said: "Well, I'd like to know more about this!" I was called in, and told that the
Inspector-General would like a flight in one of our aircraft! I thought, right! Oh dear,
Oh dear! So he came round in his car, and even the AOC was standing at the salute!
And we went off, did a leg and a landing, and he was impressed! He told me that he'd
like to have a go at this. So, with all these people waiting for him, we went round
again, and let him fly the aircraft. He was absolutely fantastic - a very, very nice chap!
He was 100%. And each time the AOC and Station Commander kept coming towards
us, he wouldn't get out, and wanted another go! Now that was very interesting!'
More memories of Tom's time at Stanton Harcourt came flooding out. He recalls:
'Did you ever hear of a chap called Major Trubshaw? Great big whiskers, right out
here. When I was at Stanton Harcourt - Satellite Commander - he was the Land
Defence Officer. It had been decided that we had to have defences all round the
aerodrome, and so on [the RAF Regiment was formed on 5th February 1942]. We did
all sorts of comical things, such as "Grow Tomatoes" and "Dig for Victory", and all
this was outside the Flight Office, where the station mast and ensign was. I had six
tomato plants, which I put in! And Michael Trubshaw and I used to have a liaison.
Now, he was a big, very tall, well-built chap, with great big bushy whiskers up here,
big moustache - a typical cavalry officer type. He was a very close friend of David
Niven [the famous film star of yesteryear]. And practically every one of David
Niven's films featured Mike Trubshaw and his little dog, if only for a minute! David
Niven's own dog was called "Trubshaw"! So, to help this aerodrome defence get up to
scratch, all the crews and all the groundcrews were supposed to do so much rifle
training, and it was never popular - no! [Clearly, the RAF Regiment had not expanded
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as far as Stanton Harcourt!] The chaps said that they were there to fly, and not to play
soldiers, and all the rest of that rubbish. So, to get the spirit going, I put up a cup. And
we had the most fantastic carpenter on the unit. He'd taken advantage of a Whitley
that had crashed on landing, and had removed its laminated propellers. And he made a
lovely glass case, with this beautiful laminated mahogany surround, with all the lines
and joins going across. All the little corner pieces were perfect, and the back fitted,
and Sheraton [famous furniture manufacturers] couldn't do half as good a job! And I
bought a silver cup, and arranged some rifle competitions. We went to a place near
Banbury - a shooting range - and all the chaps were shooting. We had a full day's
shooting competition. [At lunchtime] Mike and I went down to, what was that famous
pub - the White Lion [long since closed] - where he knew the landlord very well. We
went in with a right old session, and some good food. Then we went back - the
shooting carried on all day, and I presented the trophy afterwards. On the way back,
we stopped at Woodstock, and had a meal [I forgot to ask where, as our daughter lives
in Woodstock!]. That chap Trubshaw was such a character, it wasn't true!'
In December 1943, just before No 1501 B.A.T. Flight disbanded, Tom moved back
to Abingdon, to join No 10 OTU as Chief Flying Instructor. The OTU was equipped
with Whitleys, Ansons, Martinets and one Defiant. On 1st January 1944, Tom was
promoted to wing commander, was awarded the AFC, and became Deputy Chief
Instructor as well as Deputy Station Commander. Unfortunately, Tom did not
elaborate on this period!
On 20th June 1944, Tom was posted to No 1655 Mosquito Conversion Unit, part
of No 8 Group (Pathfinder Force), at RAF Warboys [Huntingdonshire then, now
Cambridgeshire). Now, the Mosquito is my favourite aircraft of all time, with the
Tiger Moth coming a very close second. As an ATC cadet in 1958/9, I amassed a total
of 15 hours and 15 minutes (passenger) in the Mosquitoes of No 3 Civilian AntiAircraft Cooperation Unit, at Exeter. My last sortie, on 4th June 1959, was with
charismatic Wg Cdr 'Bam' Beaumont, in the dual-control Mosquito T.III, TV959. By
this time, I had just been commissioned in the RAF, as an acting-pilot officer on
probation, so I could proudly boast that I had flown Mosquitoes in the RAF!
However, my cover was quickly blown! These Mosquito pilots made such an
impression on me that, to this day, I still hero-worship them! What an exciting time
that was!
Anyone who has flown Mosquitoes will tell you that they could bite(!) if not
handled correctly. Not everyone passed the conversion course, including a good
friend of mine. So when Tom described his experience, I gasped with astonishment,
and admiration! Here is his matter-of-fact recollection:
'I had to have a quick conversion onto Mosquitoes. I'd been doing quite a lot of
flying by this time, with instructing, and so on, and I only needed a bit of conversion
and familiarisation!'
But this conversion did not turn out to be quite so benign as Tom had expected, as
he recalls:
'So I went off on a pitch-dark night, solo, just to fly around the aerodrome, and get
used to it at night. And I lost all the electrics! Well, I was used to flying around
without cockpit lights, but I'd got absolutely nothing! All I had was a luminous glow
on the instruments, and I went round and round. And, of course, no radio - I couldn't
408
call up and tell them where I was. I thought, Oh right, they'll think I've had it - he's
just disappeared! And I kept trying the radio - I'd switched everything else off to try
and conserve the battery - I think the generators had gone, and the battery was right
down, almost flat. Then I heard a very faint voice come in, saying: "This is Ford. If
you come down on this course, we will try and land you here." Now, at this time, the
Germans used to do that. I thought, God, I might be over the French coast, and they're
trying to call me in there, and land on a German aerodrome! And this guy had a
perfect English voice! Of course, we did it, and they did it!'
I knew exactly how Tom felt. On 19th September, 1961, I was doing an approach in
a Canberra into RAF Celle, Germany, situated well inside the Air Defence
Identification Zone, and not too far from Russian-controlled territory, when my R/T
went squelchy. I asked Air Traffic to say again the heading, and a voice with a very
strong Russian accent replied: 'Steer Zero-Nine-Zero'. I should cocoa! So I steered
270 degrees and eventually regained the RAF controller! Tom continues:
'So I thought, what the hell do I do? Do I trust that this really is Ford? Do you know
Ford, near Southampton?'
I certainly do! It features in one of my all-time favourite books, Cover of Darkness,
by Air Commodore Roderick Chisholm (Chatto & Windus, London, 1953). It is an
autobiography of a Mosquito night-fighter pilot - I first read it in 1955, at the
impressionable age of 15! Tom considered his options:
'What's the alternative? So I thought, bugger them, there's no way I'm going to
chance getting down in there. But if that's Ford, I'll let them call me to Ford, and then
set a course from there, back to Warboys. So I got this very faint voice - I could
barely hear the word Ford. But I was obviously close to Ford, if indeed it was that
place! The problem was that I'd got no light, no charts, or anything - only a map
tucked down in my flying suit and I couldn't even read that! All I could do was set an
imaginary course back to Warboys [this is pilot navigation at its very best!]. I'll tell
you what, Rusty, that was a very nasty trip - I couldn't see, I couldn't keep upright
and, you see, in those [wartime] days, there were no lights, no beacons, no
aerodromes [lit]: the country was absolutely blacked out. So you're sitting there, in
absolute pitch blackness, between a couple of Merlin engines, and you know vaguely
where you're going, but you don't know for how long before you suddenly stop! And
you're up so high, and what do you do? You don't know where to go or what to see.
And you're only on an estimated course!'
Tom then went on to describe what at first I understood to be an aerodrome
identification beacon, but was far from it - quite literally! This was news to me! He
explains:
'Amazingly, the only thing that aerodromes had in those days was something like a
little lighthouse, with a flashing red beacon, on a trailer which would be towed out by
a lorry. And every night, it would be in a different place. So, on one night, they'd take
it out to a field, eight miles from the aerodrome, on a certain degree/bearing. And if
you flew a certain course [from the beacon] to the aerodrome, there it would be! If
they didn't move it every night, the Germans would work out where the aerodrome
was. So, I sat there, and I thought, God, should I consider bailing out? Which would
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be in the dark! And I didn't know if the bloody aeroplane was going to fall on some
town or other, so I decided that I would not jump until I was out of petrol. In a
Mosquito, you could go quite a long way, you see - you could be over the south coast,
or you could even be up in the Pennines, or somewhere else, quite quickly. And the
situation was getting worse and worse. I could have been over the North Sea, and I
hadn't got the right safety equipment for surviving in the sea. Anyway, by the Grace
of God [via his excellent Guardian Angel again!] my mental course was spot on, and
after what seemed like two years sitting there in the pitch dark, keeping this thing
upright, I saw the red beacon [of Warboys]! And I went in and landed! You wouldn't
believe that, would you? It was simple. Nothing happened - no enemy fighters nothing at all! So Ford was probably genuine, though I didn't know at the time
whether they were or not. I think it was the generator that had gone, and the battery
just went flat [In Pilot's Notes for the Mosquito T.III - a generator on the starboard
engine and a battery supply electrical power at 24 volts. There is no Emergency
Procedure listed for complete electrical failure!]. I'd switched everything off to
conserve what was left of the battery, and just had enough to faintly hear Ford, which
at least gave me a position! I sometimes think about that, and I think, God, how
bloody frightening that was!'
On 30th July 1944, Tom was posted to No 105 Squadron, Bourn, which is seven
miles west of Cambridge. It was 17 months later than he had wished. Way back in
February 1943, Ralph Millns, Tom's trusty navigator/observer on Blenheims, was
posted to No 105 Squadron. The new CO, Wg Cdr G.P. Longfield, wanted Ralph as
his navigator, even though he had been appointed Station Navigation Officer. So
Ralph had visited Tom to discuss the situation. Tom recalls:
'I volunteered to go back onto ops, on the squadron, so that Ralph and I could be
together. We'd been together so long - we'll stay together, so I'll give up this job. I
spoke to the Station Commander, and asked him to get on to Group, and try and get
me posted to 105 Squadron, to crew up with Ralph. But they wouldn't have it.'
Fate had been unkind to Ralph, who was killed shortly afterwards (see his
biography).
For an overall view of what life was like on 105 Squadron from the time that Tom
arrived, until VE Day in May 1945, I can do no better than direct readers to a book
written by Stuart R. Scott - a good friend and fellow researcher - MOSQUITO
THUNDER: No.105 Squadron RAF At War 1942-5 (Sutton Publishing Limited,
Stroud 1999). Chapter 18 onwards is the relevant section of the book. Stuart had
preceded the above title with another well-researched book, BATTLE-AXE
BLENHEIMS: No 105 Squadron At War 1940-1 (Alan Sutton Publishing Limited,
Stroud 1996). Chapter 10 'The Big Effort' covers the Rotterdam Raid of 16th July
1941. I was pleased to see that Stuart kindly incorporated my contribution with few
additions or alterations!
Enough of the general, and back to the particular - Tom's biography, and his riveting
accounts of those dangerous times. On checking Tom's Record of Service, I was
surprised that, as a wing commander, he had not actually taken over the squadron. It
was his bad luck that, due to the importance of the Pathfinder Force, both the previous
CO (H.J. Cundall DFC, AFC, 25th June 1943 - 25th September 1944) and the
subsequent CO (K.J. Somerville DSO, DFC, AFC, 25th September 1944 - 1st June
1945) were both group captains!
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The selection of pilots for the Pathfinder Force was about as tough as it gets. The
task required flying accuracy to the very highest degree, in order to operate Oboe
effectively. Tom recalls the rigorous criteria:
'Before you could get on to a Pathfinder squadron, you had to have done two tours
of ops, one being a night tour, and you had to be a Beam Approach Instructor, so that
you were pretty good on instrument flying.'
He added: 'Now, how much do you know about Oboe?' I replied: 'Very, very little,
I'm afraid, only that it was the best bombing device of the war. That's all I know!' I
did not add that it was also my favourite musical instrument! Perhaps I should have,
as it was so called because the radio tone heard by the aircrew was similar to the note
of the musical instrument! I put this question to three of the World War Two
Lancaster aircrew, who were at a book-signing ceremony on 29th August 2014 at the
Shoreham Air Show. Their replies indicated that not only did they know a lot about
Oboe, but had remembered it very well! It was a pleasure and honour to meet these
gentleman. However, I suspect that the vast majority of people reading this biography
will know little about Oboe, unless you happen to be a current or ex-RAF navigator.
For some reason, this sort of thing really gets them going, while we pilots would
rather do the modern equivalent of catching up with Jane's latest escapades in the
Daily Mirror - if you are too young to remember this fabulous creature, please use
Google!
I was fascinated by Tom's detailed recollections of how he operated Oboe, but
regretted that, at the time, my knowledge was so abysmal. I was in no position to ask
him to clarify anything! So I think a brief description of Oboe might be called for at
this stage. If you can lay your hands on Professor R.V. Jones' definitive book, MOST
SECRET WAR: British Scientific Intelligence 1939-1945 (Hamish Hamilton, London,
1978) pp 274-277, you will not only be treated to a precise rendering of Oboe, but a
most helpful diagram in Fig. 15, which states:
'The "Oboe" dispositions for bombing Florennes and Essen. The bombing aircraft
flies at a constant range from the ground station at Trimingham [North Norfolk],
taking it on an arc. When it is at the correct range from the ground station at Walmer
[East Kent], the latter sends the order for bomb release. The curved tracks are slightly
(but exaggerated in the diagram) to the west of the targets because the bombs continue
on a tangent after release.'
Professor Jones writes that Oboe 'was the most precise bombing system of the
whole war.' So precise, in fact, that they had to look into the question of the geodetic
alignment of the Ordnance Survey with the Continent, which was based on
triangulation across the Straits of Dover. It was decided to check this by sending a
small force of Mosquitoes to bomb the German nightfighter headquarters in
Florennes, Belgium, in December 1942. Special permission was obtained to disclose
this target in advance, so as to notify the Belgian network, who would place observers
in position. The Belgians sent back precise details of the bombing, risking their lives
by actually pacing out the distances in yards! Best of all, one of the bombs actually hit
the nightfighter headquarters! This, and other attacks, convinced the doubters of the
efficacy of Oboe.
This bombing system was developed by A.H. Reeves and F.E. Jones at the
Telecommunications Research Establishment, Malvern. In discussion with Professor
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Jones, they realised that their directional measurements were not very good, but range
measurements could be made very accurately. To achieve this, pulses were sent out
from a ground station (Trimingham in Fig. 15), which the aircraft would pick up,
amplify, and then return to the ground station (sometimes called CAT). The time that
it took the pulses to return was then converted into distance. In effect, the aircraft
would fly along a circle centred on the ground station. The circle was made to go to
one side of the target, as the bombs departed tangentially when released from the
aircraft. Calculations depended on knowing the height and speed of the aircraft,
which, of course, the pilot had to maintain dead accurately. Maintaining this gentle
curve of the circle was achieved by automatic signals sent out by the ground station rather like on a Standard Beam Approach (dots on one side, dashes on the other, and a
steady note if established), hence the aforementioned selection process for Pathfinder
pilots. Note that there is no beam that the Germans could detect, as in their own
Knickebein system, which we, of course, bent! A second ground station (sometimes
called MOUSE) was needed (Walmer in Fig. 15), which also determined the range of
the aircraft from it, and this was used to instruct the aircraft when to drop its bombs to
hit the target, taking the pressure off the crew, especially if under fire at the time. The
crew would receive warning signals that the release point was imminent, then a long
dash to indicate the release point. The button was pressed to release the bombs or
markers immediately the dash signal terminated. There were only two minor
disadvantages with this bombing system. Firstly, the traffic-handling capacity was
very limited, but as only a few Oboe Mosquitoes were needed to drop visual markers
for the main bomber force, this did not prove a problem. Secondly, the aircraft had to
transmit a signal which an enemy nightfighter could use to home in. No problem there
- the Mosquitoes easily outpaced them (probably Messerschmitt Bf 110s). When
Oboe started using centimetric wavelengths, the Germans lost the plot! (NB Revision
- the shorter the wavelength, the higher the frequency, i.e. they are inversely
proportional). The nearest I ever got to this system was in 1960, in a Vampire T.11,
when I used two DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) ranges to fix my position!
For further reading, I would recommend Mosquito: The Original Multi-Role Combat
Aircraft, by Graham M. Simons (Pen & Sword Aviation 2011) pp 161 - 166, 'Oboe',
Pathfinders and the Light Night Striking Force.
Now that I have some idea of the theory behind the operation of Oboe, I can enjoy
Tom's recollections of its practical aspects:
'I always had the same callsign - Freddie Orange - no matter which aircraft, and
people always knew that particular pilot and callsign: you never changed - it was
never given to other people. When we were out over the North Sea, we were picked
up by a tracking station at Tilly Whim, in Dorset [on the Isle of Purbeck], to an angle
onto this fine curve - invisible curve - and you had to settle down to Points A, B, C,
and D, on your instruments: absolutely spot on, within feet, you had to be. And this
"beam" was narrower than a Mosquito - only 36 feet wide compared with the 54-foot
span of the Mosquito! And we were high, which put us frequently in what they would
now call a jetstream, with Clear Air Turbulence. You could easily be thrown out and
you would have to fight your way back to it! You would go through the "beam" a
little bit, and then ease back into it, not forgetting that you are on a slightly curved
path all the time. So, the thing is, for this very accurate thing to work, you've got to be
right spot on course, right bang on the middle of the "beam", and the airspeed has got
to be exactly right. And your height has got to be exactly right - within feet [no
problem with modern aircraft, but try doing this with the basic flight instruments of a
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Mosquito!]. To do this, you know, it takes a long time to get the aircraft into that
position. And to hold it there, something like 15 minutes. I can tell you, it felt more
like 15 years! Now, a lot of places would try and put you off - they knew these aircraft
came over, and they couldn't find out how they did it. They knew you had to fly a
steady and slightly curved course - dead level, no jinking, no evasive action or
anything - that you had to fly very accurately for so long. Some would try to put you
off all the time - you'd get a constant stream of flak coming around you, or near you.
Others would hold their fire. I particularly remember Dortmund - you didn't get a
single bit of flak, or anything, until just about the time you were going to release the
marker. And then they really opened up - you got the whole lot from the Dortmund
area! The sky was absolutely dead solid. Now, if they were a few seconds late, the
minute you dropped your marker you'd be down and away, pointing down so hard it
isn't true, changing course and spiralling, and doing all sorts of things. But if they
happened to be a little bit early, they'd got you. And I was expecting them to get me,
sooner or later, because they did this all the time.'
Tom recalls the time when sceptics needed convincing how accurate a bombing
system Oboe could be:
'Don Bennett [Pathfinder ace] worked closely with the Oboe scientists, and he tried
it out himself, getting terrific results. And he tried to sell it to, first of all, Bomber
Harris, and then, through him, the Air Ministry. They said: "NO! We've no money to
waste on these foolhardy ideas, and chancy things. The whole idea is ridiculous - it
just can't work!" So he said: "Look - can't we have just one trial? And I'll tell you
what you are going to find the Germans saying afterwards!" They agreed, and he
arranged to bomb a cemetery - I'm not sure whether it was Dusseldorf, or somewhere
like this. And he demolished the cemetery! So all the Germans on their news and
things were saying that that the stupid Britishers could do no more than come and kill
a lot of people who are already dead! Ha! ha! ha! The Air Ministry were impressed if a single cemetery can be targeted, then Oboe has got to be good!'
I like Tom's version of this - it's the sort of punchy material that a good speaker at
an RAF Dining-In Night would use! In the interests of historical accuracy, I will try
and dig out the facts. In THE BOMBER COMMAND WAR DIARIES: An Operational
Reference Book, 1939-1945, by Martin Middlebrook and Chris Everitt (VIKING
1985), it states that the first Oboe-aimed bombs were dropped by Sqn Ldr H.E. 'Hal'
Bufton and his navigator Flt Lt E.L. Ifould, of No 109 Sqn, on 20/21 December 1942
during an attack on a power station at Lutterade, a small town in Holland, near the
German frontier. Local reports suggest that the bombs of the six Oboe Mosquitoes fell
way off their target! However, the book records regular Oboe assisted bombing from
then on. The raid that Tom described is clearly that carried out two nights later, on
Christmas Eve, on the Ruhort Steel Works in Germany. The traitor William Joyce,
known in England as 'Lord Haw-Haw' by chance confirmed the accuracy of this raid,
when he announced on a routine propaganda broadcast that some British aircraft had
'broken the peace of the Christmas night and destroyed several graves in a remote
cemetery in southern Germany.' This was just what the TRE scientists were waiting
for, as they knew that a small graveyard was situated just to the south of the
Mosquitoes' aiming point! Group Captain Hal Bufton DFC, AFC was Tom's Station
Commander at Bourn until the end of the war.
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Of course, the best overall view of Oboe and the Pathfinder Force must be the
book written by the AOC No 8 (PFF) Group - Air Vice-Marshal D.C.T. Bennett, CB,
CBE, DSO. Most people interested in the Bomber Command of World War Two will
have surely read his fascinating autobiography Pathfinder: Wartime Memories
(Frederick Muller Ltd, London, 1958). Here are a few excerpts:
'Whilst all this high-level activity was going on in connection with H2S [more of
that shortly], my other radar device, Oboe, was being quietly developed by its
inventor, A.H. Reeves, and his brilliant young colleague, Dr F.E. Jones [both pictured
in his book]. Unlike H2S, which was done with full formality and in accordance with
the normal procedure. Oboe was developed by the boffins on the job at the Squadron
itself, with the test installations being done in the Squadron's own aircraft. Not only
did this save time, but it also "achieved the impossible."'
The adoption of the Mosquito to operate Oboe took some persuasion on AVM
Bennett's part. Both the Air Ministry and Bomber Command thought that the
Mosquito was a frail wooden machine totally unsuitable for Service conditions, that
its absence of gun turrets would cause it to be shot down, and that it was far too small
to carry the specialist equipment and an adequate Pathfinder crew. AVM Bennett
calmly dealt with each of these points in turn, before the Powers-That-Be played what
they thought was their ace card:
'They declared that the Mosquito had been tested thoroughly by the appropriate
establishments and found quite unsuitable, and indeed impossible to fly at night. At
this I raised an eyebrow, and said that I was very sorry to hear that it was quite
impossible to fly by night, as I had been doing so regularly during the past week and
had found nothing wrong. There was a deadly silence. I got my Mosquitoes.'
This puts AVM Bennett in the same illustrious category as Lord Dowding, Keith
Park and Bomber Harris - thank goodness that they were all in the right place at the
right time, and not any of the less capable officers of Air Rank! I was surprised to
read that Tom's tracking station at Tilly Whim, in Dorset, does not get a mention:
'We had two pairs of stations, with the northern stations in each case up near
Trimingham and the southern stations down near Walmer and Worth.'
By far the greatest accolade for Oboe must be the reference to the sky-marking raid
on Essen on 9th January 1943:
'The C-in-C [Bomber Harris] detailed a moderate little force of Lancasters to bomb
on sky-markers, and all went well. There was complete solid cloud cover below,
unlike the better conditions which had prevailed on the other sky-marking raids
already carried out. Thus it was quite clear to those on the ground that the most
valuable target in Germany, Krupps works at Essen, was being hit by a blind bombing
method. Hitler immediately called a meeting, at which he himself personally took
part, and apparently he was most violent in his denial that such a thing was possible.
He insisted that there must be breaks in the cloud so that the RAF could see the
targets. His various experts advised him otherwise, but apparently he was furious at
the thought. All this we discovered after the end of the war, when German records of
the meeting became available. Oboe had not only shattered the targets of Germany,
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but had also shattered German morale. It continued the process for the rest of the war,
and was probably the most effective instrument of warfare in our entire armoury.'
Whilst extolling the obvious bravery of the boys on the Oboe squadrons, who
deservedly were awarded their DSOs and DFCs, he bemoaned the fact that the
inventor of the equipment got precisely nothing: 'What a grateful and gracious
country we live in!' Yes indeed - the ones who saved our country from defeat by
Germany seem, for some odd reason, to be overlooked. Look at the shabby way the
country treated the greatest code-breaker of Bletchley Park - Alan Turing. It is still
not too late to award him a well-deserved Order of Merit. This is the very least that
the country can do to reward him for his invaluable services and apologise for
hounding him into taking his own life.
AVM Bennett writes at length about H2S, but clearly puts this behind Oboe in
accuracy. We used H2S in the Vulcan in the 1960s, and it seemed very impressive to
me! My nav radar averaged about 25 yards for his practice and simulated bombing
attacks, often scoring Delta Hotels (Direct Hits). If he ever strayed to 100 yards, he
felt really dejected! I reminded him that with our megaton weapon, this would not
matter too much! Nevertheless, I harboured a thought that without a coastline, or a
lake, on which to fix an 'offset', then accuracy might be compromised somewhat!
Of course, Tom did not become an instant Oboe bombing ace - he had to go through
the mill, like everyone else, to reach the required standard, before joining the
squadron. Not everyone passed, such were the demands of this equipment. Tom
recalls:
'You went on a course at Warboys for about three months. [No 1655 MTU,
Warboys, from 20th June to 29th July 1944.] And they could direct the [Oboe]
transmissions inward. We used a practice bombing range on some marshes near
Grendon Underwood [Buckinghamshire], where there is now an open prison.'
It is worth Googling this fascinating place. During World War Two, Grendon Hall
was Station 53a of SOE (Special Operations Executive). The Grendon Festival is held
every two years, with live music et al; there are adjacent sites of Special Scientific
Interest, and HMP Grendon (one of two prisons there) was opened in 1962 as an
experimental prison for inmates with psychiatric anti-social personality disorders.
Regrettably, I know one or two people who would benefit from such therapy, if
indeed that is provided there!
Tom continues:
'I believe that the white triangle [aiming point] was about 27 yards each side. And
you had to keep at this until you could put all your practice bombs in that triangle,
from above cloud! Which, of course, is very accurate! [I'll say!] The navigator had to
be of the same very high standard. And when you passed this course, which everyone
didn't, you were very carefully checked out, so no one would ever find out what the
stuff was about. It was so secret that even some station commanders were not in the
picture! When you went to the squadron, even as a wing commander, you'd be tailarse Charlie - a new boy, right at the back! And you'd go out, night after night,
dropping 4,000-pound Cookies, for so long, until every time you came back, they told
you that your error was less than 100 yards and your timing error was less than 60
seconds! The point being that, the Main Force by this time were trained to go out and
bomb the green or yellow markers at H-Hour plus two minutes. And somebody else
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was on some other markers. Now, if you weren't a little bit early, the Main Force - up
to 1,000 bombers - would overshoot it all. And they either then wouldn't bomb, or
they'd come back and try to turn round against each other - absolute ruddy chaos! If
you dropped too early, by the time the Main Force had got there, the bloody things
would go out! So it was absolutely essential to have a timing error of less than 60
seconds, and an error from the pinpoint of less than 100 yards, otherwise you're
wasting your effort. When you got back to debriefing, they didn't say, did you get
there, and what was it like? And did you actually see the target? This was the sort of
thing that they asked you in the early days. Instead, they were saying, not a bad run you were 35 seconds late, and 075 degrees/40 yards from the target, or something of
this sort! I remember the time we bombed Krupps - not the main works, which had
been hit one or two times, but when it was essential that we bombed the boiler house.
The cartographers, with their great triangulation trig points, had worked out the
position of the southwest corner of the boiler house exactly within feet!'
Understandably, Tom had to prove himself before being given responsibility for
dropping markers for the Main Force. He recalls:
'When you first went out, you would be dropping Cookies. When your assessed
error was very small, and reliably small, every time, you would be sent out on decoy
raids. So when there was a big night effort, and there would be a great lot of bombers
going out to, say, Berlin, then the lead Pathfinders would go down to Hanover, and
cover it with markers, and drop bombs and so on - and a lot of heavy bombers would
follow, and bomb on these markers. And all the night fighters would belt over to
there, while the rest of the Force would go on to Berlin. or Hamburg, or Kiel, or
somewhere else. So you then did these decoy raids until you were so accurate and
perfect in time that you were tasked with putting the first markers down on the Main
Raids. Often, after putting these down, you could use your Secondary Markers, and
you would fly around, and if that target was really damaged, you could get yourself
into position for a later Wave, to move the target to something else. So it was an
extremely interesting business, indeed!'
I will now return to Gray's Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard, and the last line
of the first stanza, which reads: And leaves the world to darkness and to me. As Tom
taxied round the perimeter track at Bourn, he would be mindful of the juxtaposition of
a lovely English idyll, such as cows grazing on a meadow, and the horrors of war that
he would be about to embark upon. Personally, I find this concept deeply moving, and
my heart goes out to all those brave souls who saw this English scene for the very last
time in their lives. Tom admitted that he found this 'a bit hard'. Here are his memories
of such occasions:
'The Cambridge and St Neots Road [A428] went right along the side of the
aerodrome [Bourn] - there was only a very low fence between that and the beginning
of the runway. And I remember taxiing round there, just as it's getting dusk, the fog's
beginning to come down, there's freezing and icing and you're all done up in your
flying clothes. There's smoke coming out of the little chimneys on the little houses.
And you're watching all these people cycling home - going home for a comfortable
evening, a nice meal or a drink in the pub, or both. And you think, right, where the
hell am I going? And you're taxiing round in a Mosquito, with about seven tons of
high-octane fuel, and a great load of bombs and markers. And you've got to fly out
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over the North Sea and over Germany and across rather nasty targets like Dortmund.
Not as it is in these days - everybody friendly, and every aerodrome in Europe ready
to help you down, or whatever. But everybody in Europe intent on getting you down lots of night fighters and every flak gunner. So you get these feelings that are not very
good. But, of course, you start thinking only for a few seconds - it's a feeling more
than anything - and then you're checking your flaps and switches, and going through
all the drill before you take off.'
For me, this is a good definition of courage.
Mention Battle of the Bulge to most people (including myself) nowadays, and it will
conjure up memories of the 1965 film, starring Henry Fonda in his spotter plane, and
Ty Hardin as a German dressed up in an American Military Police uniform, causing
havoc by misdirecting the US forces! But from 16th December 1944 onwards, Tom
was in the hot seat for the real offensive launched by Field Marshal Gerd von
Rundstedt. Tom vividly recalls this unexpected German breakthrough:
'And their great Panzer divisions were ploughing through the Ardennes, with the
intention of recapturing Antwerp, and we couldn't do a thing about it! Because we'd
got no air cover at all over there. This was because nobody could get off the ground
due to the fog everywhere. And the Air Council went absolutely mad with this - they
said that the aircraft had got to go out [another brave decision made by an Armchair
Warrior!]. So Lancasters were being sent off, full of petrol and bomb loads, in
freezing fog. And although the wings were sprayed with de-icing fluid, and all the rest
of it, they would get off and go a few hundred feet off the end of the aerodrome - iced
up - and crash straight into the next village. I remember a Station Commander, who
nearly went raving mad about it. He kept getting on to Group. Group wouldn't do
anything - it came from Command. He got on to Bomber Harris direct, who refused to
speak to anybody: he shut himself in his office, I think. He didn't like it either. He was
getting his instructions from the Air Council. And nobody could do anything at all.
This instruction [order?] came out, and they had to keep doing it. Now a lot of aircraft
went in. And in the end, the message got through to the Air Council, and it was
stopped. But I think it was Churchill who said, we've got to keep the initiative - we've
got to put so many bombs out, on Berlin, to keep them down, and let them know that
we've still got air cover. And so, on two nights running, six wing commanders went
out, who were all "beam" pilots [Standard Beam Approach]. I was one of them. The
first night, I got very much shot up, and came back - now, we normally weren't
supposed to land away from our own aerodrome, because of all the secret equipment
we carried. But I'd been shot up, and didn't know how much fuel I'd got left, or
anything else. There was also freezing fog, and someone had blocked up the runways
at home, so I was told to land at Manston. Now Manston has this great long runway,
as you know, and it had FIDO [Fog Investigation/Intensive and Dispersal Operation]'
Of interest, Manston did not construct a long concrete runway until about mid-1944,
when FIDO was also installed. The latter paid for itself in double-quick time, with all
the aircraft that it saved! Tom continues:
'Now, I knew all about FIDO, but we always went back and landed, even in the fog.
But, this was the instruction. And they put FIDO on for me. Have you landed on
FIDO?'
417
That was before my time, I told Tom! He continues:
'Well, what it was, was a lot of pipes and jets along the side of the runway, and
paraffin was pumped through at high pressure and set alight. So, in the fog, dense fog,
it was like the inside of a furnace, with flames all round a big hole - a big tube. And
you flew into this big tube of the inside of a furnace - not very clever, but at least you
got down in freezing fog when you couldn't see anything at all. So I got down on
FIDO, sealed the aircraft up, and put guards on it. I stayed at Manston overnight and
went back to Bourn the next day.'
There was no let-up in the weather, as Tom recalls:
'On the next night, it was absolutely dense freezing fog, and I had to be led round
the perimeter track. I went off, got shot up again, with quite a lot of damage. When I
came back - back to Bourn this was - there was dense freezing fog, and you couldn't
see a single thing: there was no wind, and they'd got all the lights on but you couldn't
see them. You could see absolutely nothing!'
This is a good time to take stock of Tom's situation. He was a very competent
Mosquito pilot and had done literally hundreds of Standard Beam Approaches remember that he had taught them several times a day every day for over a year! His
recent experience operating the Mosquito in foul weather had honed him to
perfection. I doubt if any modern pilot would fancy doing something much more
demanding than an NDB Approach/No Glide Path or an ILS Approach/No Glide Path
in such conditions. Also, experience since the war had proved that it was vital to
break off your approach at a sensible height - usually no lower than 200 feet on the
QFE - if you did not have the Specified Visual Reference ( a certain amount of the
approach lights/PAPIs/VASIs or could actually see the runway threshold. Decision
Heights, Minimum Descent Heights and Altitudes were but a dream then! The
INSTRUCTOR'S HANDBOOK of Advanced Flying Training (May 1943) recommends
the following for the Final Approach on a SBA:
'Do not descend below 600 feet until the Outer Marker beacon has been reached,
then resume descent at 400ft/min. Maintain the beam, remembering that drift may
vary with change of height. Do not descend below 100 feet until the Inner Marker
beacon has been reached. From this point a normal landing can be made after lining
up with the runway.'
Apart from a burst of adrenalin, I doubt if Tom felt too challenged by the prevailing
circumstances at Bourn. This was run-of-the-mill stuff, wasn't it? Not quite! What he
did not know was that the Gremlins had attacked his pitot/static system, either by
partially blocking his static vents or, more likely, flak damage! He was about to
descend on an untrustworthy altimeter, in thick freezing fog! For the record, PILOT'S
NOTES for the Mosquitoes Tom flew do not list any 'Position Error Correction' for
the altimeter, with the single De Havilland static vent on the starboard side of the
nose. It is time to rejoin Tom on yet another of his nail-biting escapades. He continues
the story:
'I flew round on the Beam, turned in, wheels down, 15 degrees of flap down, and so
on. Absolutely bang on the Beam - Outer Marker beacon coming in. Now, the ideal
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was that you came over the Outer Marker beacon at 600 feet, going towards the
aerodrome, and stay right on the Beam waiting for the Inner Marker beacon to come
in. At Bourn, you've got this road I mentioned a little while ago, from Cambridge to
St Neots, and the runway started just the other side of the road, and I do mean about
30 feet - not even a pavement - and a bit of road fence. And the Inner Marker beacon
was on the other side of the road. You were supposed to come down to the Inner
Marker beacon at 150 feet [50 feet above the recommended height previously
mentioned!] and 125 knots. And then you eased your throttles back, and gradually
eased the nose of the aircraft up, with the aircraft on the artificial horizon, and you
motor it down, or let it sink down, into nothing. Until you feel it touch the ground.'
This deserves another comment! Bloody hell! Has anybody reading this done one of
those? And I don't mean a Cat III Auto-ILS Approach either! If so, and it was postwar, I would advise you to keep quiet about it! Time to rejoin Tom:
'Then you've got the job of keeping it straight, while you brake very hard, you see with that sort of landing. Nonetheless, that's what we did frequently. On this night, I'd
been shot up. Now, I had set the QFE [giving height above threshold] on my
altimeter, so that should have been absolutely right. And I came in - at exactly 150
feet and exactly 125 knots, so I was set to land in the dark. Suddenly, there was a God
Almighty crash-bang, and a great white flash, and I didn't know what the devil had
happened. Now I went across the Cambridge to St Neots road, and I thought, God,
what if it was the airfield controller's caravan? They used to have these at the
threshold of the runway - they had black and white squares on them - and we had this
old chap called "Snowy", who used to shine the Aldis lamp when you took off, and all
this business. God, I must have hit Snowy's caravan and killed him! By this time, I
was grinding up the runway, and going round in a big curve like this, on the grass
[ground loop?]. Couldn't see a thing. Putting all the switches off, getting the roof
open, because you'd got the great dread you'll catch fire, and the roof might jam, and
you can't get out. You can't get out the bottom, because the bottom's sitting on the
ground [clearly, Tom's undercarriage had collapsed]! Well, there was another
squadron at Bourn [No 162, with Oboe Mosquitoes]. And they were always stood
around, fully loaded up with petrol and things like this - ready to take off in the
morning. And I thought, I'm going to go round every curve, among this lot. But in the
end, we got everything off, and it stopped, you see. We got out, and you couldn't see a
damn thing! You didn't know which way the perimeter track was, or anything! It took
us about half an hour to find the control tower - and they were looking for us! And I
was told that I'd flown right through the Inner Marker beacon! The Inner Marker
beacon has got 30,000 volts of electricity in it, and I'd flown straight through it!'
As with most debriefings, especially after 'shaky dos', the rum was consumed in
large mugs! Tom added:
'I was glad when that foggy period was over. Of the six wing commanders who
were sent out - all that we had in the whole country - we lost three. I never knew what
had happened to my altimeter, and they never made an enquiry into it.'
I discussed this with Tom. To make a difference of 150 feet, the QFE would need to
be at least five millibars out - most unlikely on the part of Air Traffic Control or an
experienced pilot like Tom. It was clearly a fault in the static source to the altimeter,
419
either caused by partial icing or flak damage. Tom's Guardian Angel ensured that he
walked away from this landing as well!
Tom had nothing but praise for his AOC No 8 (PFF) Group - Air Vice-Marshal Don
Bennett:
'I met him several times in the Pathfinder Club. He was a good chap - very able. He
had a Mosquito with the callsign Venture One. And he also had a Beaufighter. You
never knew when he would turn up! It would be a foggy night, and he'd suddenly call
up the aerodrome and come in and land! He would walk in to the Watch Office, check
everybody, look at everything and go off! And he told the W/T Section to put a Gee
[navigation equipment] in his Beaufighter. And they thought, ah, got him - there's
nowhere to put it! And he said, what's the matter with this shelf behind me? They
said, you can't operate the Gee behind you. He said, Oh yes I can! And I want a mirror
fixed up here! You wouldn't believe it - he had a Gee put in, and he used to go off
with it. This chap was incredible. If a Wireless Operator went up for an interview with
him, to see if he could be put up for a commission, he'd say, well, how many words
per minute can you do? And the chap would say, Oh well, 50 words a minute, sir, or
something like that [steady on, Tom, I think 26 words per minute was about the norm
then!] Oh well, we'll see, shall we? And he would get out a Morse key from his desk,
and try him! I think he'd got the Number One Postmaster's Wireless Telegrapher's
Certificate.'
Tom then mentioned one or two of Don Bennett's extraordinary feats, which are
well covered in his autobiography. He then moved on to the subject of 'rogue aircraft'
- we've all had them! He recalls:
'The thing was, you'd occasionally get an aircraft which everybody complains about
- that it's wrong. Then the CO gets onto Group and says, look, we've got an aircraft,
number so-and-so, and everybody's complaining that it won't fly steady above so
many thousand feet, and all the rest of it. And we want it written off and have a
replacement! Well, mostly, that would be it, and you'd get it. But old Bennett wouldn't
go along with this particular aircraft, and said you can't write it off for that! Then the
complaints got worse, and nobody would fly it if they could help it. So Don Bennett
said, look, before you write it off, I'll come down and fly it myself. And he took off
and flew this aircraft! Incredible man, he was. After the flight, he said, no, I can't find
anything wrong with this - it's all right! The aircraft went missing a couple of nights
later.'
This story prompted Tom to relate another sad tale about an aircraft that went
missing soon after Christmas 1944. He recalls:
'One Christmas [1944] at Bourn, the custom was that all the Other Ranks had a big
Christmas Party, and all the Officers went and served them [still carried on, I
believe!]. So there were turkeys and joints and everything. And we were all there,
trying to carve these birds. Now, there was a young chap who had just come to the
squadron, and not yet operated. He had previously trained as a surgeon, got his
degree, and passed out as a surgeon. At that time, of course, this would have been a
reserve occupation. But somehow or other, he worked a miracle, and got onto flying onto Mosquitoes, and joined us on 105 Squadron at Bourn. And this chap, Thorn his
name was, stood next to me at this party, while I was having a go at carving the
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turkeys. He said to me, look, I was a surgeon - there's a really good way of doing this!
And he showed me how he could whip through a turkey, every joint would be out,
and all cut perfectly well. And I had been struggling away - not all that good at it. I
shall always remember this, the way he cut this up, and showed me how to do it! You
wouldn't believe it - a few nights later, on his very first trip, he went straight in. That
was the last we heard of him.'
I believe this gallant pilot is Flt Lt Robert Cuthbert Thorn (70675), who died on 8th
January 1945, and is commemorated on the Runnymede Memorial, Panel 266.
Tom's statement: 'I went to Berchtesgaden once - Oh my God!' clearly did not refer
to an invitation to tea with the Führer! However, with Tom's logbooks unavailable for
reference - more of that sorry episode later - it has been hard to establish exactly when
this sortie took place. In relating the tale, Tom refers to 'winter', and moving his wife
from Abingdon to accommodation near Bourn. He is therefore not referring to the
large raid on Berchtesgaden that took place on 25th April 1945. In fact, his sortie
sounds like a 'one-off'' trailblazer - to see if Oboe was effective at this extreme range.
As with all frequencies from VHF upwards, Oboe was subject to the Earth's
curvature, i.e. it was a line-of-sight device. AVM Don Bennett writes in Pathfinder:
'[Oboe's] range was limited to just a little more than the straight line tangential to
the earth's surface. In fact, it was about 1.05 optical range.'
This was fine for targets in the Ruhr, but not for anything further afield. Tom recalls
'once' climbing to '42 and a bit thousand feet, in a Canadian-built Mosquito XVIB.'
This was probably his trial for Berchtesgaden. However, even at 42,000 feet, the
effective line-of-sight would have been about 250 miles. Graham M. Simons, in
Mosquito: The Original Multi-Role Combat Aircraft, writes: 'The system could be
used at a range up to around 275 miles with the target-marking aircraft flying at
around 28,000ft.' He adds that: 'The range of 'Oboe' could be increased if "Repeata"
aircraft were used to retransmit the signal.' After D-Day, as more and more of the
continent became available, Oboe stations could be moved closer to Germany. AVM
Don Bennett refers to one of these, at the time of the Battle of the Bulge:
'On 16th December 1944 I had a telephone call from across the water from the
senior Oboe controller at one of my units sited just beyond the Meuse up on one of
the hills in the western portion of the Ardennes, which we then held. He reported that
the Germans had suddenly launched a counter-attack, and that he had been forced to
retire at high speed and was therefore off the air.'
Finally, Michael J.F. Bowyer writes in Action Stations 1: Wartime military airfields
of East Anglia 1939-1945 (Patrick Stephens, Cambridge, 1979):
'By late 1944 the Mosquitoes' range was extended by modified Oboe, and
continental stations permitted Oboe operations from Bourn deeper into enemy
territory.'
Listening to Tom's account of his sortie against Berchtesgaden, it sounds very much
like he was on his own, and probably being served by these well-advanced and
updated Oboe sites and equipment.
421
Tom's account of this epic flight is yet another example of that well-known RAF
acronym - HYHIABC. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to have
served in the RAF, it means 'Haven't You Heard - It's All Been Changed!' Tom had
been given a day off - a rare occurrence - and it was normal practice not to put you on
flying the next day, for briefing at 1600, to allow for problems in trying to get back on
time. He used this day off to drive up to Abingdon, with a borrowed trailer, to move
his wife and all their belongings down to their new quarters at Bourn - 'a nice old
mansion near the aerodrome.' Of course, Tom met up with an old friend at Abingdon,
and had 'a right old session' (where have I heard that phrase before?). After very little
sleep, and with all their belongings piled onto the trailer, and around their two kids in
the back seat of their old Morris 10 car, he and his wife finally got away. When they
reached Buckingham around midday, Tom thought that a nice pint of bitter would sort
his head and stomach out! They stopped in 'the main hotel in Buckingham' - perhaps
the King's Head. Tom got his pint of beer, took it into the telephone kiosk, and
phoned RAF Bourn - just to let them know he was on the way back, and would
probably arrive late that night, so he would see them in the morning. Thank goodness
you called, they told him - you've got to be at Briefing at 4 o'clock! Of course, Tom
protested - this was just not on! Sorry, they replied - you are required for something
special! Tom takes up the story:
'So I gave my pint of bitter to some yard man, got in the car, and I tore off like mad
- the children were sick all over the place, being jolted about and thrown around - and
I raced up and got to this Bourn Lodge place about 10 to 4, cut all the strings and
things, and let all the stuff fall off the car onto the drive. "Mr and Mrs Whitelaw [the
owners, local merchants], this is my wife and children, got to leave you!" And I
dashed round to the aerodrome and got in [to briefing] about 10 seconds to 4! And
they said, it's a special trip - you've got to go down to Berchtesgaden! It would seem
that these WW chaps [Whitehall Warriors] - an expression I don't normally use - were
keen on testing that they could now get the range [of Oboe] down as far as
Berchtesgaden.'
Tom could write DCO (Duty Carried Out) in the Authorisation Sheet, after he
landed. He modestly claims:
'Well, we managed to hit some buildings in the complex, that's all.'
I think a detailed study of this sortie would be enlightening. Tom had to climb up
into the stratosphere, well, more strictly the tropopause, and probably break the
existing altitude record for a Mosquito, in order to make the Oboe equipment work.
The two-stage supercharged Merlins were powerful enough to get him to 42,000 feet
plus, especially as he had 'no armour, no armament - absolutely nothing!' Never mind
that the quoted ceiling for the MK XVI was 37,000 feet! This mark was supposed to
have a pressurised cabin 'at one and a half pounds, but it made absolutely no
difference!' Consequently, high-flying aircrew were suffering from a condition known
as the bends - when nitrogen comes out of solution in the body, particularly in joints,
and especially if these joints had been injured. Tom's right knee must have been a
prime target for this painful affliction. Then there is the cold. Tom explains:
'We had some pretended heating, but I've never known it to work one single time in
my life! And the temperature was diabolical! My moustache was extending out, like
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this - frosted twigs on a tree - and eyelids frozen! It was so cold you could have half
an inch of ice on your windscreen. You can't believe how cold it could be! We had
silk underclothes and all these other things, but it didn't make any difference. It's
really icy cold when you get up there - below minus 100 degrees Fahrenheit [minus
73 degrees Celsius].'
Yes, it can get that cold in the tropopause! Another problem was the fact that the
instrument flying panel, and in particular, the artificial horizon, was driven by the
vacuum pumps - one on each engine. The thinner air at this extreme altitude meant
that Tom could no longer rely on his artificial horizon! He recalls:
'You came to a point when the artificial horizon was pointing downwards and
sideways, and then would come up nearly to the line and then go down a bit. And you
suddenly see the moon down there! You think, my God, I'm upside down! And you
have to make yourself ignore the moon, and try and make some sense out of these
rubbery old instruments. A lot of people suddenly spiralled down and went in, on
Mosquitoes, because they couldn't cope with these funny conditions up very high.'
However did Tom achieve the required Oboe accuracy under these conditions?
What a pity that the superb electrically-driven artificial horizons/attitude indicators
had not been introduced in those days!
The return journey was no milk run, as Tom explains:
'But coming back, you know, what with the day off before, going to Abingdon - the
night-before party - a big racing up and going all down there, quite a long way, by the
time you climbed up to that height. And then coming back, all by yourself across
France - you've got to come right the way up, across the lower Rhine, and right up
across France to get back. And it seemed like hours and hours! I could have gone to
sleep at any time. But, you know, some way up on the way back, you're going to have
fighters waiting for you [particularly if they knew Tom had bombed Hitler's favourite
mountain top retreat!]. Now, even if you don't fly over a flak area, they've got their
night-fighters up, waiting for you, and you're plotted, and I had nowhere to go. [This
suggests that Tom had descended from his relatively safe height of 42,000 feet, to
avoid the intense cold and recover some density for motoring his artificial horizon between a rock and a hard place!]. So you've got to do a bit of evasive action, and
alter your course, and alter your tactics. You had to work out what they might be
doing, and how you could be somewhere else when they were doing it! And I'll tell
you what - I had a job to do all of that, and keep my eyes open, and get back! I think
that was one of the hardest sorties that I ever flew - not dangerous - I wasn't hit or
anything, but extremely demanding and very, very uncomfortable. I got back and
landed, and got home about 5 o'clock in the morning, in the dark, and it was freezing.
We hadn't got hot water bottles in those days - what we did was put a brick in the
oven, wrap it up with a newspaper, and put it in the bed to get warm! But I couldn't
get warm for hours and hours!'
On 25th April 1945, Bomber Command launched a massive raid on Berchtesgaden,
comprising 359 Lancasters and 16 Mosquitoes of Nos 1, 5 and 8 Groups. In spite of
Tom's magnificent trailblazing effort, the eight Oboe-equipped Mosquitoes failed to
mark the target, blaming the very high ground between them and the ground
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transmitting stations. Perhaps their height of 39,000 feet proved the difference, as
Tom had flown at 42,000 feet!
On 23rd March 1945, Tom was selected to drop the first marker on Wesel, the
commencement of Operation Plunder - the main crossing of the Allies on the River
Rhine. It was Wesel's bad luck that it had been chosen for this strategic operation. In
fact, it claims to have been the most intensely bombed town, for its size, in Germany.
A total of 97% of the buildings in the main town area were destroyed. On Operation
Plunder, Tom spearheaded a force of 195 Lancasters and 23 Mosquitoes of Nos 5
and 8 Groups. He remembers it clearly:
'Now Wesel has got woods around it, which were packed solid with Panzers - there
were divisions of Panzers there - and there was so much concentrated armour along
that side of the Rhine. Our troops were the other side, and had to cross the Rhine
there. And in the First World War, there would have been a sort of Passchendaele, or
something. They would have faced each other, killing off hundreds of thousands of
people, for six months. In this war, I put the first marker down! I remember going
over - this was written up in the Tatler, and I kept a copy. It was a calm night - not
pitch dark - you could see the ground, and there was some moon. The Tatler
mentioned this lone Mosquito coming over. There were others that followed. But we
went over, and everything on the ground was quiet. I put a marker down on Wesel,
and some heavy bombers in support of this started bombing it. And it was flattened there wasn't a kerb stone or lamp post or anything standing. The British Army crossed
the Rhine at Wesel with the loss of only 36 men.'
For this action, and no doubt his impressive record of Oboe Pathfinding preceding
it, Tom received an immediate award of the DSO. I am somewhat surprised that the
DFC had been omitted.
The very next morning after VE Day was celebrated, Tom was required for
Operation Manna - dropping food parcels to the starving Dutch. Oboe-equipped
aircraft were needed for the extreme accuracy involved. Like all aircrew who took
part in this mercy mission, Tom found this deeply rewarding. This was followed by
'whipping a few people round Germany to show them what we'd be doing. Because it
was devastated, as you probably know.' I had a similar experience in the early 1960s,
when I was stationed in Germany, flying PR Canberras: from time to time, my aged
navigator - a World War Two veteran - would say to me: 'Can you see that car park
down there? Well, I made that!'
On 17th May 1945, Tom received the coveted Permanent Award of the Pathfinder
Force Badge (he had been awarded the 'Temporary' version on 13th November 1944).
These additional golden wings were worn by a select few. When I started my RAF
flying training on Piston Provosts at Syerston in 1959, two of our instructors, both
Master Pilots (warrant officer rank) wore these. We acting pilot officers were required
to call all our instructors 'sir' - I had no problem doing this, with these two remarkable
men!
On 16th October, Tom's services were required at No 10 ACHU (Aircrew Holding
Unit) at RAF Burn, North Yorkshire. Tom explains:
'Aircrew were coming through from various training units, all round Canada and
Kenya, and everywhere else, and from Operational Training Units. And I was sent up
there to try and sort out this great mess. That was like Aboukir! There were
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thousands! They were arriving by the trainload, and you couldn't get enough blankets,
knives, forks, spoons, mattresses, or anything else [strong déjà vue?]. One solution
was to send them all on leave - you'd got umpteen people there doing nothing else but
just sitting around. The place had too many people. They got up to all sorts of things!
We had them on some most incredible charges. Oh dear! For instance, they pinched a
local railway engine.'
Luckily for Tom, he was off again, on 8th November, to take up a post as CFI on
No 16 OTU (a Mosquito Training Unit) at RAF Upper Heyford. He takes up the
story:
'I'd been to Upper Heyford before, for a while - it was jolly good - I didn't mind that.
I arrived there one evening, and got a nice flat in the Mess, with several rooms - very
nice indeed! All old-fashioned style. Then the Station Commander, Group Captain
Mason - a very nice chap - did his best to persuade me to stay in the RAF and have a
Permanent Commission. And I thought, well, no, I'd be due to be posted to the Far
East somewhere, as they would need people out there, to finish the war. And it wasn't
fair to my family - I had a couple of young kids by then - to go charging off and going
voluntarily. So I thought, no, I'll stay on and get this Mosquito Unit going. And then I
got called up to the Air Ministry, with somebody from Group, to a conference. When
I got there, I learned that we were apparently selling, or giving, Mosquitoes to the
French, to re-arm their Air Force. And would I be able to train them?'
Tom thought not, as, like most of us, his schoolboy French was good enough to get
by, travelling to gites and hotels, but certainly not up to the standard required to
instruct on a difficult aircraft like the Mosquito! No problem - they all speak English,
Tom was assured! He made some further enquiries. He wanted to know what flying
experience they had, knowing full well that the French hadn't had an Air Force for
some time! Again, Tom was assured that they would all be pilots with 'some'
experience. But had they flown twins? Again, Tom was assured that they had. He
agreed to take on the task. However, he stipulated that he required an aerodrome with
the longest possible runway (a wise precaution!). So he was sent on a two-week tour
round the country, to pick any aerodrome he liked! He first of all tried Middleton St
George (now Teesside Airport), with its nice long runways, before turning his
attention to Cottesmore, an aerodrome he had got to know well during his Hampden
conversion a few years earlier. Nice long runway, he thought, but the Americans
would have to move out!
The first French course duly arrived, and they spoke English 'not perfectly, but well
enough' and they had 'some twin-engined experience, but not much'! Tom recalls his
trials and tribulations:
'So, we got them flying. Oh, they were so dreadful, and so nervous, it isn't true.
They broke a number of aircraft, but none of them got killed. But they'd take off, and
then you'd get a message from Anglesey, saying: "We have a foreign chap here, who
says that, um, he comes from you." And I said: "Yes, impound him, nail him down don't let him in an aircraft. I'll send someone up for it, and bring him back!" So I was
doing this all the time - they landed all over the place. But the second course was even
worse - they'd never flown a twin at all, and didn't quite know what you meant by a
twin! So I then had to go and get some Oxfords and Ansons, and teach them to fly
twins [vital to learn the basics of asymmetric flying before going onto Mosquitoes!].
425
And this went on, and some of them could hardly speak English at all in the end - so
very difficult. But I got through, I think, eight courses, and they broke a great number
of aeroplanes. I remember an occasion when one came down, one lunchtime, and he
wound it up on the runway [ground-looped?], but got out. The others, all doing
circuits and bumps flying round in the circuit, saw him, and did exactly the same!
And six aircraft pranged! Yes, broke them, because they just lost their nerve after
seeing one of their mates go in. But the crews all got out. When a Mosquito went in,
the starboard propeller used to come off, and cut the nose off, and as long as you'd got
your knees back, you were all right! If you hadn't, that would be bad luck! But none
of them was injured. So this was a bit of a dicey old time. It was interesting, though,
really. A helluva lot better than shipping sweeps! And that took me to the end of the
flying world, doing that lot.'
Well, not quite, Tom, because you added a rider to this French experience - one
which should capture the attention of anybody interested in the history of No 2 Group
(like you present readers). It concerns the sad end of one of the Group's most
charismatic pilots - Wg Cdr G.L.B. 'Bok' Hull DFC. Tom recalls:
'Now, I'll tell you a nasty thing that happened - not to me - but after training all
these French fellows. I had a chap called Hull - Wg Cdr Hull.'
I asked Tom if he was known as 'Bok' Hull - so named because he came from South
Africa, land of the springboks. 'No', Tom replied, 'he was known at one time as
"Happy" Hull.' This was news to me, but he was clearly referring to 'Bok' Hull of 2
Group. Tales of Bok Hull's escapades in 2 Group are legendary. Perhaps the most
memorable one is the time he was staying on the first floor of an Officers' Mess, and
decided in the night he would climb out of his window and have a pee on the grass
outside, thinking he was on the ground floor. He broke both his legs in the fall, and
was in plaster for six months! In http://forum.12oclockhigh.net/archive/index.php?t5064, a forum posted online on 10th July 2009, Bok's nephew, Laurence, writes that
this accident was due to his uncle's habit of sleepwalking! Tom continues:
'He was in 2 Group early in the war [his DFC was Gazetted on 24th December
1940, whilst serving on 107 Sqn]. Later on in the war, he was badly shot up. And then
the fighters got on to him, while he was making for the Dutch coast, getting lower and
lower, shooting him down.'
In Royal Air Force: BOMBER COMMAND LOSSES of the Second World War:
1942 (Midland Counties Publications, 1998), W.R. Chorley covers this in more detail:
'Bok Hull took off from West Raynham at 2136 on 17th April 1942, in Blenheim
Mk IV, Z7430 (RT:Q) for a night intruder attack on Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam; he
was damaged by light flak and crash-landed at 2322 at Aalsmeer, a small town just to
the south of Schiphol.'
The coup-de-grace was delivered by the fighters, Bok told Tom at Cottesmore.
Though Tom had not known Bok very well before he came to Cottesmore, he had
certainly heard of him! He recounts his memories of this iconic officer:
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'At Cottesmore, he had a room in the Mess, but he stayed for a time in my house. He
used to come in the evening, and we'd have a nice meal. We had these nice old
Georgian-type houses, you know - if you happened to be a wing commander, you got
a nice place, with a butler's pantry and big rooms, and all the rest of it. We used to sit
there, in the drawing room, and put a few drinks back, and reminisce and chat. That's
when I got to know more about him. But he was a good chap - a helluva nice chap. He
told me that after he was shot down, and crashed, an engine rolled over across his
legs. And the wretched Germans left him there until the next day, saying, Oh, we can't
get a crane out here tonight, to move that engine. And they left him there, until the
next day. And he then was taken to hospital, with his legs broken, obviously. He
became a Prisoner of War for the rest of the war. He had been in Stalag Luft III
[Sagan] when they were building this great tunnel [Harry, of Tom, Dick and Harry the Great Escape]. Happy Hull was one of the last ones in the tunnel, when the
balloon went up, and managed to crawl backwards into the camp. They massacred 50
of the escapees, on the direct orders of Hitler. Very nasty, very dicey. [Bok's nephew
adds that his uncle was also on the Hunger March from Sagan to Hamburg in the
winter of early 1945, and was liberated in Hamburg]. And then, after the war, he was
brought back, rehabilitated, and was going to take over a Mosquito squadron. So he
came to Cottesmore to do a quick conversion onto Mosquitoes, just like I had done.'
Regrettably, Bok's luck ran out, as Tom explains:
'On a beautiful, cloudless, clear night with a bright moon - well after the war, no
dangers about [17th May 1946], we'd got just a few Mosquitoes, taking off and going
to a bombing range, and Happy Hull doing some circuits and bumps. And he took off,
two or three times, went round, and just flew around the aerodrome. By this time, it
was all lit up with lead-in lights and everything - really fancy conditions. And he was
up there, and I remember very well, there was an aircraft called Y-Yoke who called up,
saying that he was on his way back from the bombing range. Happy Hull called up
and said, well, I'm only sitting up here, passing time - let Y-Yoke in first. And he
continued to stooge round the circuit, while Y-Yoke came in and landed. Then we
called him up, called Hull up to land, and we couldn't raise him at all. And, in the end,
I got nearly all the aerodromes in the country to switch on their lights, but there was
no sign of him - we just couldn't get him. Some hours later, I think it was the Local
Defence people [Home Guard?] said, we think there is some wreckage of a plane,
near Melton Mowbray, I think it was [the lovely village of Goadby Marwood, some
six miles north of Melton Mowbray]. I said, right, I'll come out. So I got the position
of where it was, and went out there, and there was poor old Hull, spread out on a field,
and the Mosquito wreck. What had happened was, a con-rod had gone, and come
through the sump. And when that happens, and you've got two-stage superchargers,
the pressure in the engine of compressed fuel vapour is so great, that the whole lot
goes in a great big bang. So it just doesn't knock and rattle when it stops. Because if it
did, you could have landed on one engine, but the whole thing, the engine, just
disintegrated. Poor Happy Hull - I can see him there now. I went up and said, well,
we've got a wing commander missing; and they moved the covers back, so I could
have a look at him. He'd got all his medal ribbons on, and badges of rank. And I
looked at him and said, that's right, that's him - look after him and bring him back to
Cottesmore. Poor old chap - that's a nasty thing to happen, isn't it? And after all he
had gone through during the war.'
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The official record of this crash may be found in Colin Cummings' book, FINAL
LANDINGS: A Summary of RAF Accidents and Combat Losses 1946 to 1949
(Nimbus Publishing, 2001). Bok's Mosquito was a T III, TW108. It was the starboard
engine that had failed at 1,000 feet [circuit height] and Bok had attempted a forced
landing. On the approach, the aircraft struck trees, breaking the tailplane and the
aircraft then hit high ground and disintegrated. Bok was aged 34 and was the only
casualty. In summary, then, the exploding engine made the Mosquito virtually
unflyable, with Bok desperately trying to do a forced landing at night, with no time to
transmit a Mayday call.
Tom's Record of Service states that he left No 16 OTU, Cottesmore, on 16th
September 1946, obtained a 'Class A Release' on 20th September, and his 'Last Day of
Service' was 22nd November 1946. He received the AE (Air Efficiency Award) the
same year, under AMO N.368/46. Finally, he relinquished his commission, retaining
the rank of Wing Commander, with effect from 16th June 1959 - just 17 days after I
was commissioned in the RAF!
In common with many thousands of other persons leaving the services at the end of
World War Two, Tom had to decide how he was going to make a living. With his
dynamic personality and charm, and, in particular, his ability to conduct business
negotiations during 'a right old session', Tom soon carved out a lucrative future. But
before this, he had a surprise visit from an old 18 Squadron colleague, and veteran of
the Rotterdam raid of 16th July 1941, John Steward-Wood (on the raid John Stewart
Wood, without the hyphen!). He explains:
'After I came out of the Air Force, I lived for a while at a place called Askett, near
Princes Risborough, and somehow or other, Stewart Wood found me. He rang me up
and I went out to see him. Now, he had a brother on Blenheims, who was killed, and
this rocked Stewart. His parents had had a farm, at a place called Ford, in the triangle
Princes Risborough, Aylesbury, Haddenham, or Thame. So Stewart Wood took over
the property from his parents, and he went into mushroom growing in quite a big way.
He built lots of wooden buildings, and brought in a steam plant to sterilise the soil,
and so on. His business was called Aylesbury Mushrooms. And he had vehicles taking
him up to London every day. He had his own aircraft, which he flew around, and he
wanted me to go into a joint venture with him, and have an aircraft between us. Well,
he was going all round the place, and at that time, I was only going to the Continent,
so it didn't quite work out. He had these daughters, one of whom became a British
champion of, I think, water-skiing. We met quite a number of times, but he became
bigger and bigger in mushrooms, and I was in a different business altogether, so we
never did join in sharing an aircraft. But that was Stewart Wood! And I recognised
him as soon as I saw him!'
John Stewart-Wood took part in the annual King's Cup Air Race for 30 years,
winning it in 1965 and 1978. He was killed at Shobdon airfield, near Hereford, while
taking part in this race, on Saturday 16th July 1983 - the exact anniversary of the
Rotterdam raid.
Before describing his very successful business ventures, I should explain why it has
been difficult on occasion to pinpoint exactly when Tom's operations took place. No
pilot, or any other aircrew member, would like this to happen to him, and it still made
Tom rightfully angry when he told me what had happened. He recalls:
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'When I came out of the Service, and lived at Chinnor, in one of the bedrooms there
was a big cupboard: and on top of it, I put a lot of things, including my logbooks.
They were stolen! By this time, I had two logbooks bound together with a great big
wide rubber band, so it was like a double logbook. And in the village, there was a
flight lieutenant, whose brother was a local builder, who I employed to do some work
on my house. Now, this flight lieutenant was a bullshitter - he would go into the local
pub, and play darts, and brag about what he did in the old squadron - all this sort of
chat - really not my cup of tea. Because I don't think he did anything in the war! And
it was only after the builders had gone that I found quite a lot of things missing,
including my logbooks. So I got hold of this officer, and said, hey look, I'm not
accusing anyone, but since the builders have finished in my house, my logbooks and a
number of other things have gone, so you'd better do something about it! But he
didn't. The only alternative was to go to the Police, but I didn't want to say that I
suspected a flight lieutenant for having my logbooks. It's worried me all the time
since, because there's so much detail in your logbooks. But I have, fortunately, got
this list which Ralph made out, in his own handwriting. And we can look at that.'
Ralph Millns, Tom's observer, kept a list of all the operations and flights that they
did together on Blenheims, which Tom wrote up later - especially after his
detachment to Malta, during which the transit baggage weight for the legs via
Gibraltar had to be kept to a minimum, thus precluding the taking out of logbooks.
Somewhere out there, someone has got stolen property - Tom's logbooks. They might
not be aware that this is stolen property. May I request that, if they read this, and are
in possession of these books, they please take them to the RAF Museum, where future
generations will have the pleasure of perusing the wartime career of one of our great
RAF heroes. I asked Tom if he could remember how many flying hours he had
clocked up, before he gave up flying soon after the war. He thought the figure would
be somewhere between 7,750 and 8,000 flying hours! This is an impressive total for a
flying career spanning little over ten years. Of course, flying several times a day,
every single day for a year or so when he was on the BAT Flight must have
contributed a large chunk of this! Without being able to check Tom's assessments of
flying ability in his logbooks, I would be very surprised if they were not at least
'Above the Average', and more probably 'Exceptional'. Perhaps the last word on this
should be by Tom's WOp/AG on Blenheims, Scotty Scotney: 'We always felt that he
was a very good pilot - nice chap - we got on very well as a crew. Very efficient; very
competent; but it wasn't for me to judge his capability as a pilot - but I felt very safe
being flown by him.'
Tom's post-war business career would make an interesting book on its own! His
acumen would make modern entrepreneurs go green with envy! I shall summarize this
as briefly as I can. Initially, Tom built up a trailer and caravan manufacturing business
with another wartime colleague, his old CO on No 105 Sqn - Gp Capt Keith 'Slim'
Somerville - before developing his own industrial property company, British
European Finance Ltd. He was chairman of the National Caravan Council between
1963 and 1965. Tom explains:
'So I formed a finance company, and the finance company then took over all sorts of
other companies. I could not be someone who would sit around and just tinker and
play with things. If you're in, you've got to really do it - take it by the horns - and you
really have a go, and you beat everyone else. You just can't sit around and wait for
something to happen. You'd either be right in, or you wouldn't start in the first place.
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So I built this finance business up, and in the end I was doing all sorts of things building factory estates: there's a factory estate at Thame, and there's a road there
which the Council have called Jefferson Way. So I did all this and then eventually
sold out, and came here [to Guernsey] in 1982.'
Tom added that he moved here for tax reasons!
Work hard and play hard. Tom and his wife, Audrey, loved to go on cruising
holidays. Tom recalls one in particular:
'Well, we went on a cruise, which went down to Venezuela and up the Orinoco and
Amazon jungle a few years ago [1993 interview]. Then we came back and stayed at
this place called Antigua Village - in Antigua - and quite by chance, over a drink one
night, I met a chap called Ned Fennessy [radar pioneer Sir Edward Fennessy, retired
Group Captain]. Now, as you know, I was flying on Oboe, and Ned Fennessy was one
of the scientists, one of the boffins, who was developing it. And later, he became
Postmaster General, and he was knighted. We still call him Ned and we're still in
close touch with him and his charming wife. [Sir Edward Fennessy died on 20th
January 2010, aged 97]. But in the meantime, he was into all sorts of big jobs - he was
Managing Director for Plessey and I forget who else. But we met in Antigua, and he'd
got an apartment there, in a villa, or part of a villa, and his daughter had another part
of it. While we were chatting over a drink one night, I bought his daughter's
apartment, because she was then married and living in America, and didn't want it she hadn't been there for years! So we have been going back and forth to Antigua for
a while. Funny how these things happen! If I hadn't met Ned Fennessy, and he hadn't
been developing Oboe, when I was flying Oboe, I wouldn't have had a place in
Antigua!'
At one time, after I had heard most of Tom's amazing reminiscences, I said to him:
'What amazing good luck you had in your life, Tom!' His reply made me smile: 'Well,
Rusty, not so much good luck but lack of bad luck!' But his luck ran out on the
afternoon of 27th November 1999, when Tom departed for that Great Hangar in the
Sky. By sheer coincidence, my good friend from Oxford Air Training School, Don
Briggs DFC - a wartime Lancaster veteran - had asked me if I would like to share a
flight from Oxford in a PA 28, that same afternoon. It was the first time that I had
flown since retiring, from FR Aviation Hurn, in August 1998. Shortly after take off, in
G-BPJP, with my wife Carol on board, we flew overhead Oakley disused airfield. I
related to Don the incredible story of Tom 's forced landing there, in zero visibility
conditions. Tom died within minutes of my telling that story.
Wing Commander Thomas George Jefferson will be missed by many people. He
was extremely sociable, and not only to us. After retiring to Guernsey in 1982, he kept
in touch with the RAF, becoming a member of the RAFA, and making many friends
with members of the modern Royal Air Force - particularly Guernsey's 201 Sqn,
based in Kinloss. The Squadron had visited the island regularly, and were lavishly
entertained by Tom, along with an impressive array of air marshals and local
dignitaries, during Battle of Britain week. There was no finer place to watch the air
display than Tom's lovely house, in an elevated position on an old Napoleonic fort in
St Peter Port. He raised considerable funds or the RAFA.
Tom was one of the most charismatic persons I have met in my life. Carol and I
formed a deep friendship with him and his very pleasant wife, Audrey. I can rarely
430
sink a glass of whisky, particularly Bell's, without thinking of him. And when the
national weather forecast shows Stornoway, I always think of that 'Officer at the Bar'!
431
FLT LT R.F. MILLNS
(OBSERVER IN JEFFERSON CREW)
Ralph Millns patiently bided his time on 18 Squadron, waiting for his old pilot, Tom
'Jeff' Jefferson, to be discharged from the Officers' Convalescent Home, Torquay. The
solid friendship, not to mention Tom's phenomenal run of luck, was well worth
renewal. Unfortunately, the planners had other ideas, and Ralph departed the squadron
in July 1942, just three months prior to Tom's discharge. It was to be a cruel stroke of
fate. Tom would survive the war as a Mosquito pilot on 105 Squadron; Ralph's life
would end in February 1943 as a Mosquito navigator on this famous squadron.
Born in Holborn on 18th July 1920, Ralph took up employment on leaving school
as a local government clerk. Not waiting to be called up for the inevitable hostilities,
he enlisted in the RAFVR in August 1939, for a nominal five years. After serving at
No 4 ITW and a navigation school, Ralph commenced the course at No 10 B&GS,
Warmwell on 1st July 1940. This was definitely the last course to be held at the
Dorset location before it became too hot for training purposes, when it was turned
over to fighters for the impending Battle of Britain.
On 27th July, Ralph commenced his Blenheim conversion at No 17 OTU Upwood.
This was to be his home for eleven months, thanks to the insistence of the CO, Sqn
Ldr 'Tom' Webster, that his OTU crews should be properly trained before being
launched into operations.
By the end of June 1941, Flt Sgt Millns and his crew were members of No 18
Squadron, based at Oulton, in Norfolk. The new CO arrived three days later. The
gentle personality and style of leadership of Wg Cdr 'Tim' Partridge must have been
more than acceptable to similarly-minded Ralph. For him, the shock of witnessing the
death of his popular boss must have been horrific. Scotty Scotney can still recall the
discussion in the cockpit between Tom and Ralph, after Tim Partridge had rolled over
and crashed in flames into the Noordsingel canal during the Rotterdam raid.
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Ralph Millns in the forward observer's position of a Blenheim (Tom Jefferson)
The crash-landing in the ploughed field on 5th August left Ralph injured, but he was
back on operations under Channel Stop just eleven days later. As with his other two
crew members, he became a film star when newsreel footage was shot of the squadron
being briefed for and embarking on a typical Blenheim strike, circa September 1941.
During the briefing, the crew can be clearly recognised to the right of the picture:
Ralph has Tom sitting on his left and Scotty on his right. There are further
recognisable shots of the crew climbing aboard their aircraft: F for Freddie.
Ralph Millns and Tom Jefferson in the cockpit of a Blenheim (Tom Jefferson)
Ralph's reward for surviving the adrenalin-stirring Malta detachment that followed
was an appointment to a commission in January 1942. Deprived of his pilot, Tom,
whose knee injury would ground him for several months, Ralph continued to serve on
the squadron detachment until its disbandment in Egypt in March and the later
reconstitution of the squadron in the UK.
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On 7th July, it was time to move on, and Ralph was posted to 139 Squadron,
Horsham St Faith, which had itself only just reformed after its absorption in the Far
East by 62 Squadron. Now equipped with Blenheim Mk Vs (Bisleys), the squadron
sensibly declined to use them operationally; instead, they borrowed some Mosquitoes
from co-located 105 Squadron for the task in hand, before getting their own allocation
in September.
In the meantime, Ralph had been despatched to Manby within four days of his
arrival on the squadron, to complete No 41 Bombing Leaders Course.
By the end of September, both Ralph's squadron and 105 had moved to nearby
Marham. In mid-October, Ralph was promoted to acting flight lieutenant. This must
have been the most exhilarating time of his career: high-speed, low-level pinpoint
accuracy in an aircraft that could give enemy fighters a good run for their money,
provided that both engines were operating satisfactorily. The life expectancy on
Mosquitoes was far, far greater than that on Blenheims; but the new role brought
increased demands in the art of formation flying. Paradoxically, the most difficult
position of all is that of the leader, even though his numbers two and three may be
sweating buckets to maintain their respective positions. On the leader rests the
awesome responsibility of ensuring that all formation changes are performed
smoothly enough to be followed with ease by his wingmen. Ralph's untimely death
would bear witness to this fact.
In February 1943, Ralph was posted to 105 Squadron, to become the CO's
navigator. Wg Cdr G.P. Longfield had replaced Wg Cdr Hughie Edwards VC. When
Tim Partridge took Hughie Edwards's place on the Rotterdam, raid on 16th July 1941,
he had survived as a squadron commander for just a fortnight. When Geoffrey
Longfield replaced Hughie Edwards, history would repeat itself.
On 26th February 1943, the naval stores at Rennes were attacked by twenty
Mosquitoes from the Marham-based squadrons, 105 and 139. Geoffrey Longfield and
Ralph Millns were leading the ten Mosquitoes from 105 Squadron on the 'low-level
element' of the attack. Disaster struck. When Wg Cdr Longfield realised that he was
bearing down on a gun emplacement he turned sharply to avoid it - a reaction which
our Tornado crews in the Gulf War would fully understand. Regrettably, this violent
manoeuvre resulted in his colliding with his number two, crewed by Fg Off S.G.
Kimmel RCAF and Fg Off H.N. Kirkland RCAF. The CO's aircraft, Mosquito Mk IV
DZ 365, was sliced in two and was seen to crash out of control. The other aircraft DZ 413 - was last seen to be losing height after the collision, and had a glycol leak but
was apparently under control.
By chance, one of my fellow pilots on the MAFF fleet of FR Aviation Ltd has a
cottage near Rennes. After discussing the crash with Roger Dickinson, he
immediately offered to visit Rennes Eastern Communal Cemetery, take photographs
and glean any other information available. As good as his word, he traced the graves
of Wg Cdr Longfield, Flt Lt Millns and Fg Off Kirkland. He rang me from Rennes: he
had searched the entire cemetery for the fourth grave, but could find no trace of Fg
Off Kimmel's earthly remains. (Fg Off Spencer Griffith Kimmel RCAF also died on
26th February 1943, but is buried in Bretteville-sur-Laize Canadian War Cemetery,
nine miles SSE of Caen). On Ralph's grave, Roger noted, was the following poignant
inscription:
GOD TOOK OUR SON
BUT HE WILL LINK
THE BROKEN CHAIN
MOTHER AND DAD
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How did Ralph's WOp/AG on Blenheims remember him? Scotty informs me:
'Quiet chap he was. No vices as far as I could see: I don't think he went carousing
like some of us (off to the "Samson & Hercules" etc.). He led a pretty quiet, sort of
responsible life: he wasn't looked down on because of it, as he was such a nice chap.
He wasn't pompous or setting himself up as a model of virtue: you wouldn't last a
doddle doing that. A good navigator: after all, he navigated us out to Malta, which
was no mean feat. You only have to miss...'
After interviewing Ralph's former pilot, Tom Jefferson, I discovered just how good
a navigator he was. Tom's biography makes it abundantly clear that Ralph Millns was
one of the finest navigators of the Second World War.
Ralph Millns and Tom Jefferson (Tom Jefferson)
435
FLT LT M.S. SCOTNEY AE
(WOp/AG IN JEFFERSON CREW)
Historians will be grateful that 'Scotty' Scotney was as efficient at handling a
camera as a pair of Browning machine-guns. On the Rotterdam raid of 16th July
1941, Scotty decided that spraying the docks might cause casualties among innocent
Dutch workers, and elected to wield a Leica instead. The net result was a collection of
photographs which was eagerly pounced upon by the contemporary press, showing
bomb explosions on Nazi-occupied territory, and some evocative shots across the port
engine nacelle of the last minutes of Wg Cdr Tim Partridge's life.
The tragic loss of the CO made a profound impression on Scotty. He recalls:
'Up until then, I hadn't had too many frightening experiences. It was all a bit of an
adventure really: all going nicely. It wasn't until Partridge got the chop that I began to
think that maybe it wasn't so funny. And as time went on, we got even narrower
squeaks, and it became even less funny.'
By the end of his tour of operations on Blenheims, just before the end of the fearful
Malta detachment, Scotty's nerves, like those of most of his colleagues, were about as
taut as the strings of the ukulele which he liked to play. But he had survived, against
appalling odds, and the authorities were canny enough to recognise that the best way
of utilising Scotty's valuable and hard-won experience was by passing it on to others
as an air-gunnery instructor.
Scotty obviously developed a taste for teaching: by the time I met him in May 1983
he was the headmaster of a London school. I was particularly impressed by his
opening statement on that occasion:
436
'Now, I won't tell you anything that I'm not absolutely sure about. What I'm sure
about, you can absolutely rely on.'
Subsequent cross-checking endorsed this assertion.
Born in Croydon on 13th February 1921, Montague Stanley Scotney, like so many
others, was not entirely happy with the Christian names chosen for him. He
confessed:
'They used to call me "Scotty" on the squadron. Growing up as a lad with a name
like Montague as a Christian name - you have to fight that off a bit!'
After leaving school, Scotty, by one of life's strange coincidences, worked for two
years for the same firm and in the same place as did my cousin, namely Lever
brothers in Unilever House. Their paths would again cross at No 17 OTU, Upwood.
Scotty pre-empted his call-up by enlisting in the RAFVR on 5th July 1939, as a u/t
WOp/AG, for a nominal five years. Less than two months later, Britain declared war
on Germany and Scotty was mobilised at No 2 London Training Centre. Like many
others, he was kept waiting and it was not until after the start of the Blitzkrieg in the
Low Countries that a place was found for him on the course at No 1 E&WS,
Cranwell. From there, Scotty graduated as an AC1 wireless-operator, with the ability
to handle Morse at a respectable 25 words per minute.
Inserted in Scotty's logbook is a cutting from a contemporary newspaper, which
depicts nine budding WOps about to climb into a Vickers Valentia biplane; the
caption reads:
'Young apprentices at an RAF station in the Midlands receive part of their
instruction in a huge plane popularly known as "The Flying Classroom".'
Scotty has underlined 'popularly': obviously, his first ever excursion into the air - in
Vickers Valentia K3601 - made a lasting impact! Other short sorties on Westland
Wallace II and de Havilland Dominie aircraft completed the near-seven hour flying
course.
On 9th August 1940, Scotty enrolled on the gunners' course at No 5 B&GS Jurby,
Isle of Man. In only another seven hours of flying - 12 sorties - on Battle and
Blenheim aircraft, he became a fully-qualified air-gunner.
At the end of the first week of September, Scotty commenced what was to prove a
marathon stay at No 17 OTU Upwood. Initially flying in Avro Ansons, he completed
the rest of the course mainly on Blenheims; his monthly logbook summaries are
signed by Sqn Ldr P.F. Webster.
Scotty flew with a variety of pilots at Upwood, not finally crewing up with Tom
Jefferson until towards the end of the course. One pilot left an indelible impression on
him, a certain Fg Off Broadley. Scotty's logbook entry for 1st May 1941 simply
records: 'Shoot-up of March (War Weapons Week)'. The interview reveals more:
'Mad devil he was. Did a shoot-up of March with him...We did such a tight turn that
I completely blacked out. I didn't lose consciousness, but that was the first time I'd
ever done that in a Blenheim! I remember he was a very nice person and I was
pleased to see he was taken prisoner, and not killed.'
437
Historical research is liberally sprinkled with such pitfalls: Ben Broadley of
Rotterdam fame went through No 13 OTU Bicester somewhat earlier, and on 1st May
1941 he was taking part in a shipping sweep whilst on 105 Squadron...
Another of Scotty's OTU memories qualifies for an entry in Laddie Lucas's book
Out of the Blue (Hutchinson & Co, 1985), in which fate is seen to intervene at
appropriate moments in one's lifetime. Scotty confesses:
'We didn't go through OTU very quickly. Not much flying; very little to do. So bods
used to whip off for weekends, and we used to get people to stand in. And this bloke
called Eric Blomley, I remember, had just got married, and he was going off to see his
wife; and he was on a night-flying test; so I said that I would do it for him. Now, for
some reason or another, I didn't get this Blenheim but another chap did, and this
aircraft crashed. The pilot and observer were killed, and this air-gunner got away with
it. Now, I very clearly remember going to see this air-gunner when he was taken to
sick bay. And he was badly burned, and he was lying down; and he said to me: "You
should have been here, you bugger!"'
The course eventually finished, and Scotty joined 18 Squadron at Oulton on 28th
June 1941. In at the deep end, he was soon involved in attacks on shipping and fringe
targets. Following his participation in the successful raid on Le Havre on 10th July,
Scotty pulled off the air-gunner's dream when he was credited with the shooting down
of a Messerschmitt Bf 109. The action took place during a North Sea sweep off
IJmuiden on 14th July, during which Tom Jefferson claimed hits on a 6,000-ton
merchant ship. Scotty takes up the story:
'We attacked this ship, and then these Messerschmitts suddenly appeared. We were
flying up the coast; one of them made a quarter-attack , a traditional quarter-attack:
beautiful, copy-book - he couldn't have done it better. He was coming in, and he didn't
seem to care: he just came in. And I remember firing both machine-guns at him, and
one stuck; and I thought I'd better not bother trying to toggle that, so I kept firing both
off. Now, I don't think he was firing at us, and I'll tell you why. My theory is that they
were a training squadron, and that they were so cocky that they made this attack on us
quite distinctly and carefree; and I fired at him and he went off. But, before that, the
one that I shot down: I didn't see it go, but it's in the book and signed up: it flew
alongside, parallel with me - now that's the God's honest truth! About as far away as
that block of flats [about 200 yards]. It was either cockiness, or this bloke was
following another Blenheim that was ahead of us, and was so rookie and
inexperienced that he didn't realise that he was presenting me with a sitting duck. And
I fired at him, and then looked up and saw the other one making a quarter-attack on
us, so I didn't keep my eye on him. I'd fired a long burst at him, but I thought I'd better
be interested in what was going on behind! Now, when we got back, they said that
they saw that one go in, though I didn't see him.'
And then came the Rotterdam raid, which would radically change Scotty's outlook
on life; the entry in his logbook carries a newspaper cutting from the In Memoriam
section regarding Wg Cdr Tim Partridge.
On 5th August, after an army cooperation exercise near Candlesby (Lincolnshire),
Tom Jefferson finished up in a ploughed field after his flaps had malfunctioned. (Is
there some correlation between this and Tom's account of 14th September?). The
WOp/AG's feelings in such circumstances are always interesting to record:
438
'I was in the turret; and one of the jobs of the WOp/AG, as you were coming in to
the final approach, was to get out and undo the accumulator. I suppose it was if you
did prang, and the electrics were connected at that end...As we were coming into land,
I felt an uneven movement in the aircraft; as you'll appreciate, if everything was going
fine, no change of engine note etc [there was on 14th September!), no cause for alarm;
but immediately something strange happened, you were like this! And as we were
coming in, up went that wing, like that, and it came back very slowly. And I looked
down the front, and I could see Jeff [Tom] and Ralph, and they didn't seem to be
panicking; and it didn't come through on the intercom, though it might have done
afterwards. So I got out of my turret, and I was just bending down to undo this
accumulator, and there was a God Almighty prang. I was chucked around like a pea in
a can. We had pranged, but what I didn't know was how we crashed. I was in the
bowels, so to speak, of a Blenheim, and I couldn't see out. And I had this previous
intimation that something wasn't right; and as soon as we hit, I knew that we crashed,
but not how we crashed. I remember vividly lying on my back, and thinking: "Well,
we've pranged!", and I was waiting for the decisive blow; because, for all I knew,
we'd gone in, and the chucking round was just a prelude to death. Now, this is true,
I've told this before: a great feeling of peace came over me, as I was lying on my
back. Whether this is in the mind, at the moment of death, that conditions you to it, I
don't know. But that's not my imagination: this great feeling of peace was very
marked. [This is a classic near-death experience - see also Douglas Bader's account of
when he was in hospital, after his legs were amputated, and nearly slipped away]. And
then, of course, I let myself out of the hatch; and Ralph up the front had been
knocked about a bit: he spent two or three days in hospital. I was bruised all over;
although I sat or leant for about two weeks afterwards, I discovered new parts that had
been whacked! I don't even remember being examined, though I suppose I must have
been.'
Mid-August, and Scotty was down at Manston for Channel Stop. It will be recalled
that Tim Partridge's regular WOp/AG, Sgt Idris 'Charlie' Davies, had escaped death
on the Rotterdam raid due to compassionate leave. Scotty remembers a conversation
with him during the Manston detachment:
'When we were doing this "Channel Stop", we used to have standby crews, and we
were called out for this ship. I remember ever so clearly: we used to have these Irving
jackets - thick leather, fur-lined; and just before we were getting kitted up to go, I
remember saying to [Davies]: "What shall I wear for this, as it's low-level?" He said:
"You'd better put that [Irving] on - it will stop the flak!" Thank you!'
On 19th August, Sgt Nickleson and crew dropped Wg Cdr Douglas Bader's artificial
leg over St Omer aerodrome. Though Scotty was not one of the two 'Rotterdam'
WOp/AGs who flew on this raid (Flt Sgt Antley and Sgt Allan), he has poignant
connections with the Canadian pilot responsible for restoring mobility to the legless
ace. During these turbulent 2 Group days, Scotty kept one of the Battle Orders, which
he amended from time to time. He explains:
'When we were first married, and living in Putney, I had this Battle Order, as I used
to call it. They used to put them up in the squadron, perhaps the night before: you
would see, obviously not where you were going, but who was on the Battle Order for
439
tomorrow. You would have all your crews, and, I think, all your aircraft on it as well.
And I used to stub out my cigarette against all those blokes who got the chop. And I
just kept it, until I met this woman who knew this particular chap (Nickleson): and I
gave it to her saying that he dropped Bader's legs, and she should have it as a
souvenir.'
Nickleson's WOp/AG, Sgt Peirson, was one of Scotty's friends. 'Poor devil', Scotty
told me. 'He used to give me his wallet before he flew on "Channel Stop", saying: "If I
don't come back...".'
When the inevitable happened on 20th September 1941, Scotty had a grandstand
view of the tragedy. It was the one occasion when his skill with a camera let him
down. During an attack on shipping off the Dutch coast, Sgt Nickleson's aircraft, F for
Freddie, was seen to have its starboard engine on fire and crash into the sea. Scotty
takes up the story:
'I had a camera again - a Leica - and his wing-tip, about that much of his wing was
sticking out of the water, and I snapped it. But when I got back, none of the shots had
come out: I'd done something wrong. But that memory has stayed very vivid with me.'
Scotty is understandably proud of his sortie on 14th September 1941. The scenario
is a North Sea shipping sweep off The Hague. The action photograph of Tom
Jefferson brushing the waves whilst lining up on a 10,000-tonner captures Blenheim
operations in a nutshell. Scotty's logbook comments include: 'Aircraft hit by flak from
escorting vessels. Attacked by 3 Me 109s. Have a bit of wing.'
Around this time, much valuable newsreel footage was shot of Blenheim operations,
and Scotty found himself elevated to the status of a film star. He recalls:
'They have made films of Blenheim activity: there's one called "Daylight Sweep", I
think. I was on that one; it was shown on "Pathé News". It was when we were on the
squadron. How I remember it was, they filmed our crew getting in and out of the
aircraft; and, as is the wont of these film people, you did one or two things all at once.
I remember climbing up onto the wing and getting into the turret, and having to get
out and do it all again. There was a shot of a crew being briefed. I was apparently on
that: I didn't actually see the Pathé Gazette thing, but I was told that they saw me. It
was shown in cinemas and things like this; and I had a black eye at the time because
I'd had a contretemps with some Polish sergeant-pilot being bolshy; and he threw one
punch and knocked me down and out, and he knocked my friend down and out. It was
an argument over some WAAF or girl, or something like that: I actually stepped in to
try and separate these two, and he took a swipe and caught me and it went on to my
friend - two in one!'
And so to Malta. After their interesting stop at Gibraltar, the Jefferson crew were
soon in the thick of the Allied effort to prevent Rommel's supplies from getting
through. Scotty's description of his last raid sounds about par for the course, as he
vividly recalls:
'Now, the most dicey period was Malta - without a doubt. The very last raid I did,
there were six of us who went out; and, of course, Jeff was leading this lot. And I
think they used to have PRU Spitfires [more likely Maryland Is] go out: sort out
where there was something going over; and it was usually a supply ship taking stuff
440
over to Rommel: and they were quite vital to Rommel at this time. And then he would
say where it was; and they would send a Blenheim down on a square search, which
we used to do...I knew that I had to do what I had to do...You knew your luck was
running out: it had to be running out - all you could see in front of you was just going
on until you got the chop! And on this, my very last raid, there was this merchant ship
with a destroyer. Now, I saw the smoke on the horizon before anyone else did, but I
said nothing; let someone else declare this one! So someone said: "Smoke on
horizon!" We attacked in pairs: old Jeff went in first, and as we came in - again, this is
a vivid memory - the nose of the destroyer came round; and we were right on this
thing, to the extent where, in levelling his pom-poms, the water was churned up like
milk. The ship was not all that tall, and we were pulled up over it - you had to: you
know the technique with the 11-second delay bombs - and then old Jeff stuffed the
nose down. Now, I'm in the back, like this, obviously going that way, and all I'm
aware of then is the fact that suddenly - oomph! - and both engines cut out; and
suddenly there was nothing! Now, I knew we ended up at 200 feet at the most; and,
you see, as the gunner, you're not really at the centre of things; I didn't know if we
were going in, or Jeff had been hit, or what the hell was happening. Then suddenly,
wham! - we pulled out! As we pulled out, the bloke next to us had been hit: he went
off like a rocket - I could see his pale blue underbelly (they used to paint it very pale
turquoise blue in the Middle East). And then, of course, when he got the stall at the
top, he went straight in: splash - that was that! We circled; watched the next two come
in; I can't remember if it was the first or the second one, but another Blenheim did
precisely the same thing - straight up, like that.'
Scotty asked me why this should happen. I assumed that many pilots in those days
trimmed nose-up when flying at low-level, to cater for sudden incapacitation. (After
writing this, I was pleased to read that Terence O'Brien used to wind the 'wheel of the
elevator trim so as to create upward pressure on the stick. I always did this in lowlevel attacks, right from early Blenheim days; it was a safety measure to ensure we
climbed rather than dived if I lost control.' (Chasing After Danger by Terence
O'Brien: Collins 1990). Later post-war teaching recommended that an aircraft be
trimmed hands-off for straight and level flight.
It was a much relieved and very grateful Scotty who returned to the UK aboard the
Cunard White Liner Britannic early in 1942.
July 1942 marked the start of No 21 Air Gunners Instructors' Course at Manby.
After three weeks, and some 11½ hours flying on Wellingtons, Scotty was a fully
qualified AGI. What was more, he had passed out top of the course with a
magnificent 88.5%. The reward for the top two was a swift posting to the Central
Gunnery School at Sutton Bridge. Accompanying Scotty was his good friend, Freddie
Colville. Freddie later crewed up with another CGS instructor, Richard Trevor-Roper,
who was Wg Cdr Guy Gibson's rear-gunner on the Dams Raid. They were both
blasted out of the sky during the Nuremberg raid of 31st March 1944, victims of
Major Drewes's Schräge Musik.
The time spent at CGS produced its crop of memorable incidents, as Scotty recalls:
'We used to fly four trips a day. What we were doing at CGS was liaising with the
top fighter pilots of the time. They would come and be trained for fighter-piloting, and
you'd have all the top ones there doing instructing: Sailor Malan was there; Screwball
Beurling; Johnnie Johnson. And I would go up as instructor, and I'd be sitting beside
the pilot in the Wellington: I did about 600 hours like that. There would be one of the
441
chaps on the course in the astrodome; another in the tail. These fighter pilots would
come in, doing their bit; and we used to have Lightnings, Thunderbolts, Spitfires - the
lot. We lost two aircraft like that: fighters not breaking off and crashing into the
Wellington. One of them I was on caught fire - I was in the astrodome - and I
suddenly saw a flicker of flame between the port engine and the fuselage. I told the
skipper, and hared for the exit and jumped out onto the grass; and the whole thing
went whoosh! Went up. The fire engine came, pointed hoses, and somebody said:
"Right!", and all the clear water came out the back - Fred Karno outfit!'
Most air-gunners seemed keen on encroaching on the pilots' reserve. Scotty got his
chance on Wellingtons. He explains:
'There was a mate of mine called Sharman at CGS. He used to take me somewhere,
and would climb out of the pilot's seat, and I would climb in! I held it as steady as I
could, but I thought supposing one of the engines were to cut out! But it's amazing
what you got to learn through sitting next to a Wimpey pilot for 600 hours. I'm sure
that if I'd ever had to do something in an emergency, I'd have had a fair old idea; not
that I would have done it, but at least I wouldn't have been cold.'
December 1943 was a highlight for Scotty. On the first day of the month he
qualified as an 'A' Category Gunnery Leader, with an incredible assessment of 97%.
Warrant Officer Scotney was commissioned just two days later. No one would be
surprised to learn that Scotty's expertise as an instructor was fully utilised until the
end of hostilities.
After the war, Scotty trained as an air traffic controller. He also experienced a
temporary elevation of status. He admits, not a little proudly:
'I was a commanding officer for a short time. Just a line-shoot! That was at Bahrain.
Our CO was Sqn Ldr Kee. Now, when he went off, it had to be the senior aircrew
bloke who took charge, even though there were wing commanders and squadron
leaders there; but I was the senior aircrew there, so I was CO for a week!'
The final years of Scotty's career in the Service are best summed up in his own
words:
'I was in the VR after the war, and I was flying from Fairoaks [No 18 Reserve
Flying School: Anson aircraft] until 1953. I was crewed up with a BBC producer, and
a chap who owned a firm that did all the flower arrangements round the big buildings.
They stopped the VR as such in 1953: the flying, anyway. I could have stayed in as an
intelligence officer.'
By any standards, Scotty's contribution to the war effort is of the highest order. His
only tangible recognition of his valuable service to King and Country came in the
form of the Air Efficiency Award - granted to all those who have served as
Volunteers in the Air Forces of the Empire for a period of ten years.
The Scotney family-at-war also included a brother who, after initially training with
the RAF in Canada, transferred to the Fleet Air Arm. In 1984, at the age of 60, he
retired from Dan Air.
Scotty proved a first-class contact and good friend. He is as keen as I to give due
credit to the unsung Blenheim heroes of yesteryear.
442
Scotty Scotney's logbook page of the Rotterdam raid of 16 Jul 41. Note the insertion
of the press cutting obituary to his CO, Wg Cdr Tim Partridge (Scotty Scotney)
443
SGTS R.J.B. ROST, J. HUGHES & S.W. WINTER
L to R: Stanley Winter, Ronald Rost and John Hughes
After Lt George Butterworth MC was killed during the Battle of the Somme in
August 1916, his commanding officer expressed surprise that he had served with so
distinguished a musician. The tragic loss of Sgt John Hughes on the Rotterdam raid of
16th July 1941 may well have evoked similar sentiments.
John had sat exams at Trinity College of Music, London, and won at least one silver
medal for piano and organ. His repertoire was astonishing, ranging from volunteer
organist at St Columba's church - where the family sang in the choir - to home
entertainment on the piano. John's elder brother, Henry, was justly proud of him. He
wrote:
'John was an accomplished pianist, and enlightened his leaves from the Civil
Service and RAF with musical interludes, with excerpts from "Il Trovatore" etc,
"Danny Boy", and pop songs of the day like "Red Sails in the Sunset".'
Before enlisting in the RAF on 24th April 1940, John worked for the Post Office,
specialising in telephone accounts. His favourite non-musical pursuit was youth
hostelling and mountain climbing in Snowdonia. A close friend on these excursions
would meet a similar fate to his own.
After completing his initial training at No 5 ITW, Torquay, in September 1940,
John headed northwards to begin navigational training at No 1 AONS, Prestwick. By
the New Year, he had completed some 67 hours on Avro Ansons and those
remarkable Fokker aircraft G-AFXR and G-AFZP. With a pass mark of 84%, he was
assessed as 'Above Average'.
444
A move to Wales, and John joined No 9 B&GS, Penrhos, where eleven hours on
Fairey Battles qualified him as a bomb-aimer, and a similar total on Whitleys added
the air-gunner endorsement.
For most of March and April, temporary Sergeant Air Observer John Hughes filled
in time performing calibration duties in Blenheim Mk IVs, based at Ouston,
Northumberland, before joining No 13 OTU, Bicester. With initial training on
Ansons, John transferred to Blenheims and finally crewed up with his young
Australian pilot, Ronald Rost, on 28th May 1941. The Rost/Hughes/Winter team
presented themselves for all that 2 Group had to offer, on the first day of July, at
Oulton, Norfolk, where 18 Squadron was then based. Their period of service on that
squadron would be identical to that of the new CO, Wg Cdr Tim Partridge, who had
arrived on the same day.
After the duty acclimatisation of bombing and formation practice, John completed
his first operation on 7th July: a shipping beat (No 7: Wangerooge, East Frisian
Islands). The only target, a tug and two barges, miraculously escaped the bombing
efforts of the entire nine-strong formation, though the gunners raked the decks as a
consolation prize. The raid on Le Havre, just three days later, was far more
satisfactory for all concerned, though John's aircraft - V6262 (WV:R) - sustained
damage and would not feature again in his logbook.
An uneventful shipping beat on 12th July - No 9: Terschelling Island - was followed
a day later by a move down the road to Horsham St Faith. The shipping beat off
IJmuiden on 14th July turned out better, with John's crew claiming direct hits on a
6,000-tonner.
Sgt John Hughes - No 18 Sqn, Horsham St Faith (Henry Hughes)
445
And then dawned the final day in the lives of Ronald Rost, John Hughes and
Stanley Winter - 16th July 1941: the raid on Rotterdam docks. The hand-written
squadron ORB reads: 'Seen by Sgt Dunham (APN 680) to crash in flames east of
Ypenburg. Reason for crash unknown.' This suggests that John and his crew were hit
during the run over the docks - probably by the Vorposten Flotille - and that Ronald
Rost did a valiant job to get as far as he did. But all to no avail, as the crew departed
this life later in the day, it is believed, in hospital at Delft. However, one report states
that John Hughes and Stanley Winter were killed instantly, but Ronald Rost died a
few hours later in the hospital. They lie buried in Westduin General Cemetery near
The Hague.
John's final total of flying hours is startling: just 199 by day and 7 by night. At 21
years of age, he was probably older than the average at that time.
After the war, in the late forties, John's brother Henry and sister Joan visited the
Westduin Cemetery as guests of the Netherlands War Graves Commission: one of the
many acts of hospitality freely offered by the Dutch in recognition of the gallantry of
the Allied aircrew. Their sentiments do not appear to diminish with the passage of
time.
The Hughes brothers were yet another family-at-war. Henry was a flight mechanic,
serving at Boscombe Down about the same time as Wg Cdr Tom Webster, and then
later on 267 Squadron in Burma. Younger brother, David, served in the Highland
Light Infantry, seeing action in Eritrea and Ethiopia. He died of a heart attack in 1977.
Sgt John Hughes - No 18 Sqn, Horsham St Faith (Henry Hughes)
446
The last page of the logbook of Sgt John Hughes, who was killed on the Rotterdam
raid of 16th July 1941 (Henry Hughes)
Sgt Ronald Rost RAAF - No 18 Sqn, Horsham St Faith
447
FLT LT A.C. POWNER MBE
By the time that I met Tony Powner in the Broadway Arms, on 31st March 1983, I
had already learned something about him from his Blenheim WOp/AG, Fred Daniels.
Just eleven days previously, Fred had painted the following word-picture of his
erstwhile pilot. He had told me:
'We used to get one or two hair-brained ones, but they weren't normal! Tony
Powner was one of those. When we were in the Middle East, he was the only pilot
who could fly under the telephone wires! That was really going low: it used to
frighten me more than operations! We used to call them "Submarine pilots". I was the
oldest member of the crew, and though I was only a sergeant, and Tony was a pilot
officer, I used to tell him one or two things when he got really low!'
There was no mistaking the steely-eyed look of the sprightly 62-year-old gentleman
I was interviewing. The years had been kind to him. Better still, from my point of
view, he had kept a diary of those turbulent years, and a well-stocked photograph
album.
Tony's operational stay in 2 Group lasted just eleven days. For many aircrew, it was
even less, as victims of the Grim Reaper. Tony's short tour was due to a flagrant
disregard of one of the first principles one learns on joining the RAF - never volunteer
for anything. Tony and his crew put their names down at the top of the list on the 18
Squadron notice board, asking for volunteers for the Middle East: they were accepted
before the ink was barely dry. But was this the case of 'out of the frying pan into the
fire'? Not for Tony. Despite repeated attacks on convoys, when the flak was
'impossible: like trying to run across a street in a thunderstorm, without getting a spot
on you', Tony could make the following incredible claim: 'Mercifully, touch wood, I
didn't get a hole - ever!' What was his secret? Survivors of World War Two tend to
448
come down strongly in favour of pure luck. Many historians emphasise the part that
skill has to play. I believe it is a combination of both, and worth a second look in
Tony's case.
West-Midlander, Antony Cyril Powner, was born on 17th June 1921. His early
school days were spent at Stafford, where the staff set a cracking pace. Tony assessed
his efforts here as 'very middle of the way'. When he was fifteen, his father started a
new business, and the family moved from Stafford to Brewood, about halfway
between their old home and Wolverhampton. The new school was of a much lower
standard and consequently, Tony recalls, 'they looked upon me as a genius!'
Before enlisting in June 1940, Tony served in Birmingham University Officers'
Training Corps. En route to No 1 Recruits Wing, Northcliffe, Torquay, at the end of
July 1940, he would have either brushed the bottom of my garden by train, or rattled
my windows with his Standard 8 car as he shot along the A380.
At the beginning of November, Tony commenced his advanced training as a pilot at
No 12 SFTS, Spitalgate, Grantham, emerging as a fully qualified sergeant-pilot on 8th
March 1941. The 'temporary' prefix to his new rank could not have been more
appropriate, as Tony was commissioned the very next day! Plt Off Powner arrived at
No 17 OTU, Upwood, just one week later for operational training on Blenheims.
Tony enjoyed showing me the photographs which were taken during the course at
Upwood: 'That's Stan Gunnis, and Frankie Orme, and Malcolm Walkden, with my
little old car', he enthused. All three of these Rotterdam heroes would be killed before
the end of August 1941.
Most of this course, including my cousin, reported for duty at their respective
squadrons in 2 Group on American Independence Day - 4th July. The Powner crew
were an exception. An explanation was proffered:
'Now Malcolm [Walkden], for some reason, got to the squadron a day earlier than
me: I think there was some misunderstanding about the day we had to report, or
something like that - I can't understand why. It may have been that our leave pass said
"for duty on such and such a date", and we looked at the date, and turned up on that
date. We weren't hauled over the coals for it.'
Tony recalls his early days on 18 Squadron:
'Tim Partridge: a rather gentle soul. I remember that we arrived on the squadron,
and obviously met him, and he had a talk with us; and he said that the first few days
we would be doing a few training flights; and, in fact, tomorrow morning, they've got
a wrecked ship off the coast, near Cromer, and we're going to do practice runs over
that. We'll probably do that for a few days, and then we'll sort out a raid when you'll
start. We did these practice bombing runs on this ship the next morning; and
apparently he used to go and sit on the cliff in a car and watch, and see what was
going on. There was no radio, but he knew when we were going to be there. One
night, we were quietly having a noggin in the Mess before dinner, I think, and Tim
came across and said: "There's a nice little job on tomorrow, and I think you had
better come with me". And it happened to be the one on Le Havre: that was my first
trip.'
There was extensive press coverage of this successful 2 Group raid. The photograph
of the debriefing appeared in The Birmingham Post, which was read by Tony's father.
The pilot standing in the shadows on the left hand side of the picture was easily
449
recognised by Mr Powner, by the way Tony held his cigarette! Also featured in the
photograph, Tony pointed out, were the Walkden crew and the CO, Tim Partridge.
Tony remarked:
'Notice how Tim Partridge has his belt undone. The fighter boys used to leave their
top buttons undone! It was an anti-fighter thing: not many of us did it, I think, at that
time, but it spread a bit.'
Tony completed two shipping beats, on 12th and 14th July, before he found himself
earmarked for the Rotterdam, raid on the 16th.
Referring to his diary entries from the 15th onwards, Tony continued:
'We saw a film the night before, called "Backstreet". Heard that our 'planes were
being fitted with cable-cutters. Balloons tomorrow. And we went up to flights to find
that I was flying with 139 Squadron. 16th July: not briefed until after lunch. Told that
we were posted to the Middle East. Went in the mass raid to Rotterdam. Did a hell of
a lot of damage. The Dutch people really waved to us. Too late to get cleared from the
camp, so I went on a squadron binge in Norwich. Met Frankie [Orme] and Stan
[Gunnis], Philip [Ashby], Gilbert [Lowes] and Gerry Seeley. Had a grand time, but I
can't remember meeting them! We just happened to meet them: there was one pub we
used to use...on this side of the road, and one that side. The pongos had the one on
that side of the road, and we used the one this side; and they periodically decided to
come over and beat us up, or we'd decide to go over and beat them up! It's a funny
thing: in my early twenties, we seemed to do a hell of a lot of scrapping, in the
barrack rooms! On the 17th, we were charging around getting cleared. We set off for
home after lunch...I went to my old school on 18th July: Brewood (pronounced
"Brood").'
Fashion has a habit of going the full circle from time to time. 'Look at those long
shorts!', Tony disdainfully remarked, pointing at a photograph taken at Gibraltar,
when the crew were en route to the Middle East. At the time of writing, these
garments would be the last word in beachwear!
On the afternoon of 11th August, Tony, in company with three other ex-UK crews,
landed his Blenheim at Aqir, Palestine, to commence his tour with 55 Squadron. His
arrival coincided with a period of rest and training, no doubt welcomed as an
opportunity to acclimatise. Tony opened his account on 13th September with an antisubmarine patrol and a search for a missing aircraft. On 21st September, the squadron
moved to Fuka in Egypt. From here, and other bases in the Western Desert, Tony flew
a number of anti-shipping strikes against enemy convoys. Memories of this period
were not so much a line-shoot but more in the form of an admission, which Tony no
doubt withheld from the authorities at the time! Tony confessed:
'I've flown when I was a bit tight once, in the desert, on this foul Australian beer.
We were stuck up there, as a forward base, waiting to be pulled back: the inevitable
Sidi Barrani! We were eventually called back, and we found this beer, and started
drinking it: we'd had no proper food with us. So we took off and flew back, and I
decided to have a dogfight with a Hurricane: we had to have a Hurricane fighter
escort there. One of the Hurricanes was U/S, so I'd got the pilot with me, and the other
one decided he'd have a little dogfight with us. I just about lost my Blenheim: but they
were good aircraft!'
450
In May 1942, the squadron re-equipped with Baltimores, but not before Tony had
returned to the UK.
Very occasionally, the postings branch manages to slot a round peg into a round
hole. This would appear to have been the case when Tony was detailed for work with
Overseas Air Despatch Units; at the end of hostilities, his expertise earned him the
award of an MBE. Tony modestly brushed aside his prestigious gong with the
following words:
'That was really for the dogsbody work at Portreath: I was stuck down there for a
long time - three years, I suppose, with the period after the war - despatching aircraft
out on the Middle East route.'
After the war, Tony joined the family business, Abrasive Products, a producer of
grinding wheels, founded in 1936 by his father, who was then unwell. He then kept
his flying currency by transferring to the Volunteer Reserve, completing periods of
annual training at No 45 Reserve Centre, No 6 FTS (Ternhill) and RAF Valley,
joining the jet set on Vampires. He was keen on motor rallying, joining the North
Staffs and South Staff Car Clubs. He also owned a Riley and joined the Riley Motor
Club. The Air Training Corps was next to benefit from his expertise, first at Cosford
and then at Shawbury. In 1958, he became a founding member of No 8 Air
Experience Flight at Cosford. He finally relinquished his commission in July 1978.
He met and married Martha, a WAAF, in August 1943 and had three daughters.
Martha died in November 1976. Tony remarried in March 1977.
Tony's health deteriorated during the last few years of his life and, after a five-week
stay in hospital, he died peacefully on 2nd November 2010 at the age of 89.
Tony's vivid recollections of his short stay with 2 Group were invaluable towards
the writing of this book.
There is an Obituary in Issue 70 of The Journal of the Blenheim Society. I was
surprised and pleased to discover that Tony was one of the founding members of the
Blenheim Society.
Tony Powner, Fred Daniels and Jack Sands, taken at Gibraltar, when en route for the
Middle East. Are these shorts now back in fashion? (Tony Powner)
451
Tony Powner, Broadway, Gloucestershire, March 1983 (Author's photo)
452
FLT LT J.B. SANDS
(OBSERVER IN POWNER CREW)
Jack Sands with his pilot, Tony Powner, behind him
'A blunt Yorkshire lad, and bah gum he liked it!' was how Tony Powner described
his observer. He added:
'He got us into some scrapes! In fact, it was only really at 18 [Squadron] that Jack
and I socialised a lot. He'd got this navigator friend that he had trained with, and he
tended to go out boozing with this bloke; and I tended to go out boozing with
Malcolm [Walkden] and Bernard [Matthews] more, and also Frankie Orme and Stan
Gunnis; and Jack felt a bit out of things. I think it was Bernard, as he was that bit
superior, and probably frowned on Jack's north country bluntness. But, of course,
when we left Upwood, and got onto a squadron, it was very different. Then you get
thrown together, whether you like it or not.'
Commissioned on the same day as his pilot - 9th March 1941 - Jack, some four
years older, must have seemed ancient to Tony when they crewed up at No 17 OTU
Upwood as brand new pilot officers.
Jack stuck faithfully to his pilot throughout their short stay on 18 Squadron,
followed by their longer tour in the Middle East. Such loyalty deserved a reward, as
Tony admitted:
'I taught Jack Sands to land the aircraft. We used to go out to a salt pan in the desert,
as a dispersal, and I sat alongside him and talked him down once or twice, in case I
ever got clobbered and he could get the crew back again.'
453
After the dangers of daylight low-level attacks on heavily-defended convoys, Jack
left 55 Squadron for No 13 OTU, Bicester. Not surprisingly, and in common with the
majority, he could not leave the training empire fast enough. After a year or so, Tony
received a telephone call from his old observer, as Tony recalls:
'He told me he was going onto Venturas. He rang me up to say: "Come on - I'm
going back on ops!" I told him to get stuffed on this...and he went to a chap called
Peter Court...who had been on 55 with us: he was a rather smooth Cranwell type.'
Flt Lts E.W. Court, J.B. Sands and Fg Off F.M. Henry duly arrived at Methwold on
8th July 1943, slotting themselves into 'B' Flight on 487 (NZ) Squadron. It was a
period of change for the squadron. The obsolete, and highly unpopular, Venturas were
being replaced by Mosquitoes: and not before time. The ORB entry for 20th
September 1943, when the squadron was based at Sculthorpe, succinctly states:
'Most of the Venturas are now away and, in fact, the last leaves tomorrow, so we
may now consider ourselves a Mosquito squadron.'
WOp/AG Mike Henry, author of Air Gunner (Foulis, 1964), saw the writing on the
wall. Realising that Mosquitoes did not carry his aircrew category, and that he would
soon become surplus to requirements, he made other arrangements. The ORB entry
for 1st September records:
'Fg Off Henry left us for 107 Squadron to crew up with a squadron leader he has
known for a long time. Goodbye and good luck.'
I rather like the style and attention to detail of the compiler of the 487 (NZ)
Squadron ORB. The entry for the 21st September reads:
'Now we hear 21 Squadron are joining us here, so we look like being very crowded
again - so what!'
By the end of the first week in October, the crews had converted onto their new
aircraft and were ready for action. On 9th October, Jack and his pilot, Edgar William
'Peter' Court, climbed into Mosquito HX 937 for what was to prove their first and last
operational sortie on the squadron. The raid was a disaster, with the weather definitely
to blame for 'all that went wrong', according to the compiler of the ORB. Twelve
aircraft were detailed to attack a target at Metz, but owing to bad visibility, great
difficulty was experienced in finding it. One or two aircraft did manage to get
through, but it was fairly certain that the target was not hit. The CO, Wg Cdr Wilson,
got through, but his navigator, Fg Off Bridgman, was mortally wounded and died in
hospital. One of the flight commanders, Sqn Ldr Wallington (with Flt Sgt Fawdry as
navigator), was seen to climb to about 800 feet with both engines stopped: only one of
the crew was seen to bale out. Jack's aircraft suffered an engine failure, and the crew
jettisoned their bombs. It was recorded that the bombs apparently went off and blew
the aircraft up, nearly putting an end to an adjacent aircraft, flown by Flt Lt Hanafin.
The ORB summarises:
'These were our total casualties, and, unhappily, they were all good men, and their
loss will be keenly felt by the squadron.'
454
In fact, Mosquito HX 937 staggered back as far as Antwerp, before coastal flak,
fighters or whatever claimed it. Jack's remains lie buried in the Schoonselhof
Cemetery. He was just 26 years of age.
The story does not quite end here. Tony Powner contributes this interesting sequel:
'I went to see his mother not many years ago; I don't know whether she's still alive:
batty as they come! Bingley in Yorkshire: my daughter just happened to live round
the corner. I knew roughly where she lived: on the side of a hill, with a road running
along, with some nice big houses on it. I took a walk up this hill one day, and I met
someone exercising a dog; and I asked if they happened to know if there was a Mrs
Sands still living there. And she said: " Well, you're standing right outside the house!"
You've never seen anything like it: it was completely overgrown; you had to go
through a tunnel, a jungle of a garden. I had to go round to the back: nothing at the
front: house and windows all going rotten. I knocked on the door, and this queer soul
came to the door: all sort of bandaged up and muffled up: shawls and things all over.
She wouldn't open the door: "I don't entertain gentlemen unless they have a lady with
them!" Anyway, she told me that she was quite happy: she spoke to Jack regularly, in
the spiritualist world, or whatever she lived in, and he's got it all ready for her to go
to. She firmly believed that this was the case. [As, in fact, I do].
There was a further slight coincidence in Bingley church, which has since been
demolished. They turned us round in the pews, because the font was at the back, and
we were facing backwards in the pew when the actual Christening of my grandchild
was taking place. And right behind the back row of the pews was a Roll of Honour: a
book in a case; and they turned the pages over each day, and there was something like
"Smith". So I asked the verger if I could have a look at this Roll of Honour, and he
said: "Yes - just lift the lid of the case up". I thought it would be locked. I turned over
the previous page, and Jack Sands's name was on it. So I just missed him by a day.'
455
WARRANT OFFICER F. DANIELS
(WOp/AG IN POWNER CREW)
I had written off Fred Daniels. He was killed on 5th November 1941 whilst
swerving with 18 Squadron during its Malta detachment; and, in company with so
many others, is commemorated on the Runnymede Memorial as having no known
grave. Such are the pitfalls awaiting the unsuspecting researcher! In fact, there were
two persons with the name of Fred Daniels on 18 Squadron during the latter part of
1941, and both were WOp/AGs!
My faux pas was laid bare one morning in late February 1983, when I read with
delight the following letter:
'Dear Sir, Having just joined the Aircrew Association, I noted your request in the
"Intercom" magazine for news regarding a raid on Rotterdam docks by Blenheims of
No 2 Group. I was with 18 Squadron stationed at Horsham St Faith and took part in
this raid, and I would be only too pleased to furnish you with any information you
might require. Yours faithfully, F. Daniels.'
I wasted no time in arranging a meeting with Fred, which took place in his local pub
at Selsey, on the south coast. On reflection, it would appear that virtually all my
interviews have been conducted in public houses or, at the very least, have been
helped along by alcohol. It must have been responsible in no small way for
overcoming tape-recorder shyness, and the remarkable content and quality of each
456
session. Reminiscing under an alcoholic haze must have brought back vivid memories
of those war years when, it seems to me, most aircrew spent all their spare time
consuming large quantities of the demon drink!
Then in his late sixties, Fred was as sprightly as they come, with a noticeable
twinkle in his eyes. His pencil-thin moustache of Blenheim vintage had been allowed
to bush out. He was another chap lucky enough to have possession of his logbooks
and a well-stocked album of wartime photographs. But his luck extended much
further, as the interview was about to reveal.
Fred enlisted at No 2 Reception Centre, Cardington, on 1st April 1940, a date
eminently suitable for that well-known RAF adage: 'If you can't take a joke, you
shouldn't have joined!' In late June, he reported to No 2 E&WS, Yatesbury. (When it
was time to change classrooms, martial music would be played over the tannoy
system!). That sprawling wind-swept collection of huts has now been completely
erased from the landscape: only the aerodrome buildings remain as memorials to the
vast number of aircrew that passed through, many - including my cousin - to an early
death.
Fred's next period of training was under the care of No 10 B&GS, Dumfries, which
he commenced in January 1941. At the end of March, Temporary Sgt-WOp/AG Fred
Daniels moved south again and joined the course for operational training on
Blenheims at No 17 OTU Upwood. Here he crewed up with Tony Powner and Jack
Sands.
Fred's short time with 18 Squadron, Oulton - later Horsham St Faith - was
memorable from two aspects. At 26 years of age, he was one of the old men of the
squadron, and consequently earned the nickname "Pop". Not so acceptable was a
lingering feeling of injustice as a result of a North Sea shipping sweep off IJmuiden
on 14th July 1941. Fred complained:
'We didn't get any recognition for this [pointing to the relevant entry in his logbook,
which reads: "Bombed convoy off Dutch coast. Shot down Me 109"]'
Explaining this oversight, he continued:
'We got separated from the squadron, and got attacked by this Me 109. Jack Sands,
our observer, was giving Tony Powner instructions: you know, get down on the deck,
left, left a bit, and get out of the way. I was rather fortunate: we were right down on
the deck, and I hit him, and he went right into the sea. We didn't hear any more about
it! Tony Powner thought it was most unfair.'
The fortunes of war again: on the very same sortie, Scotty Scotney was credited
with the shooting down of a Bf 109 which he did not personally witness; Fred
received no credit, even though the entire crew saw it with their own eyes. Battle of
Britain fighter pilots were no less indignant when their 'kills' were not witnessed, and
thus downgraded to 'probables' or even worse.
The encounter on the Rotterdam raid of 16th July, between the German gunner on
Spijkenisse bridge and the Blenheim air-gunner sitting behind Tony Powner appears
to be unresolved: Tony's aircraft returned unscathed and Fred made no claims.
An so to the Middle East, as volunteered for, via Portreath, Gibraltar and Malta.
Fred recalls:
457
'We didn't see much of the Malta detachment. We were only there for a short time.
It had been heavily bombed at that time, and we thought that this was a bit dangerous,
actually!'
They were lucky not to be 'hijacked' like so many other crews destined for the
Middle East!
But anti-shipping strikes and sweeps along the North African coast must have felt
much the same wherever one was based in the Mediterranean, and Fred was kept busy
crouched behind his twin-Brownings. I particularly like the 55 Squadron entry for 2nd
October 1941. It reads:
'One aircraft was ordered to carry out a search along the coast from Tolmeta to
Derna, for small craft by which the enemy are frequently sending stores to forward
areas. They were carrying out the patrol as ordered, when at 1012, an Me 109F was
seen closing in near Ras El Hilal. It closed to 100 yards, and Sgt Daniels fired two
short bursts; the enemy aircraft apparently not giving fire at all. The Blenheim,
however, made off to sea and back to base at Fuka.'
Not many crews survived to relate such a tale: where does luck like that come from?
In December, Fred's luck ran out - or did it? He was diagnosed as having
conjunctivitis, and ordered into a rest home for aircrew in Cairo. Whilst still
medically unfit, Fred was sent to 108 MU. He recalls:
'I was posted there for a short time. A place called Kilo 24, about 24 miles from
Cairo. Here they were testing the aircraft, and the Germans were coming along and
shooting them down while they were testing them!'
Losing contact with his squadron did not suit Fred at all, and he took drastic action:
'I got so fed up with going and seeing the MO, and saying: "Can you pass me as fit
to go back to the squadron?" But he kept saying: "You're not ready yet!" I was just
hanging about in Cairo, and feeling a bit fed up with this, so I hitch-hiked up to El
Adem: I got a lift with the Yankee aircrew from Cairo to El Adem. The old Wingco
was amazed that I had hitch-hiked all that way, and I told him that I was getting fed
up and waiting to get back on the squadron. He said that if the Medical Officer
wouldn't pass me, I would have to go back. He was such a nice bloke that he invited
me into the Officers' Mess, with Tony Powner and the crew; and, of course, we got
really jugged up as usual. I stayed in the officers' quarters overnight, and he got me a
lift back the following day, with another airman. We came back in a Ju.52: smashing!'
There was more to come:
'Then I got posted as an instructor in the RAF Regiment: in Transjordan of all
places - smashing! Open-air swimming pools: beautiful water; I was there for about
twelve months. I stopped complaining, and finally finished up on No 3 ADU (Aircraft
Delivery Unit). They were flying aircraft out from England to Rabat, in Morocco; and
we were stationed not very far away; and we picked up the aircraft from Rabat, and
flew them to wherever they had to go - Malta, Cairo etc. And they were happy days;
No fear of being shot down.'
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By an odd coincidence, Fred's old pilot, Tony Powner, was in charge of the
despatch work in England!
Returning to the UK, Fred's interim posting to No 105 (Transport) OTU gave him
the opportunity to play endless games of badminton with delightful leggy girls in
Leicester (photographic evidence available), before moving north. From September
1944, Fred was employed as a screen WOp at No 109 (Transport) OTU, at Crosbyon-Eden, near Carlisle, where he remained until the cessation of hostilities. He
obtained his release from the RAF in November 1945.
What lasting impression did his wartime career leave on him? Fred affirmed:
'Very happy days, actually. I don't remember any of the bad times: I only remember
the good times, which were very many.'
His aircrew philosophy is similarly uncomplicated. He emphasised:
'If you joined as aircrew, you really had no choice. I knew one chap who went out
with LMF; but we all joined to fly, didn't we? We were no heroes: if anyone tells you
he wasn't scared, then he's lying!'
Fred's last statement is a flagrant contradiction. It is the ones who were scared out of
their wits, who fought the natural input of their nervous systems, and still somehow
managed to carry on, who are the real heroes.
Fred Daniels, Selsey, February 1983 (Author's photo)
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139 SQUADRON
No 139 Squadron, Horsham St Faith, April 1941. Left to Right:
Front Row: U, U, 'Titch' Hyde, U, Sgt Les Spong, Plt Off Sydney Smith, Flt Lt Hughie
Edwards, Wg Cdr 'Digger' Kyle, Sqn Ldr N. Pepper, Flt Lt Thompson, Plt Off Baser,
'Tubby' Butt, Sgt Pierce, U, Sgt Evans.
Middle Row: U,U,U,U, Sgt Geoff Atkins, Sgt Ken Whittle, Sgt Tom McPhee, U,U,U,
Sgt Laban, U,U,U,U.
Back Row: U, Sgt Turner, U, 'Goon' Pickford, U,U,U,U, Sgt Dennis, U,U,U,U,U,U,U,
Sgt Farmer. [U = Unknown] (No 139 Squadron Photographic Section)
SQN LDR E. SYDNEY SMITH DFC
On a balmy summer's evening in June 1982, Eric Sydney Smith, or Bill Smith as he
prefers to be known, treated my wife and me to a delicious dinner in his charming
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Normandy farmhouse. The wine flowed as freely as the conversation: both equally
stimulating. Good manners required that we should make a belated and reluctant
withdrawal shortly before dawn, some eight hours after our arrival. We both agreed
that Bill Smith was probably the most interesting person that we had ever met.
Bill was far too modest to talk about himself to any degree; luckily, his comments
on the Rotterdam raid and other aspects of his action-packed career had been recorded
in a previous letter to his old crew.
Hidden amongst the dissection of world affairs and philosophy of life was an
incident from Bill's training days. One night, he was detailed for circuit-bashing at the
RLG at Windrush, near Burford, Oxfordshire. The weather was unsuitable for the
exercise, with low cloud and drizzle skulking over the Cotswolds (typical of the
conditions normally experienced at nearby Little Rissington!). But Bill was anxious to
get on with the war, and worked out a simple means of dealing with this minor
setback. He decided to align his Oxford's direction indicator on zero, when lined up
with the duty flarepath, and then simply turn through chunks of 90º - plus or minus
drift - at the same time using a stopwatch to monitor his progress through the murk.
On the final approach, with the DI reading zero, Bill broke cloud at about 300 feet and
found himself far too high to land. Undeterred, he sideslipped like mad, and managed
to land the unwieldy twin-engined aircraft safely. The experience so gained was to
prove vital on 16th July 1941, when Bill crash-landed in the centre of Rotterdam.
Both before and after the war, Bill was an action news reporter for the Daily
Express. The paper followed his operational flying with understandable interest, and
published a revealing article about him on 5th July 1941. Entitled 'He Got What He
Wanted', the article reads:
'Acting Squadron Leader Sydney Smith, awarded the DFC this week, was a good
"Daily Express" reporter. He had a passion for perfection, and a penchant for
corduroy trousers. Nobody minded the trousers, but some of his more venal
colleagues sometimes got embarrassed by the standards he sought.
He would stand in the rain for six hours to get a story. He would fly through fog,
when all other planes were grounded. He never let up until he got what this newspaper
wanted.
Often, when he came back from a story, he would complain gently that it might
have been better if the cameraman had been on the spot just exactly when such an
incident happened. For Sydney Smith, the cameraman was never there just when he
should have been. This led to many happy arguments between the News Editor and
the Picture Editor.
When war broke out, curly-headed, sawn-off little Smith volunteered at once. War
was something new and he wanted to find out about it. Smith was a great one for
finding things out.
He went off and several cameramen looked happier. With him to the RAF he took
his traits. His shyness, his pertinacity, his strange enquiry after perfection.'
The newspaper published a photograph of a ship belching volumes of black smoke,
with the following explanation:
'Official citation of the deeds that won him the DFC says that he found an
ammunition-ship and attacked it. And went back four days later to bomb it again. By
this time it was in Sfax harbour, protected by the concentrated flak of shore batteries
and four destroyers. Then he found another ammunition-ship.
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And after he bombed it, instead of hurtling for home as fast as he could go, he
carefully banked his Blenheim, got in the perfect position with the sun over his left
wing, held this position stubbornly until he got a picture of the roaring, belching hulk
below.
This is the picture. It is the Picture of the Week and more than that. From the
camera point of view it is one of the pictures of the War. Note the destroyer bottom
right, turning somersaults to get at the British raider.
For once in his young life reporting news, Acting Squadron Leader Sydney Smith
had a cameraman just where he wanted him!'
Having already met Bill when I read this article, I was astonished at the reference to
his lack of stature. My wife was also surprised. Bill's towering personality had made
him appear more like a giant to both of us.
In a letter to Ted Caban, his WOp/AG on the Rotterdam raid, Bill skated lightly
over his near-four years as a POW. He wrote:
'I was glad to have your résumé of your prison life and wanderings. Mine was much
the same except that at the end we were liberated by the Russians, who shortly
afterwards manned the goon-boxes and warned a reconnaissance column of
Americans that if they came back they would be shot up. With the result that a
number of American POWs started committing suicide and the rest were picked up at
a secret rendezvous not far from the camp. To them, they were certainly destined for
Siberia! However, the RAF and a good many others were kept there for a month,
which as far as I was concerned was a mixture of hilarity, excitement, drama, chaos. I
found it on the whole most bracing, one of the most enjoyable months of my life!'
Three days after his return to England, Bill wrote an article for the Daily Express, in
which he described this last month, spent at Stalag 3A, Luckenwalde. It was printed
on Friday 8th June 1945, and lucidly describes the chaos of that time. However, he
has nothing but praise for the Russians. These are the concluding paragraphs of his
article:
'The Russians did everything that good will and enthusiasm for their British and
American allies permitted, and I, and many others, believe no one could have done
better.
On May 20, in a Russian convoy, we reached the Elbe, where, between lines of Red
Army troops standing to attention and saluting and smiling, we crossed the river.
Behind us, glimmering in the sun, were huge posters bearing the words of Stalin and
Churchill, and messages of goodwill and god-speed.'
After the inactive years as a POW, Bill's life went into top gear. His letter continues:
'Since then I have lived in Rome, New Delhi, Singapore, Hong Kong,
Johannesburg, Washington and Paris. My post-war years, reporting around the world
for the "Daily Express", got me captured by the Pathan tribesmen in the Kashmir
invasion, where I was very nearly shot; detained six months in Shanghai by the
Maoist Armies after they captured it (I stayed on, on purpose for that); wounded by a
hand-grenade in Allenby Square Jerusalem in the Arab-Jewish fighting after the
British withdrawal; jumped with an American parachute Combat Regiment behind the
North Korean lines in Korea; been in some rather tricky situations in the Belgian
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Congo when Lumumba's assassins were after him; participated in the great earthquake
in Agadir, Morocco; the last eruption of Mt Etna; the Algerian revolution; the
Malaysian bandit war, which we lost. In fact never a dull moment but complete
failure, as ever, to get myself bumped off.'
On a sadder note, Bill reviews his circumstances in the early eighties:
'Now, widowed for the second time, four years ago, retired, I live alone in a small
farmhouse in Normandy with my two Yorkshire terriers, which are unfortunately both
going blind from cataracts. I have a married daughter from my second wife (and a
grandson), and a son also by my second wife, who works with computers and things
for IBM Europe, and two stepsons. So I am far from being alone in the world. I am
only an hour and a half's drive from Paris. But I only go there once a year, for the
family Christmas dinner. For Christmas and the New Year I go into a Benedictine
Monastery as paying pagan guest with no obligations to observe anything religious.
However as the Gregorian chants in the Chapel are so marvellous I usually spend a
total of about two hours a day there, just sitting. This year [1981] because one of my
two dogs is so near to being completely blind, I am going to be allowed to keep him
with me...the only known Benedictine dog!'
The memory of his attempt to escape the clutches of the Germans, after his epic
crash-landing in the centre of Rotterdam, prompted Bill to return to the scene of his
escapade. He wrote:
'Fifteen, or it may have been twelve to fifteen years later, when I was chief
European correspondent for the "Daily Express", based in Paris, I wrote to the
Rotterdam police, recalled them some details of my shooting down and asked them if
they could be good enough to trace all the people I had met on that day and exactly
where I had been, as I wanted to try and go through it again. Within a couple of weeks
the police replied to say that they had found almost everyone who saw the raid, the
shooting down, and who had seen me, including the policeman who had picked me
up, the little girl who had given me bread and the two scruffy junk dealers who had
given me away to the Germans. Incidentally, in 1946 I received a letter from a Dutch
Police Commissioner asking for information on my capture, as the two junk dealers
had been arrested for collaboration and were going on trial. I replied and said that now
that it was all over, and we owed so much to the Dutch resistance etc etc, it seemed a
pity to be spiteful and I could remember nothing about the incident. [Sir Laurens van
der Post expressed similar magnanimous sentiments after his harrowing years as a
POW of the Japanese]. The two men were sentenced to fairly heavy prison terms and
later amnestied.
So, in around 1953-4-5, the Rotterdam police said that they would put a car at my
disposal and conduct me around the history of our shooting down, and I went to
Rotterdam. It was very interesting. The bombed area had not yet been built up, and on
one edge of it only there was a large low wooden building which was a restaurant.
The woman proprietor showed me a long slanting gash which had been repaired in
one wall, and told me it had been made by our wing-tip just as we hit the tram-wires
outside. I don't remember that at all. The policeman still wore my cuff-links and had
been in the Resistance; the little girl had grown up into a big and beautiful one, and
the two junk dealers threw a dinner in my honour and gave me, as a souvenir, a small
nickel commercial key-ring with the name of their prosperous company on it! They
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both had big flashy American cars and seemed very well off. They wanted me to
make a speech to their families, and no doubt whitewash them, but I remained just
barely polite. One evening in my hotel, the porter showed into the lounge a man
carrying something wrapped in newspaper, and who was asking for me. He
unwrapped his parcel and there was our aircraft axe, well polished and sharpened. He
was the man who had grabbed it from my hand to get you [Ted Caban] out of the
turret. He had used the axe to chop wood ever since. It is sitting in my fire grate right
now!'
Bill's health, when he wrote to Ted Caban, was not good. The hurly-burly of his
youth was now water under the bridge. His letter continues:
'Thank you for the address of the organiser of the 139 Squadron reunion, but I am
afraid it is not for me. I had an infarctus nearly four years ago and although I still play
a little golf, chop wood and do a bit of gardening, I am not much good in company,
especially if there's some drinking going on, as I have to keep more or less cool and
quiet...
The police were never able to locate the seaman who gave me money, nor the dry
cleaners where I carried out my one and only hold-up, and unfortunately I do not
know where my notes are of that visit. I have made so many moves in the years
between that I have not kept many papers.'
Bill is the author of two books. The better-known is his excellent biography of
'Wings' Day. I managed to find a paperback version of this book before I met Bill, and
naturally I wanted it autographed. 'What would you like me to write?', Bill asked.
'Something like: "To Rusty, with best wishes"', I replied. Bill duly wrote: 'Something
like...'!
His other book, The Survivor, is not about POWs, as the title might suggest. The
plot of this novel centres on life in a mental hospital; Bill frankly admitted that after
its publication most of his friends treated him with grave misgivings or simply
disappeared altogether.
Some time after we met, whilst indulging in my craze for secondhand books, I
chanced upon a copy of The Survivor in a junk shop in Modbury, South Devon. An
ex-library book, it had seen better days, but more regrettably, several consecutive
pages had been torn out, pages which obviously described the climax of the plot. This
was the only book I had ever bought which had received such treatment, and I was at
the same time annoyed and intrigued. Whatever caused that person to perform such a
mutilation? Several years later, after gaining admission to that superb library, the
Bodleian, in Oxford, I was able to read the missing pages. I do not intend to cast
judgement one way or the other. Readers may care to search for their own copies and
draw their own conclusions...
An interesting postscript appeared in the Blenheim Society Journal, Issue 43, dated
March 2002, as a result of Bill Smith's Obituary which appeared in the Daily
Telegraph dated 6th February 2002. Ron Schofield related a tale of his time with Bill
at No 17 OTU, Upwood. He said that they took off for a training X-country exercise
and were ordered to take hand-held F24 pictures of Shrewsbury railway station. When
Bill went into the photo section, they have him one of the prints and suggested he hide
it! It just showed part of the platform, a luggage trolley and a porter pointing upwards
and looking terrified! Estimated height was no more than 40 to 50 feet.
464
'Bill' Smith at his home in Normandy, June 1982 (Author's photo)
My wife, Carol, and 'Bill' Smith at home in Normandy, June 1982 (Author's photo)
465
'Bill' Smith in his Normandy home, June 1982 (Author's photo)
Referring again to the Daily Telegraph Obituary, dated 6th February 2002, I should
add the following piece to Bill's colourful life. When he covered the Spanish Civil
War in the late 1930s, he acquired the distinction of being sentenced to death by both
sides! One of his treasured possessions was a letter from his then editor (Daily
Express), Arthur Christiansen, informing him that: 'As a mark of appreciation of your
wonderful work in Spain, I have recommended you for an increase of £2.2s.0d a
week.'
466
FLT LT R.A. WHITE
(OBSERVER IN SYDNEY SMITH CREW)
Death or four years as a POW? The Fates played delicately with the scales and just
came down for the latter as Adrian White shot through the Perspex canopy of
Blenheim Z7362 (XD:V) as it slithered to a halt in bombed-out Rotterdam on 16th
July 1941. Adrian's assessment of Bill Smith's superb airmanship was more than the
normal hero-worship that any navigator has for his pilot: it was based on his own
first-hand experience as a pilot before and after the outbreak of the Second World
War.
Transferring from the Territorial Army, Adrian enrolled in the RAFVR on 30th
March 1939, as an AC2 u/t pilot. Promotion was rapid: the very next day he was made
up to sergeant. Adrian explains:
'We used to go down to Gatwick for weekend training. But they used to give you
this scheme whereby it would take a month of Sundays to get you to any standard,
when there were a lot of people going for instruction. They couldn't give much time to
any one individual.'
Like manna from heaven, an advertisement suddenly appeared announcing that any
employee of the Midland Bank, intending to join the RAF, would be given two
months unpaid leave to attend a course of intensive flying training. Adrian assumed
that the Lloyds Bank at West Smithfield would not want to be outdone by the
Midland's generous offer and, thanks to a sympathetic bank manager - they did exist
in those days - he won. Adrian recalls:
'So I got two months unpaid leave, which I spent down at Gatwick doing an
elementary flying course, on "Maggies" [Miles Magisters], and we were billeted in
467
Crawley. Crawley was just a sleepy little country town in those days - nothing like it
is now - and it was most enjoyable. Then, after that, we all went back to our various
jobs, and turned up there at weekends to put in an hour or so.' (By then Adrian was
flying Hawker Hinds).
With mobilisation, Adrian popped into his bank for a farewell gesture, telling his
startled colleagues: 'Sorry lads, that means me!' He continues:
'So I punched off, and went home and collected my kit, and changed into uniform,
and reported at Store Street [off Tottenham Court Road] as we were supposed to do.'
After much hanging around - paid this time - Adrian presented himself for training
at No 1 ITW, Cambridge. He remembers this period well:
'So we had lots of lectures and square-bashing and getting jabbed etc, and we used
to go on route marches. I remember one of the marches: we had to march every
Saturday morning, and we went out to a little village just outside Cambridge
[Trumpington or Grantchester?]. I can remember the name of the pub - "The Green
Man" - and we used to march into the pub, have a drink, and then march back again.
And I went into that pub after the war, and I said: "Do you remember our visits?",
RAF and that sort of thing. And he said: "Do I remember? Every Saturday morning,
there would be thump, thump, thump down the road, and the swing doors would be
thrown back, and someone would call out: 258 bitters, please!".'
On 7th April 1940, at No 12 SFTS, Spitalgate, after a dual sortie with Sqn Ldr
Hodder in Hawker Hart K6530 - Exercise 24: Night Flying - Adrian's career as a pilot
was nipped in the bud. Not only that, but he also lost his stripes, becoming an LAC u/t
Air Observer. By the end of the year, after navigation training on those much-loved
Prestwick-based ex-KLM Fokker airliners, G-AFZP and G-AFXR, and the
completion of the course at No 9 B&GS, Adrian had regained his stripes and was now
sporting the big 'O', with an 'Above Average' assessment in his logbook. Two weeks
later, he again lost his stripes, but on this occasion he replaced them with the barely
discernible braid of an acting pilot officer. Adrian commenced his Blenheim
conversion at No 17 OTU Upwood shortly afterwards.
From then, until just before his memorable arrival in Rotterdam, Adrian kept a diary
which he faithfully wrote up for each day. Better still, he has it now and was quite
willing to divulge most of its innermost secrets.
What emerged, not surprisingly, was that by far the favourite pastime then was
consuming as much alcohol as time permitted. Adrian freely admitted that he left out
several references to drinking binges. He confessed: 'It was quite common to get
airborne with a skinful - not like these days!'
Hardly had Adrian unpacked his case on arrival on 139 Squadron Horsham St Faith,
on 18th May 1941, when he was informed that he was the new Squadron Navigation
Officer. When the Blenheim crews disappeared as a result of operations or flying
accidents, Adrian was able to move to better rooms in the Mess. Furthermore, having
lasted a full week on the squadron, he was now considered an old 'hairy' and promptly
appointed Officer i/c Training.
His diary entry for 26th May reads: 'Had a whisky in "The Castle". Rubbed
shoulders with Sqn Ldr Tuck - the fighter ace!'
468
The next day, Adrian took part in his first operation: a low-level daylight attack on
Lannion aerodrome in Brittany. He recorded a very successful sortie, during which
the Germans were completely taken by surprise: 'One group of Jerries just stood up
and watched us', Adrian wrote. 'Let my 4 x 250s go on 2 x Me 109s and a new
hangar.'
Congratulatory telegrams showered down like ticker-tape on all concerned. There
were red faces all round though, when it was discovered that they had bombed the
wrong aerodrome and it was Morlaix which had received the attention. No wonder the
Germans were caught flat-footed for a change - their intelligence clearly stated that
Lannion was the target... However, in An Electrician Goes To War (Air Force's
Publishing Service, 1994), Ken Whittle is adamant that Lannion was bombed. He
ought to know, as he was the WOp/AG in the lead aircraft (flown by Sgt Mac McPhee
and navigated by Sgt Geoff Atkins) - see pp 125,126. Furthermore, this is confirmed
in THE BOMBER COMMAND WAR DIARIES, by Martin Middlebrook and Chris
Everitt (Penguin Books Ltd, 1985).
The diary entry for 28th May begs the question of whether there is a connection
between the two sentences: 'Got up full of the joys of spring. Sgt Caban DFM, new
Gunnery Leader arrived.'
Adrian's diary is a sad record of young lives being snatched away, and must have
been depressing to compile.
On a lighter note, he was not ashamed to record the odd instance of nearly landing
at the wrong aerodrome or of joining the wrong formation: 'There was plenty of that!',
he confessed.
On the plus side was a raid on the power station at Lille on 28th June, as the CO's
observer. Photographs later confirmed a high proportion of direct hits.
A memorable sortie was recorded for 1st July, when Adrian was tasked with
searching for a downed crew: 'Were attacked by 3 x Me 109s', he wrote, '50 miles out,
and belted back at "plus 9" at 225. I fired one round from the blister gun, and then it
jammed! Air-gunner's guns jammed also!' To cap it all, Adrian found a chock in one
of the engine nacelles after landing. This was apparently common practice when
taxiing from one side of an aerodrome to the other, but not recommended for flight...
(Not on a good squadron, Richard Passmore assures me!).
Adrian's first day as a POW has already been covered. 'In the bag' for nearly four
years, I wondered if he felt any bitterness towards his captors. He replied:
'No, I wasn't bitter. One had one's ups and downs: bad times and less bad times;
very, very few good times, and only occasionally, very horrid. The worst camps were
run by the army; the Luftwaffe treated us much better. There was a sort of fellowfeeling between air force people. At one time, in a camp run by the army, no Red
Cross parcels were getting through, for whatever reason. We all got very run down,
and very hungry indeed: I would not put it as strong as starving, but I'd seen a padre
and another army officer coming to blows over a piece of bread, so it gives you some
idea of what extremities people got to.'
At one time, towards the end of the war, conditions became very critical. Adrian
explains:
'I can remember [the ration of bread: sour, rough, hard rye bread] coming down
from 1/5 of a loaf to 1/11 of a loaf a man. You try and divide a loaf of bread into
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eleven! And we had a rule - sort of justice of Solomon, I suppose - that the chap who
cut the loaf had last choice!'
At Warburg, Adrian rubbed shoulders with another fighter ace - Douglas Bader. He
explains:
'There was a good deal of sort of bully-ragging the Germans, as far as we would go,
the arch leader of this being, of course, old Bader. He could take liberties, with his
special situation: legless pilot. He was looked upon as a character and, of course, he
played on it; and without being derogatory, he was an exhibitionist, and he liked to
put on a scene; and he used to work the Germans into a rage, for no obvious reason
but to be bloody-minded, I suppose. Of course, it was all good for morale; we all had
a good laugh; but it could be a bit frightening sometimes, when they were turning out
the garrison, and they all came trotting in with Tommy-guns. And another thing, he
tricked his way into being put on one of the escape tunnels - this was typical of Bader:
he had to be in on everything - and, of course, they said he hadn't a hope in hell of
getting home, even if he got out. He was such a dominating personality: he would
always get his way.'
POW line-up. L to R: Adrian White, 'Bill' Smith, ?, Sqn Ldr H.J.C. Tudge, ?(Adrian
White)
Adrian's feelings regarding lack of privacy, especially concerning toilet facilities,
the insecurity of not knowing when the war was going to end, and the utter squalor of
it all will be familiar to readers of the best Kriegie books.
At one time, Adrian felt that he ought to volunteer to try his hand at escaping. He
admits:
470
'Quite frankly, I was scared witless. It was the middle of winter, and it was my job
to go down first thing in the morning, on the sort of maintenance squad; and they had
a wooden track laid down up to the face...and it was my job to go down and scrape the
rails clear of mud and that sort of thing, so that the trolleys could move freely. And
they'd rigged up an electric light system, of a wire pegged into the top of the tunnel all
the way along, with light bulbs stuck in it. And one morning, I remember, I heard a
thump and the lights went out, and there had been a fall of earth behind me. I was
absolutely terrified; and I made my way back; and this wire had dropped down, and it
was still live! And I could hear it hissing in this pool of water, and I had to get past it
in order to get out. I managed it, but I don't think I have ever been so terrified in all
my life! I'll never volunteer for anything ever again!'
The best camp, Adrian remembered, was Stalag Luft III at Sagan, where they were
in the hands of the Luftwaffe. He must have been relieved that his escape plans came
to nought when he learned of the dreadful murder of the fifty escapers.
At Sagan, Adrian thought that:
'It might be a good opportunity for me to finish one of my banker's exams, and I
sent out for the text books. And the bankers sent out their exam papers, and I finished
off my banker's exams when I was there. There was another chap, who was studying
law, and he took his law exams out there; and I'll tell you who he was: Tony Barber the Chancellor of the Exchequer!' [See Obituary in The Guardian 20th December
2005 - Lord Barber of Wentbridge].
Amongst the many individual pastimes was the important chore of just keeping
watch. Adrian explains:
'We had people sitting at the window opposite the camp gate, who kept a record of
every German who came into the camp. And they became aware of this, and after a
time, they used to book in! But of course, it was bluff and double bluff; and there was
this intelligence bloke that we had to keep an eye open for: they would perhaps come
in under a load of hay, the same way as we would try to get out, and you wouldn't
know that they were in the camp. And being English speakers, they would hide under
a floorboard and listen in.'
The greatest morale-booster, Adrian recalled, was the hidden wireless. It was
noticeable, he said, how the Germans became more amenable as the fortunes of war
turned against them.
Enduring the inevitable march westwards as the Russians advanced, Adrian found
himself in a camp 'about twelve miles southwest of Berlin'. He remembers it well:
'Everybody was in that camp: there were Yugoslavs, French, Norwegians, the
hostages - you name it: they were all pushed in there. We were all living in squalid
conditions - three or four people to a bunk; and I made a note on one of those pages
that my head was only six inches from somebody else's feet!...And then one morning
we woke up, and there wasn't a German in sight! They'd all disappeared in the night.
Shortly afterwards, one or two Russian patrols appeared, but they were there one
minute and gone the next; and then later on, this Russian armoured column rolled into
the camp. And you've never seen anything like it! These tanks rolled in; most of us
had never seen a tank before; the very sight of them coming in, and rolling into the
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camp, with Russians hanging on every sort of thing you could get a hand on; and they
were armed to the teeth - Tommy-guns, grenades stuck in their boots - and some of
them were Mongolians with slant eyes, some of them women. And they rolled down
the central road that went through the camp, and signalled for us to come and join
them. We pointed at this barbed-wire double fence; so one of the tanks just swerved
off the road and ran down the barbed-wire posts, and they went flying all over the
place; but it all looked too dangerous for us!'
When told by the Russians that they would have to forage for themselves, they
managed to live off the countryside, even though, as Adrian recalled, most of them
had never even milked a cow before. An uneasy status quo descended on the camp,
with Russian guards posted. Nothing seemed to be happening until an American jeep
appeared on the scene, the occupants shouting that they'd got a column of trucks about
five to ten miles down the road. Making the most of the commotion caused by the
presence of the Americans, Adrian took his chance:
'I was with another bloke. And as these Yanks drove away, we looked at each other
- what about it? He said: "I'm game if you are!" So we slipped past the guard and
joined this stream of refugees going down the road. We hadn't gone far down the road
when we saw a jeep coming towards us, with a couple of GIs. It was a feast to our
eyes, and we waved at them; but they didn't see us, and started turning in the road to
go back again. And we did the fastest hundred yards that we've ever done in our lives,
and caught up with this jeep, and jumped on it. I jumped on the bonnet - I can't
remember what I hung on to - and we bounced off down this road, gathering a few
other POWs on the way, and managed to get to this village. And, sure enough, in this
village were twenty to thirty American trucks; and there were about half a dozen
fellows in one truck, and all the rest were empty. They waited there for a time, and
then they all took off, and went back over this Bailey bridge over the Elbe: I think this
is the place where the Americans and the Russians first met, and the Americans had
just established a bridgehead. After that, we were looked after by the Americans: we
were in their loving hands. They took us to a big aircraft factory, and they fed us with
"K" rations, "D" rations - everything they'd got...But the lines of communication were
all jammed up between here and England, and there were hundreds of thousands of
chaps like us trying to get home. Anyway, I don't suppose we were there for much
more than ten days before we got moved on in stages to Brussels, from where we
were flown home.'
Back in Blighty, Adrian couldn't remember which airfield he landed at, but thought
that he arrived by Dakota. He recalls:
'But I do remember all the good folk. The WVS and suchlike had all these tables
laid out in a hangar, and gave us tea. Then we were taken off and deloused, and that
sort of thing - wonderful feeling! And I remember - I don't know what stage of the
journey - travelling in the back of an Air Force truck through all these country lanes:
it was May time, and all the hedges were breaking out in fresh green; and people were
waving to us - it was sheer heaven.
We were sent to the nearest RAF station to stay the night; and I know I got some
very queer looks in the Officers' Mess: I'd just been issued with a battledress, but it
had no braid or anything on it. They looked very askance at me! Anyway, this was my
first day in England, and I went to the telephone. I didn't know what the form was - I'd
472
been away for four years - so I just lifted the 'phone and said that I'd like to put
through a call to London. And she said: "I'm sorry - there's a one and a half-hour
delay to London!" So I said: "Oh, I'm sorry! I've just returned as a POW, and I didn't
know what the form was! I just wanted to ring up my family..." "A returned POW?
What number did you want?" And I was talking to my mother just like that!'
Adrian never took all the leave that he was entitled to. He explains:
'I got bored, and told the bank I would be coming back; so for a glorious three
months or so, I was being paid by the RAF and the bank at the same time! So I
returned to Lloyds at West Smithfield, who were responsible for me joining.'
In 1984, Adrian and his charming wife Robina spent 'a delightful few days in
Holland, taking in the bulbfields (of course) and some sightseeing in Amsterdam, The
Hague and Delft'. They returned by coach through Rotterdam where 'the rebuilt area
was pointed out to us. It could just as well have been Southampton, so far as personal
recognition was concerned. A tower with some scaffolding round it looked vaguely
familiar [see Sydney Smith's account of their crash-landing!] but, as Bina said, you
would think they would have finished repairing it by now!'
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WARRANT OFFICER E.G. CABAN DFM
(WOp/AG IN SYDNEY SMITH CREW)
Adrian White was in good hands on the Rotterdam raid of 16th July 1941, scratch
crew or not. The qualities of his pilot, Bill Smith, need no further elucidation; but
behind him sat veteran WOp/AG Ted Caban. In a letter to Ted, dated 25th September
1981, Bill indicates the high esteem in which he held his gunner. He wrote:
'I shall always remember how glad I was to have you as AG/WOP on that last trip,
not simply because of your DFM, which was nevertheless a reassuring symbol, but
because of your imperturbable and solid air of calm and self-confidence, which was
entirely justified, as if you had not advised me as rapidly as you did about our burning
engine, I might have been too busy to notice it in time to take action, and we should
have all been scattered over the roof-tops in little bits. So I owe you thanks for that.'
By the time that Ted joined 139 Squadron, he had already 36 Blenheim bombing
operations to his credit, during which time he was awarded the DFM - a rare
distinction, as gunners were nearly invisible when 'gongs' were handed out. Before
that, during the period of the so-called 'Phoney War', Ted completed 121 hours flying
on Blenheim Mk I fighters, whilst serving on 23 Squadron, Wittering. As his logbook
was lost, together with all his kit, on posting to 18 Squadron, Ted was never able to
carry forward these hours to his new logbook.
At the end of his tour on 18 Squadron, Ted was sent to the Central Gunnery School
at Warmwell. After some eighteen months continuous operational flying, he was more
than ready for a little light relief. His candid admission surprised me:
474
'I was with three others. We were buggeroos: we used to go to parties etc, and in the
final week of the course, we had to give a lecture on one of the cardinal points of war.
And the one that we'd chosen was "Mobility". I stuttered and stammered, and told a
dirty story. We had to talk for ten minutes: we were lecturing all the staff [who were
not amused!]. I got good results on the air firing, of course, but the theory as far as I
was concerned...'
However, the theory was put into practice shortly after Ted arrived on 139
Squadron, Horsham St Faith, where he was Gunnery Leader. On 5th July 1941, with
pilot Bill Smith, Ted's logbook states: 'Fighting Control successfully employed'. The
theory was that the lead air-gunner would direct the fire of all the air-gunners in the
formation, in the hope of achieving something like the withering hail of fire employed
against the Zulus at the Battle of Rorke's Drift.
The full entry in Ted's logbook reads:
'1815. Blenheim Z7350: V: S/L Sydney Smith. Ops Beat 8. Attacked ship: near
miss. On way home, attacked by 5 x Me 110s. Fighting Control successfully
employed: one Me 110 claimed as "probable"; hit him in port engine which
disintegrated slightly. Broke off combat immediately. OK. One black eye. 3.30.'
I asked Ted about his injury, to which he replied:
' After combat, I saw a hole in the Perspex directly in front of me; and during
combat, I felt something flick in my eye, so I reported this to the skipper. And when
we got home, he reported to the ground: "May I have the blood wagon". On the place
that we came to rest on our grass 'drome, I got out, and they said to me: "Got a report
of an injured man in the back." So I said: "No - I'm not injured, but something is
wrong here; I can't see, but I saw some blood on my hand, and if you look, you'll see a
bullet hole in the Perspex of the turret." And it was little further away than this: how
close I was to it then! God! But that was a very successful trip from our point of view
because, to the best of my knowledge, that was the first time on the squadron that
"Fighting Control" had been used by the air-gunner, when in charge of the whole
formation. I'd just returned from Gunnery School, and this had been one of the points
on the syllabus; and here was a chance to use it, with a formation of three. It was
pretty hairy, mind you!'
Ted's arrival in Rotterdam marked the completion of his 42nd Blenheim bomber
operation and the beginning of nearly four years of captivity.
Remarkably, Ted was quite magnanimous about his POW interlude. Yes, he was
hungry towards the end of the war, but it wasn't too bad in '42/'43. As far as escaping
was concerned, Ted's views echo those of many other ex-POWs I have interviewed.
He explains:
'You could be one of the keen types, and try to get out; and, of course, there were
many thousands, of which I was one, who realised that you'd got to have all the luck,
and a lot of things on your side. One of these things was to know the language; so I
started to learn, but it takes more than twelve months to learn a language. I did
German in the camp; took exams and did reasonably well; but when it came to
conversation with the Germans, it was a lot different - there's no mistake! In the
middle years of the war, you could hold a conversation with the guards, especially the
475
older type; but towards the end of the war, the "X" committee intervened: if you were
caught talking to a German, you would be interviewed: they wanted to know what the
hell you were doing - i.e. had you got something going, which they wanted to know
about! It was a cloak-and-dagger affair: if you wanted to escape, you had to go to the
"X" Committee with your ideas; they would consider it, taking everything into
consideration - like service people do - and perhaps that idea, with another person,
might well have a chance. Very cut-throat: there were cliques: you were either in the
bag, or you weren't!' [Excellent pun!]
In April 1982, Ted made a nostalgic visit to Rotterdam, where he was sumptuously
entertained in the Lord Mayor's Parlour, and presented with a book on the city signed
by the Deputy Lord Mayor and the Chief of Treasury. Naturally, his thoughts were
directed back to 1941. He reminisced:
'Where we crashed was almost at the entrance to a zoo. One wing-tip scraped a
pancake house; and we were taken to one and had some pancakes - the most delicious
I have ever eaten. Apparently, the keeper of this pancake house was a granddaughter
of the keeper of the pancake house that we crashed into! It was quite an emotional
little meeting in there. And there was another gentleman sitting having some
pancakes, and I noticed that his ears shot up whilst we were talking; and he said to us:
"Yes - I saw that aircraft crash!"'
Bill Smith had been too unwell to accompany Ted on this visit, but had asked him to
try and locate the 'church tower' that he had only just avoided. All concerned were
agreed that it could only be the tower of the Museum Boymans Van Beuningen.
The Cabans' Christmas card for 1989 was sad. Instead of the usual pleasantries, and
enquiry as to just when I expected to finish my book, there was a poignant letter from
Ted's wife, Sybil; it read:
'It's down to me to write a few lines this Xmas. I am afraid Ted went into Papworth
last March for heart surgery (four by-passes), which was a success, but two days later
he suffered a stroke. He has regained the use of all his limbs since being home, but his
memory has gone completely. Also his sight is very bad, so it is a 24-hour job as he
cannot be left on his own. Thank you for telling us of Mary [Tim Partridge's widow] we knew that she was ill but not that she had died. I'm afraid we have a very quiet life
these days. I drive Ted into town most days - although he can't remember people, it's
a change of scenery.' Those of us who still retain the faculty of memory will never
forget the debt we owe to Ted Caban.
476
Ted Caban DFM, 139 Sqn (Ted Caban)
477
SGT R. HATTON, SGT J. HOLROYD & W/O R.C.H. BENNETT
Bob Hatton (via Bob Bennett)
Just before midday on 16th April 1986, outside the King's Head, Bledington,
Oxfordshire I had the pleasure of meeting Bob Bennett. I was immediately struck by
his thin, drawn appearance, and later by his lack of appetite. Bob's experiences as a
POW in the hands of the Japanese had left their mark on him.
Bob's theatre of war - the Far East - is probably the least well-known of the
ubiquitous Blenheim's operational repertoire. He remembers:
'After Christmas 1941, the squadron [84] was recalled to Cairo, and we were based
at Heliopolis to prepare for a flight to the Far East; ground crews to proceed by ship.
The Japs had started their invasion of S.E. Asia and were about to attack Malaya. It
appeared that an experienced squadron was required to supplement the forces in
Singapore, and we were ordered out there at short notice. Typical RAF!...We were
based at Palembang, Sumatra, to begin with and had to fly over to Seletar in
Singapore to be briefed for attacks on the Japs, who were by this time attacking the
east coast of Malaya. To cut a long story short, we eventually finished up in Java as
the Japs took Singapore and then Sumatra. Chaos reined supreme. We did what we
could, usually two or three aircraft taking off to attack the Jap fleet and later to strafe
landing parties. Eventually we got shot up by a Jap fighter when on a cloud cover raid
478
on Palembang airfield, which the enemy had occupied and stacked with aircraft. We
bombed successfully, destroying a number of their aircraft on the ground. After
leaving Palembang, we were attacked by this Jap fighter, who got in a burst of fire
which damaged one engine and caused oil to spread over the starboard wing. I
managed to give him a dose of his own medicine, however, and sent him post-haste to
join his ancestors. Don't suppose he would get a kind welcome after his failure to get
us. Our pilot, Flt Lt Holland, got us safely back to Java and no one was injured,
although the 'plane was severely damaged. Sgt Douglas Argent (sometime later a
BBC producer) was our observer.
As nearly all our aircraft had by now been destroyed either in the air or on the
ground, and the Dutch were on the point of capitulating anyway, we could do no
more, so a few of us made our way down to the south coast to try and find a boat to
take us to Australia. We did find a lifeboat and started to row down the river to the
open sea. Luck was not with us and we were wrecked near a small island just off the
coast. Our CO, Wg Cdr J.R. Jeudwine, saved his lifeboat and later left with a small
crew for Australia. If he made it he promised to send a submarine to pick us up.
[Australian-born Terence O'Brien, who served on co-located No 62 Squadron, was
not impressed by Wg Cdr Jeudwine's biased official report of this period of the war.
The following is an extract: "The RAAF personnel were discourteous, dishonest,
undisciplined and lacking in morale.'! However, he conceded that: ' Wing Commander
Jeudwine made a remarkable escape in an open boat to Australia. There were twelve
of them on board and it took them over six weeks to sail the 1500 miles to northwestern Australia, having somehow escaped a close scrutiny by a Japanese submarine
which surfaced close by them on their first day out of Java." (Chasing After Danger Collins, 1990)]. After about two months the Japs found us, on the point of starvation,
and that was that.
Some 3½ years later, on arrival back in the U.K., we learned that he reached
Australia and had sent a submarine as arranged, but it arrived some time after we had
been taken prisoner.'
Bob's early years as a POW were spent with a distinguished author. He asked me:
'Have you heard about the chappie who wrote King Rat, about Singapore - James
Clavell? Well, I was with him in prison camp in Bandung, Java. Whether he can
remember me now or not, I don't know. It was in the early days in Bandung, when we
were first captured, and all our badges of rank were taken away; and then we decided
we'd run the camp ourselves, and we'd be responsible for discipline and such; and we
were the first Orderly Officer and Orderly Sergeant, because my name began with a
"B" and his with a "C"! I don't think he was in long. He was in Changi, of course, and
King Rat is a story woven around his experiences: it's possibly partly true, and
possibly partly not.'
When I asked Bob whether he received any real news as a POW, or was just fed
propaganda, he replied:
'We had nothing at all. There was a wireless set in the camp, but the Japs arrested
the chap who was operating it. They chopped off your head for this offence: he tried
to escape, but it was no good. I saw five chaps have their heads cut off. They used to
draw out the entire camp to watch it: that was part of the punishment. They also made
you dig your own graves, and then shot you into them: so I haven't got a lot of time
479
for the Japs. Funnily enough, it's not the youngsters - I couldn't care less about them just our generation.'
Bob contracted dysentery while in Changi, and was finally taken to Japan. He left
Nagasaki just a few months before the second atomic bomb was dropped. 'That was
lucky, wasn't it?', I spontaneously asked him. He replied:
'Yes! And I'm glad to say that of the chaps they left behind there, I think only one
was killed. You see, while we were there, they made us build our own air-raid
shelters; and apparently our guys were inside them when this thing went off. The Japs
were all outside, watching it coming down by parachute!'
In common with many ex-POWs of the Japanese, Bob still fights shy of buying their
goods. He emphasised:
'There is no way, not if I can avoid it: there's nothing in my house that's Japanese!
It's not for what I went through, but a lot of friends died, and it was sheer brutality.
They just didn't give a damn; you were there to work.'
After VJ Day, Bob returned home via Manila and Victoria, British Columbia, where
he was kept in hospital and fattened up by the Canadians. Back in Blighty, Bob took
up banking again, eventually retiring as a manager. 'It was not as interesting as
staying in the Air Force!', he admitted.
Bob's entry into the world of aviation is a familiar one, as he explains:
'I volunteered for aircrew soon after war was declared. I wanted a pilot's course, but
after having passed the medical, I was told I would have to wait for an indefinite
period. It did not appeal to me, so I said I would agree to join as a wireless-operator to
get in, and hope to re-muster later. No hope! As soon as I passed out from Compton
Bassett and Yatesbury as a wireless-operator, that was it. I was sent on an air-gunner's
course at Jurby, then OTU at Upwood [same course as my cousin, whom he got to
know very well there], and on to 139 Squadron.'
Bob impressed me as being a very nice, quiet and unassuming person. But I knew
nothing about his crew on the Rotterdam raid: would he be so kind? 'I don't really
know much about them'. was his disappointing reply. 'I only met them at Upwood.'
'Can you remember how that happened?', I gently prodded. He responded:
'It was all a matter of luck at OTU, who you managed to crew up with: you never
knew who you were going to get. I left it to the end: I know there was one chap I
could have flown with, but didn't like him at all. And then Jack Holroyd [the
observer] came along, and said: "Are you fixed up?" I said: " No!" He said: "I've just
seen a chap: Bob Hatton. I was talking to a friend of his, and this friend said he's a
good pilot: he can land the thing all right - without any problem!" So I said: "All
right: that will suit me." So that was it: it was all decided within a few minutes!'
Bob continued:
'Bob Hatton was a good pilot. He was only about 20-odd: he was young. He'd been
in the Air Training Corps, prior to the war, and he joined up at the outbreak. He was a
480
good pilot: he could land the thing, and he could fly a course. All I know is that he
came from Leicester. When we were posted from 139, we had overseas leave before
departing, and a requirement arose to take a 'plane over to somewhere near Leicester.
So he said: "I'll take that!" And I said: "I'll come with you and hitch home from there
or get a train." So that's what we did.'
After the crew split up in the Middle East, Bob lost contact with his former pilot,
and never managed to trace him afterwards. He summarised:
'He was a quiet sort of chap. He wasn't married or engaged as far as I know. Very,
very reserved sort of chap - not like me! [Not the impression I formed!]. Yes, he
would have made a very good airline pilot.' [I'm still analysing that last remark!]
Jack Holroyd (via Bob Bennett)
Bob turned next to his former observer, Jack Holroyd. He recalls:
'Now he was good too. We used to go on cross-countries at Upwood, and he never
lost himself once. When he wanted a bearing or QDM or something, he'd come
through and say: "Get it"; and I remember one day when the weather was bad, when
we had to do one leg that was as far as Shrewsbury. We were flying in solid cloud,
and I was getting dizzy getting QDMs and things; but he knew where he was, and he
laid the course and came back; and when we got back we were told that we were the
only crew who'd completed the course successfully! The others had come down in
bad weather, in various places; and I think one had crashed. But it was all thanks to
Jack Holroyd: he knew exactly where he was all the time.
481
I think Jack lived in Maidstone, and was a surveyor for Kent County Council. He
was almost teetotal - not like me, I'm afraid! He wasn't interested in girls or parties or
anything. Even when we went to the Middle East, he used to wander round Cairo on
his own, with a camera.
After the squadron left Heliopolis, on the way out to the Far East, he had some
engine trouble in India, and never actually got to the Far East. Afterwards, when I
came home, I did get in touch with him, and I found out that he'd gone to Ceylon, and
had spent some time there. And then we exchanged Christmas cards, and one thing
and another, until about four or five years ago, and then I didn't get a Christmas card.
I managed to get his 'phone number, and I spoke to him, and I could tell from his
voice that he wasn't very well. I tried to get in touch with him later, but was
unsuccessful; I knew he wasn't married so there was no one else I could contact. So
all I know is that he's probably gone now: no trace at all. He was a very nice chap and
we got on well as a crew, right through to the Middle East.'
Bob had gone to the trouble of typing out a résumé of the Rotterdam raid and brief
details of his career. He was clearly proud of his efforts, as he explains:
'This is the first bit of work that I've ever done. I've never considered writing a
book, but I should have some idea, you know, because Arnold Bennett was a cousin
of my father or grandfather, and my grandmother's name was Stevenson; and she was
a relative of R.L. Stevenson. That's what I've been told since I was a kid, so it must be
true. But as far as inventing anything, or writing anything, I haven't a clue!'
Considering that Bob had also rubbed shoulders with James Clavell, I wondered if
he had underplayed his potential as an author...
482
Bob Bennett returning to the UK from Canada, after his years as a POW of the
Japanese (Bob Bennett)
Bob Bennett, 'King's Head', Bledington, Oxon, April 1986 (Author's photo)
483
105 SQUADRON
No 105 Squadron, Swanton Morley, July 1941 (via Frank Harbord)
SQN LDR B.W. SMITHERS DFC
Of the twenty-one aircrew from 105 Squadron, who took part in the Rotterdam raid
of 16th July 1941, eight lived to see 1946. Bryan Smithers was one of those lucky
few. Anyone who survived the height of 2 Group's anti-shipping offensive and a
complete Malta detachment could count himself very lucky indeed.
484
Possibly operating under the name of 'Tom' - according to Frank Harbord - Bryan
Smithers was another pilot affected by Hughie Edwards's award of the VC for the
Bremen raid of 4th July 1941. The temporary 'screening' of the 105 Squadron boss not
only resulted in Tim Partridge leading the second wave of the Rotterdam raid; it also
put Bryan Smithers in the driving seat of the 105 Squadron box. An evocative
photograph - part of 21 Squadron property held by AHB (not available until the
squadron reforms) - pictures Bryan's aircraft, V6453 (GB:E), on the final run-in
towards the docks, with 21 Squadron jockeying for position a few miles ahead (see
Chapter 3).
Though born in Poole, Dorset, on 3rd November 1918, Bryan was to all intents and
purposes a South African. Because he showed no trace of an accent, his colleagues
would not have guessed his background. Bryan attended Ladysmith High School,
Natal, where he was a private in the school cadet corps. In late 1937, he obtained a
Public Service Commission in the Civil Service, before finally taking employment as
a costings clerk for Ladysmith Motors.
In March 1939, Bryan was granted an RAF Short Service Commission, nominally
for four years. By this time, he had completed three months basic training on Avro
Tutors at No 23 Civil Flying School, Rochester. The same month, he joined No 10
FTS Ternhill for advanced training on Harvards, graduating in September 1939, with
perfect timing for the world situation. At this stage of his career, Bryan impressed the
authorities with his soundness and reliability as a pilot, but appeared to them to be a
rather quiet individual who would benefit from exerting himself more. That such
gentle souls as Tim Partridge and Bryan Smithers succeeded in spite of not being
galloping extroverts is a great tribute to both of them.
In October 1939, Bryan joined the School of Army Cooperation at Andover. Now a
substantive pilot officer, he shared the same seniority with the famous fighter-pilot
and author, Richard Hillary.
In January 1940, Bryan was posted to No 2 Squadron: part of the Air Component of
the BEF in France. Operating Lysanders, he was forced back to the UK by the end of
May. The following month, he transferred to another Lysander-equipped Army
Cooperation squadron - No 4, then based at Linton-on-Ouse, Yorkshire. After a short
move in August to Clifton, just two miles north of York, Bryan remained in the role
until February 1941. He was then posted to Upwood, to commence operational
training on Blenheims at No 17 OTU.
On 10th June 1941, Fg Off Bryan Smithers, observer Sgt Cecil James and WOp/AG
Sgt John Fisher joined 105 Squadron at Swanton Morley. Six days later, Bryan and
his crew opened their account with a 4 x 250-pounder attack on a 50-ton fishing
vessel off the Dutch coast. Though the bombs narrowly missed (by about 10 feet) the
crew of the suspected squealer must have had their day spoilt.
Two Circus raids followed, and then, at the end of June, two abortive raids on
Bremen. Bryan would not feature on the successful third attempt on 4th July.
With no losses from his box on the Rotterdam raid, the axe then fell heavily for
Bryan just three days later. Of the five crews that he led that day, in an attack on a
convoy off The Hague, two were shot down, both veterans of the Rotterdam raid: Sgts
Farrow, Saunders, Robinson, Taylor, Withrington and Sparkes were all killed. Bryan's
celebration of his promotion to acting squadron leader that same day must have been
bitter-sweet.
Then it was 105's turn for the dreaded Malta detachment. Warrant Officer Maurice
'Chappie' Chapple, one of the stalwart groundcrew who worked miracles to keep the
'kites' flying, kept a diary of the detachment. It is a gem.
485
Crews were positioned at Portreath in Cornwall on 25th July, ready to stagger off
the cliffs the following day. Bad weather to the south meant a day's postponement.
Maurice Chapple records: 'Working all afternoon on Sqn Ldr Smithers's kite, altering
pitch of propellers.' Visions spring to mind of Bryan just managing to clear the
boundary fence at Swanton Morley in his heavily-laden Blenheim...
By 27th August, the attrition rate of the Luqa-based squadron had claimed a further
three of the 'Rotterdam' crews; only those of Sqn Ldr Bryan Smithers and Sgt James
Bruce had survived from the original magnificent seven. On this particular day,
Bryan's observer was Frank Harbord; it was a 'shaky-do'. Frank recalls:
'The day we set out to do a sweep over the Ionian Sea, we had been flying at sealevel for about an hour and a half when Smithers called me (I was in the nose) and
asked me to go back and sit beside him, as he was not feeling well and feared I might
have to take over. So I went and sat beside him, and we turned back towards Malta.
After a dodgy half-hour or so, he began to recover, and about ten minutes short of
Malta he said: "I don't want to take these bombs back: give me a course for
Lampedusa." So we went and had a look at Lampedusa, and there was a ship in the
harbour. The reconnaissance Marylands had not reported it. So he said: "They can
have the bombs." We charged in from the sea, in the manner of the day, and the
Jerries didn't want us there. They shot at us with everything; an explosive shell burst
just underneath the bomb-bay an instant before the bombs were released. It was
Smithers's opinion that the bombs being there saved us from fatal damage: they
deflected most of the shrapnel. We ploughed on through it, dropped the bombs - 4 x
250-pounders with 11 seconds delay - and flew straight on across the island without
waiting to see what happened, as we then had trouble enough of our own... We came
back shot-up, no hydraulics, a bit of shrapnel in my buttock (I'll have to look for scar),
had to jettison the forward escape hatch and with it the two Browning under-belly
guns, and made a landing with no wheels and flaps...We made the "belly" landing
alongside the runway at Luqa, so that the runway was not obstructed. Fasten seat
belts, put on oxygen mask and goggles to protect face, touching down at about 70mph
(not knots in those days); a spray of earth comes up through the hole left in the floor
where the hatch had been. As soon as the kite had stopped moving, we got out covered in earth, perspiration and blood. When we inspected the kite afterwards, we
saw that it had plenty of shrapnel holes and bursts of machine-gun holes through the
wings. At that time of day, it was quite a routine experience. Only the one aircraft was
involved, aircraft number V9607 [I believe that should read "Z9607"].'
Maurice Chapple's diary entry for 27th August records:
'Sqn Ldr Smithers returned "S" 1130, shot-up - belly-flopped. Remainder returned
1330 hours, unsuccessful. Lifted "S" for Sugar up during afternoon with two wooden
tripods. Rather shop-soiled. Quite successful. Got wheels down and towed it away to
graveyard...'
Some idea of the quality of Bryan's contribution to the war effort in the
Mediterranean during September 1941 is afforded by the citation for the award of his
DFC that month. It reads:
'Acting Squadron Leader Bryan William Smithers (41750), 105 Squadron (Middle
East) DFC award. On 4th September 1941, in an attack on Crotone harbour, this
486
officer hit a 4,000-ton M/V which subsequently appeared to be a total loss. In the
course of a long patrol on 11th September 1941, Sqn Ldr Smithers observed two
enemy ships. Attacking one of them, he obtained one direct hit and left it in a sinking
condition. The next day, Sqn Ldr Smithers led a force of bombers which attacked a
convoy of six M/Vs escorted by seven destroyers. Flying through an intense barrage
of defensive fire, he attacked the biggest ship of the convoy and hit it. The vessel,
which was also hit by another aircraft, afterwards caught fire. Although his aircraft
sustained much damage, Sqn Ldr Smithers flew it skilfully back to base. This officer
has at all times shown outstanding gallantry and fearless leadership.'
The citation strangely omits a particularly courageous act on 12th September. Tony
Mee has good cause to be grateful to Bryan Smithers, after the Blenheim in which he
was the WOp/AG had been shot down. He recalls:
'S/Ldr Smithers, Sgt Frank Harbord, Sgt John Fisher; Sgt Weston, Sgt Storey, Sgt
Kindell were the two crews, who at great risk to themselves of encountering enemy
fighters, turned back and plotted our position when we ditched on the 12th September
1941. This quote from "Patrols of the Utmost", in the book Up Periscope by David
Masters [Eyre & Spottiswoode 1942], refers to Frank Harbord: "Other aircraft failed
to find them; but the navigator of the first Blenheim which originally sighted the
aircrew, although he had been out of sight of land for hours, took such accurate
observations of the position that he was only a mile or two out, as Sub-Lieutenant
Joyce discovered when he brought the 'Utmost' to the spot."'
This unselfish act was carried out after the encounter with 6 M/Vs and 7 destroyers,
mentioned in the citation, when Bryan's aircraft had been hit in both wings.
Also omitted from the citation, but not from the diary, was the condition of Bryan's
aircraft just five days later; Maurice Chapple wrote: 'Sqn Ldr Smithers's kite shot up.'
The badly mauled remnants of 105 Squadron returned to the UK at the end of
September.
In November, the squadron started to re-equip with Mosquitoes: the first unit to
receive this privilege. Bryan's feelings, when he was posted that same month to 149
Squadron at Mildenhall, are not too difficult to guess. His new squadron was just
replacing its fleet of Wellingtons - with Stirlings! Instead of making a quantum leap
forward in the chances of survival, Bryan had gone from the frying pan into the fire.
The fact that the squadron had featured in such documentaries as Target for Tonight
could not have impressed him too much because in February 1942, after only four
operations, he was posted to No 13 OTU Bicester. It would not surprise me to learn
that this was part of a cunning plot to engineer a posting onto Mosquitoes.
It was not to be, however: at least, not operationally. Bryan was posted instead to
the Telecommunications Flying Unit at Defford, flying a variety of aircraft in the
development of the radar which proved indispensable during the latter part of the war.
A veritable dream of a posting.
In October 1943, Bryan joined Fighter Command, with postings to FCHQ, West
Malling and Biggin Hill, before trying his hand at GCI Controlling. October 1944
witnessed a transfer to yet another command, when he was appointed to ferry and
flight testing duties at Filton, part of 44 Group Transport Command. This was his last
posting, and in September 1946 he was released from the Service.
Four months later, he left these shores, presumably for the country in which his
roots lay: South Africa.
487
Two assessments from his colleagues on 105 Squadron help to complete this
portrait of Bryan Smithers. George Goode remembered him as having fair hair, being
quiet and undemonstrative; not a ball of fire but got on with the job. And Tony Mee
thought Bryan was: 'A nice chap; good formation leader; inspired confidence.'
Bryan relinquished his commission in the Reserve in July 1959, retaining the rank
of Squadron Leader.
488
FG OFF C.F. JAMES
(OBSERVER IN SMITHERS CREW)
I experienced great difficulty in tracking down any concrete information concerning
Bryan Smithers's observer on the Rotterdam raid. Pitfalls abounded: conclusions had
to be drawn with caution. A Sgt C.F. James is commemorated on the Runnymede
Memorial, his body being lost on 19th August 1942. Two navigators with the identity
of C.F. James survived the war, one as a flight lieutenant and the other as a flying
officer. The Rotterdam veteran proved to be the latter.
Born on 16th July 1920 in Brislington, near Keynsham, Bristol (did he know Horace
Batchelor - the pools expert?), Cecil James did not wait to be called up and enlisted
four days after his 19th birthday. The engagement was for a nominal five years, as an
Air Observer.
Crewing up with Bryan Smithers and John Fisher at No 17 OTU Upwood in March
1941, Cecil joined 105 Squadron at Swanton Morley on 10th June. Before the
departure of the Malta detachment at the end of July, Cecil had completed seven
operational sorties: a deadly cocktail of anti-shipping strikes and Circus raids. It is
interesting to note that the Rotterdam raid of 16th July 1941 marked Cecil's 21st
Birthday, which in those days was celebrated as the age of majority. All crews back
safely after a most successful raid, and a 21st to boot: some party!
The attack three days later, against eight M/Vs off The Hague, escorted by six flak
ships, wiped out two of the 'Rotterdam' crews, namely those of Sgts Farrow and
Taylor. What the compiler of the Squadron ORB failed to mention, but was included
in the 77th Casualty List issued by the Air Ministry on 13th August, was that Cecil
was 'wounded or injured in action' on this raid. It was enough to exclude him from the
imminent Malta detachment: a blessing in disguise?
Cecil joined 82 Squadron at the end of August, but crewed up again with his old
skipper in mid-November, when Bryan Smithers was posted to 149 Squadron
Mildenhall as a Stirling flight commander.
At the end of January 1944, W/O Cecil Frank James was commissioned. He
survived the war as a substantive Flying Officer.
489
FLT LT J. FISHER
(WOp/AG IN SMITHERS CREW)
Of the thirty-seven WOp/AGs who took part in the Rotterdam raid of 16th July
1941, just two re-mustered to pilot. John Welch was one: he was born in Salford,
Lancashire; the other was John Fisher: he was born just up the road, in Leigh.
Regretfully, the subject of this biography did not live to see retirement but was killed
in the Far East just after the end of hostilities.
John joined his last squadron - No 233 - at Blakehill Farm, near Swindon, during
April 1945. By then a Dakota pilot, John must have felt some disappointment at
missing the squadron's outstanding contributions to the airborne assaults of D-Day,
Arnhem and the Rhine, the last operation talking place during the month prior to his
arrival. But there was still a major war raging against Japan, and the squadron moved
from Odiham to Tulihal, Imphal, on the eastern borders of India, in August. When the
world entered the Atomic Age, John found himself arriving too late to see action. But
many remote army units were still in urgent need of supplies. One such operation was
laid on for 27th September 1945.
The target for the drop was Panglong, near Lashio in eastern Burma. No reason is
given in the Squadron ORB for the loss of John's Dakota - FL526 - but other crews in
the area reported low cloud at 400 feet over the Dropping Zone. John crashed near the
DZ, and was killed along with his co-pilot, Fg Off J.L. Osler, and two of his three
despatchers, L/Cpls R.F. Cooper and F.C. Forster. Miraculously, John's navigator, Plt
Off E.H.R. Rains, his wireless-operator, W/O J.C. Pallitt, and his third despatcher,
L/Cpl J. Hudson, escaped with injuries. Flt Lt John Fisher's earthly remains lie buried
in Taukkyan War Cemetery, Rangoon.
John enlisted as a u/t WOp/AG in February 1940, at the age of 19 years and eight
months. He crewed up with his skipper, Bryan Smithers, at No 17 OTU Upwood,
before moving on to 105 Squadron at Swanton Morley on 10th June 1941. During
490
Bryan's service on the squadron, there was just one short period when John was
unable to join him on operations: during late August/early September, on the Malta
detachment. At one time or another, all the Luqa-based aircrew seem to have fallen
prey to the unpleasant malady called sandfly fever or three-day fever. This would
appear to have been John's turn.
In November 1941, John accompanied his skipper to Mildenhall, to operate 149
Squadron's newly-arrived Stirling bombers.
In May 1942, John was commissioned. His re-mustering to pilot was to set him on
the road to his final destiny: an early death in the hills of Burma. In Lancashire, Mrs
K.T. Fisher mourned the death of her husband.
491
FLT LT A.B. BROADLEY DFC
Ben Broadley was one of the few to be decorated for his part in the Rotterdam raid
of 16th July 1941. With no less than twenty-one operations under his belt prior to that
raid, his award of the DFC was thoroughly deserved, and perhaps overdue. Ben had
kindly lent his observer, Alistair Ramsay, to the 105 Squadron boss, Wg Cdr Hughie
Edwards, for the famous low-level daylight raid on Bremen on 4th July. The boss was
awarded the VC, Al Ramsay the DFC, and Ben, who borrowed Sgt Knight for this
raid, got nothing.
Born in Southampton on 7th August 1915, Arthur Benjamin Broadley suffered as a
child from the blood disease anaemia. To help counteract this debilitating condition,
Ben was fed with raw liver, minced up. It must have done the trick or he would never
have passed his aircrew medical. Even so, a colleague on 105 Squadron - George
Goode - described him as 'thin and cadaverous'.
Commissioned in November 1940, Ben entered 2 Group via No 13 OTU Bicester.
After just five days on the strength of 82 Squadron, Watton, he transferred to 105
Squadron, Swanton Morley, at the end of March 1941. Ben lasted exactly four months
on the squadron, running the gauntlet of the 2 Group anti-shipping campaign virtually
unscathed. His name is a familiar one on most of the pages of the Squadron ORB, as
well as the 2 Group photo album, for that period of the war.
Ben's phenomenal run of luck received a severe jolt on 31st July 1941, not long
after his arrival in Malta. There is a discrepancy in the records, with 1st August as an
equal contender. Maurice Chapple's diary reads:
'31st July 41. Thursday. [The day the Nazis launched their "Final Solution"].
Squadron made two flights: one early, one late. Finished late. Flt Lt Broadley went
west, in "U", in an attack on a heavily-defended convoy.'
492
Derek Ransom agrees with this in his book Battle Axe (Air-Britain 1967), as does
George Goode, who was serving on the squadron at the time. Stuart R. Scott confirms
this date in BATTLE-AXE BLENHEIMS (Alan Sutton Publishing Limited, 1996), page
150. However, the various ORB entries and AHB5 (Casualty) come down firmly in
favour of 1st August.
Here, then, is a synopsis of Ben's last operation of the war. Leading a vic of three
Blenheims, he took off late afternoon to attack shipping in the harbour of Lampedusa,
an island to the southwest of Malta. As Ben was lining up to bomb one of the two
M/Vs in the harbour, his aircraft - Z9605 (GB:U) - was hit in the starboard engine by
ack-ack. Completing his attack, Ben was seen to fly away from the port, under
control, but losing height very rapidly. He was last seen to dive nose first into the sea,
half a mile from the shore, southeast of the island.
Miraculously, Ben and his WOp/AG, Vernon Marsh, emerged relatively unscathed
from the crash; a broken ankle for the pilot and some leg injuries for the gunner. Not
so lucky was Ben's observer, Alistair Ramsay, who was so badly injured that he died
shortly afterwards. Eric Applebee explains: 'Whilst under water, they somehow got
out of the cockpit: Ben must have dragged Ramsay out.' Alistair's death under these
circumstances must have been a bitter blow.
Two weeks later, George Goode met up with Ben again, in a temporary prison camp
near Rome. George recalled that Ben was in the other half of the villa that they were
in, and that they had to shout in order to hear each other. They were later put into
different camps, but eventually shared the delights of Stalag Luft III, accompanied by
such Rotterdam veterans as Denis Graham-Hogg, Gilbert Lowes, Butch Morton,
Adrian White and Bill (Sydney) Smith.
Ben survived the war. Last known at an address in Hertfordshire, I was unable to
trace him.
George Goode threw some light on Ben's character, describing him as a bright,
cheery lad who was unable to eat his early meal before night-flying briefing owing to
an attack of butterflies. To be able to carry out so many operations, in spite of some
inner misgivings: now that's what I call courage.
493
PLT OFF A.S. RAMSAY DFC
(OBSERVER IN BROADLEY CREW)
Had the war not intervened, it is quite likely that Alistair (some records spell it
'Alister') Ramsay would have followed the family tradition and become a postmaster.
His grandfather had held such a position at Ayr, while his father did likewise at Derby
initially, before finally being appointed head postmaster at Royal Tunbridge Wells.
Born on 18th May 1909, Alistair was well above the average age for aircrew.
Educated at The Skinners' School, Royal Tunbridge Wells, and at Tonbridge, he was
a keen sportsman and played for the Tonbridge Rugby Club. He spent three years in
the Malay States before returning to the UK and joining the Civil Air Guard. He
quickly gained a commission in the organisation popularly known as 'the weekend
fliers'.
Alistair's commission in the RAFVR on 3rd November 1940 gave him one day less
seniority than his Blenheim skipper, Ben Broadley, with whom he crewed up at No 13
OTU, Bicester. Passing through 82 Squadron, Watton, without unpacking his bags,
Alistair joined 105 Squadron at Swanton Morley on 31st March 1941.
By 4th July, Alistair was a 2 Group veteran. The previously aborted raids on
Bremen had put everybody in a bad mood. The CO of 105 Squadron, Wg Cdr Hughie
Edwards, was now in a seat which was becoming hotter by the second. With Their
Airships breathing down his neck, the wing commander could afford no hiccups over
this, the third attempt. That Alistair was selected on a 'special guest appearance' basis
to navigate for the CO, and hence the entire formation, is proof of the esteem in which
he was held on the squadron. The Bremen raid of 4th July has been well covered
elsewhere (e.g. Strike Hard, Strike Sure by Ralph Barker: Chatto & Windus 1963);
suffice it to record Alistair's participation by way of the citation for the award of his
DFC:
494
'Plt Off Alister Stewart Ramsay RAFVR 105 Squadron: DFC award. Plt Off
Ramsay and Sgt Gerald Douglas Prior Quinn were the air observer/navigator and
wireless operator/air gunner of the leading aircraft of a formation which carried out a
daylight attack on Bremen. [Sgt Quinn was awarded a bar to his DFM. Richard
Passmore was on 40 Squadron with Quinn in July 1940; he recalls sewing on the
ribbon of Quinn's first DFM - because his friend couldn't sew!]. The flight was made
mostly in poor visibility. Three changes of course were necessary on the outward
journey, of which two were effected on DR out of sight of land. After they flew
through a balloon barrage, and meeting with determined and accurate fire from the
ground, they attacked the centre of the town from about fifty feet. During the action,
Sgt Quinn was wounded in the leg, but remained at his post, maintaining wireless
watch and assisting Plt Off Ramsay in navigating the aircraft safely back to base. Plt
Off Ramsay displayed exceptional skill, and contributed in a large way to the success
of this hazardous mission.'
In a letter to his mother afterwards, Alistair informed her that he had been 'gonged'
for his part in the raid on Bremen, adding: 'We were all frightfully bucked to hear it.'
Versions differ slightly on how soon Alistair died after his aircraft crashed off
Lampedusa island on 31st July/1st August 1941. AHB5 (Casualty) records state that
Alistair became a POW but died from his injuries on 1st August (their date for the
crash). Eric Applebee is adamant that Alistair had been so badly shot up that he died
in the water before the Italians arrived to pick them up.
The Ramsay family would no doubt have gleaned some ray of comfort from the
initial classification of 'Missing', until later reports confirmed his death. Alistair is
buried in Catania War Cemetery, Sicily, Grave Reference IV.L.50.
Again, I am grateful to Sqn Ldr George Goode for a succinct character assessment.
In essence, George remembers Alistair as 'blond; a big quiet country lad; big
shoulders; broad; strong face; good pals with Broadley - let him do the talking!'
The shock of crashing, losing a good friend, and becoming a POW all in a short
space of time was the lot of countless wartime aircrew. I doubt whether Ben Broadley
ever quite recovered from his trauma.
495
WARRANT OFFICER V.R. MARSH DFM
(WOp/AG IN BROADLEY CREW
The beginning of August 1941 was a bleak time for Mrs Marsh. At her home in
Wigan, she had received official notification that her son, Sgt Vernon Richardson
Marsh, was 'Missing: believed killed in action'. The clouds were dramatically parted
on Monday 18th August, when she received the news that her son was a POW in
Italy, that he was well and had sent her his love. The source of these glad tidings was
somewhat unusual: the Apostolic Delegation for the Cardinal Secretary to His
Holiness the Pope.
George Goode believed that Vernon had died in the water, after his legs had been
chopped up in the crash. Perhaps this injury may have led to his early repatriation, as
Vernon does not appear on the POW lists in the Public Record Office (AIR 20/2336).
At the time of the crash, the paperwork was already in motion for the award of the
DFM; one wonders when Vernon actually received the good news.
Born in Wigan, on 20th February 1920, Vernon worked in the building trade before
enlisting for training as a WOp/AG on 3rd November 1939. One year later, Sgt Marsh
was posted to No 13 OTU, Bicester, to crew up with Ben Broadley and Alistair
Ramsay. After joining 105 Squadron at the end of March 1941, Vernon gave faithful
service to his skipper, accompanying him on all twenty-five operational sorties before
the crew crashed off the island of Lampedusa.
Vernon was discharged from the Service on 10th October 1947.
496
FG OFF J.G. BRUCE DFM
In May 1989 my wife and I were on holiday in France. Our route took us through
Lille, where I knew one of the 'Rotterdam' pilots lay buried. Lille Southern Cemetery
is, like all the Commonwealth War Graves cemeteries, immaculately maintained.
During our visit, the weather was glorious, enhancing the occasion. I always
experience a strange mixture of emotions whenever I visit war graves. It ranges from
sorrow that so many died young, through pride and deep gratitude for their sacrifice in
the cause of freedom, and finally to a profound belief that these graves do not mark
the end of it all.
When I found the grave of James George Bruce, I felt that I had met up with an old
friend. I hope that he will approve of these few words that I am writing to place on
record his short yet distinguished life.
Born in Buckie, Banffshire, on 21st February 1918, Jimmy Bruce was employed as
a bank clerk in the Royal Bank of Scotland, in his home town before transferring to
nearby Forres. His date of enlistment in the RAFVR - 10th May 1940 - coincided with
the launching of Hitler's Blitzkrieg on the Low Countries. After ITW at Torquay, and
elementary flying training ('51 Gp Pool'), Jimmy commenced advanced training at No
3 SFTS South Cerney, Cirencester on 28th September 1940. On 1st February 1941,
Sgt-pilot James Bruce started his Blenheim conversion at No 13 OTU Bicester. Some
two months previously, Sgt-observer Adam Herd Flett had commenced his training at
the Oxfordshire airfield. I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall of the
Sergeants' Mess to observe the conversation leading up to the discovery that Jimmy
and Adam were both born in Buckie! Their Scottish accents would no doubt have
opened the proceedings. Inevitably, Jimmy and Adam crewed up together, joining 105
Squadron at Swanton Morley on 10th April 1941. One week later, the pair were
engaged in their first operation against the enemy: a shipping beat flown from the
forward base of St Eval in Cornwall.
497
Inexorably grinding their way through the 2 Group menu of the day - shipping beats
and Circus operations - the pair must have had mixed feelings when operating against
Norwegian targets during the middle two weeks of May; based at Lossiemouth, they
were barely a stone's throw from Buckie.
On 2nd June, Sgt Henry Gibson joined the crew as WOp/AG, just over one month
before the famous low-level daylight raid on Bremen. When I drafted this biography
in October 1990, I expressed the opinion that this raid might be worthy of the
exhortation delivered by King Henry V before the Battle of Agincourt. Three months
later, a similar comparison was being made by an Allied commander at the outbreak
of the Gulf War to liberate Kuwait. For readers not having ready access to this famous
piece of Shakespearian literature, it reads:
'And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.'
Whether or not Wg Cdr Hughie Edwards included such stirring words in his
briefing is not recorded in the Operations Record Books. Suffice it to say that Jimmy
Bruce and his crew were there, as were the crews of Ben Broadley and Ronald Scott.
Jimmy returned from this remarkable raid with a shot-up tailplane and telephone
wires trailing from his tailwheel.
During the Rotterdam raid twelve days later, Jimmy did not run the gauntlet
unscathed, and was hit by light flak, possibly reflecting the erroneous claim made by
patrol boat Vp 1107 concerning the second Blenheim downed in or near Waalhaven.
To Jimmy and his crew fell the privilege of flying the engineer and diarist, Maurice
Chapple, out to Malta in late July 1941. As a contemporary record of this hazardous
enterprise, Mr Chapple's diary is without parallel. In essence, it reads:
'25 JUL 41 Standing by. Friday. This time set off at 1730 hours for Portreath. I flew
in "M" with Sgt Bruce as pilot, with Flett and Gibson. An uneventful trip. Weather
splendid. I flew "M" for about half an hour. Arrived about 2030 hours...sorted out
refuelling party. Also changed a couple of tailwheels. No maintenance party available,
so had to do dailies on three kites. Portreath set amidst splendid scenery. Slept in a
tent miles from anywhere.
26 JUL 41 Saturday. All set for 1030 take-off. Nothing happened. Weather bad
down south. Met ex-105 bloke in Spitfire squadron, who gave me a hand with
dailies...Went down to village in the evening. Rather charming and sea beautiful.
27 JUL 41 Sunday. Surprise! Take-off 10am. Very little panic. Good-byes said
rather pointedly and taxied out for take-off. Began wondering about fuel. Also slight
wind-up [meteorological or apprehensive sense?]. Picked up rest of formation over
Scillies, but soon ran into fog bank at sea-level and gradually lost them. Flying at sealevel past French coast. Passed several fishing boats (squeakers) [More commonly
known as "squealers"]. Weather fairly thick as far as Cape Finisterre. Successfully
operated overload tank. Petrol consumption OK. Sighted Cape St Vincent, Cadiz,
Trafalgar. Weather now ideal. In the Straits at about 1600 hours. Grand bird's-eye
view. Splendid - worth the trip. Landed Gib OK, about 1630 hours. Aerodrome
somewhat limited...Kites cleared up and found billet: a tent!
28 JUL 41 Monday. All set to go at 1000 hours. CO's kite plug trouble. Turned
back. Take-off 1015 hours. Formation all the way this time. Sighted Sardinia on left,
498
then turned away. Emptied overload tank. More juice in port inner than the starboard
side, so had slight argument with Jimmy before I was allowed to even them up. Oil
and engine temperatures high. Sighted what was apparently Pantelleria, and nipped
smartly round, but found it was Cape Bon! Flew at sea-level afterwards for an
interminable time. Eventually sighted Pantelleria proper. Sea very blue and oily
looking. Wondered how one would get picked up, as we sighted no shipping. Petrol
getting rather short. Somewhat worried. However, at about 1830 hours, Malta
appeared dead ahead. Some manoeuvring around Gozo, and then down to land. Not
greatly impressed by aerodrome (Luqa). Put cards away and turned in.'
At the end of the Malta detachment, only the crews of Jimmy Bruce and Bryan
Smithers remained from the original Rotterdam seven. Both pilots were rewarded for
their efforts by being posted from the squadron just as it was re-equipping with
Mosquitoes. Flight Sergeants Jimmy Bruce and Adam Flett joined the instructional
staff at No 17 OTU Upwood, erroneously termed a 'rest cure'.
In January 1942, Jimmy and Adam were both awarded well-deserved and longoverdue DFMs. The citations record their 'magnificent courage and devotion to duty
and a high degree of skill in their respective duties'.
Events now gathered their own momentum, and on May Day, Jimmy was granted a
commission.
Wg Cdr Hughie Edwards managed to talk his way back to 105 Squadron; so did
Jimmy Bruce. But the Scottish pair had been finally split up.
Based at Marham, and teamed up with his new navigator, Plt Off M.W.P. Carreck,
Jimmy commenced operations on Mosquitoes Mk IV on 1st October 1942 with a raid
on the oil refineries at Ghent. On his thirteenth operation, on 6th December, he flew
one of the Mosquitoes led by Wg Cdr Hughie Edwards in the famous low-level raid
on the Philips radio and valve works at Eindhoven. Some miles before the target - at
Turnhout - he was intercepted by a pair of Fw 190s. On this occasion he survived the
encounter and staggered back to base with his aircraft badly damaged by cannon fire.
Shortly before Christmas he crewed up for the last time, with Plt Off R.L. Reily.
Then, on 27th January 1943, he was suddenly posted to 109 (PFF) Squadron at
Wyton, the squadron that Adam Flett would join later in the year, and on which he
would lose his life. However, on 1st February, Jimmy 'returned to unit on cancellation
of posting'.
Just over one month after Hughie Edwards's replacement - Geoffrey Longfield - and
Rotterdam veteran Ralph Millns had been tragically killed at Rennes, Jimmy Bruce
was tasked with a raid on a railway yard near Liège. The fateful day was 28th March
1943, and Fg Off Bruce was flying Mosquito Mk IV, DZ 416. History was to repeat
itself, but on this occasion with tragic consequences. At 1840 hours. and some miles
before the target - about 35 miles to the west of Lille - the formation of six
Mosquitoes was intercepted by '2 - 4 FW 190s (exact number unknown)'. The aircraft
crewed by Fg Offs J.G. Bruce/R.L. Reily and Sgts G.K. Leighton/T.N. Chadwick
broke formation and were last seen with the FW 190s in hot pursuit. Jimmy was shot
down at Templeuve, a small town about ten miles southeast of Lille. Within ten
months, his old friend Adam Flett would suffer a similar fate, as navigator of
Mosquito Mk IV, DZ 440.
The last words of this obituary are contributed by ex-105 Squadron WOp/AG, Tony
Mee:
499
'I remember Sgt Bruce as being tall in stature [over six feet] with a pleasant manner.
They were a steady crew on our operations together.'
500
WARRANT OFFICER A.H. FLETT DFM
(OBSERVER IN BRUCE CREW)
When I was stationed in Germany in the early sixties, I occasionally visited the
Reichswald Forest War Cemetery, near Kleve. The memory that sticks clearly in my
mind is the considerable number of unidentified German soldiers: so many families
with no place on which to focus their grief.
I cannot recall reading the name of W/O Adam Herd Flett, though the chances are
that I would have walked past his grave. That I should have unknowingly visited the
last resting place of one of the Rotterdam heroes makes me feel even more depressed
that I did not start my research in those days.
Born in Buckie on 9th January 1915, Adam Flett was three years older than Jimmy
Bruce. Whether or not they knew each other before teaming up at OTU at Bicester
could not be established.
Before enlisting, on the day before his 25th birthday, Adam worked for a number of
years in a chemist's shop in Buckie. Taking the path of ITW Torquay, a navigation
school ('51 Gp Pool' again) and No 8 B&GS, Sgt-observer Adam Flett arrived at No
13 OTU Bicester at the end of November 1940, some two months before Jimmy
Bruce. The careers of the Scottish pair were virtually identical from the moment they
teamed up at OTU until they were split up in December 1941. About the only
detectable difference is that during the Lossiemouth detachment in May 1941, Adam
would have had an extra three miles to pop home, to Findochty.
For whatever reason, just one month after his posting to No 17 OTU Upwood with
Jimmy Bruce, Adam was sent back to Oxfordshire, this time to instruct on Hampdens
at No 16 OTU Upper Heyford. His valiant service on Blenheims was rewarded in
January 1942 by the coveted DFM. That Jimmy was similarly honoured must have
caused the wee drams to flow freely at the inevitable celebration party.
501
In April 1942, the OTU re-equipped with Wellingtons and Adam now found himself
entrenched in the training empire. June 1943 saw his return to No 17 OTU; Adam
must have gone straight for the jugular vein, as the following month he enrolled for
conversion onto Mosquitoes at No 1655 MTU, Marham.
Crewing up with Plt Off P.Y. Stead, Adam, now a Warrant Officer, joined the select
Pathfinder Force by way of newly-arrived 109 Squadron. This squadron was
distinguished by being the first to be equipped with the new magical navigation and
bombing aid, Oboe, which professor R.V. Jones called 'The most precise bombing
system of the war'. By October 1943, when Adam joined the squadron, it had been
using Oboe operationally for some ten months.
It was therefore with some surprise that I gleaned the following information from
the Squadron ORB. Of the fourteen operations that Adam and his pilot had flown
before they were shot down, no less than half were completed on DR 'owing to
technical failure'. Shades of the early years of the war, but, luckily for Bert Harris, not
typical of this war-winning piece of equipment.
In the early hours of the morning of 14th January 1944, Fg Off Stead and W/O Flett
left Marham for the last time, in Mosquito Mk IV, DZ 440. The target was Essen. The
ORB entry is precise: 'This aircraft is missing. Last heard of at 0521 in the target
area.' The aircraft was shot down at Mehr, just four miles to the west of Kleve, in
Germany. Mrs Elizabeth Flett joined the long and growing list of war widows.
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WARRANT OFFICER H. GIBSON DFM
(WOp/AG IN BRUCE CREW)
Wars are generally declared by the old and fought by the young. In later life, one's
psyche tends to react much more violently to the prospect of its home - the body having to undergo a demolition job. It is therefore with increased admiration that I
view the contributions of these older men. (In the recent Gulf Conflict - Operation
Desert Storm - I was no less impressed by the advancing years of some of the
Tornado aircrew). At 34½ years of age at the time of the Rotterdam raid, Henry
Gibson was firmly inside this bracket.
Born in Edge Hill, Liverpool on Christmas Eve 1906, Henry enlisted in October
1939 for training as a WOp/AG. Blenheim conversion was commenced in July 1940
at No 13 OTU Bicester, after which, at the beginning of December, Henry joined 105
Squadron at Swanton Morley.
Crewed up with Flt Lt John Dunlevie and Sgt Shufflebotham, Henry's first
operational sortie, on 21st December, against the harbour at Dunkirk earned the
following accolade from the compiler of the Squadron ORB:
'A very successful operation at Dunkirk was carried out by the four inexperienced
crews, who made determined attacks and observed their bombs bursting across the
docks.'
Henry's skipper, pre-war veteran John S. Dunlevie, was promoted to Squadron
Leader shortly afterwards.
By the beginning of June 1941, Henry had flown on nineteen operations, against
such targets as Bremen, Gelsenkirchen, Hanover, Hamburg, Wilhelmshaven, Borkum,
Caen, Le Havre and Boulogne. He then joined Jimmy Bruce and Adam Flett for
another twenty operations, including the mind-concentrating Malta detachment. It
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would come as no surprise to anyone that Henry was awarded the DFM in September
1941, the news arriving while he was still engaged in interrupting Rommel's supplies.
In his diary, Maurice Chapple comments that the award was 'well deserved'.
All I have managed to glean is that Henry reached the rank of Temp Warrant
Officer. I hope he survived the war, and wish him well, wherever he is now.
504
SGT R.J. SCOTT
Concurrent with my research into my cousin and the Rotterdam raid, Stuart R. Scott
was delving into the background of his uncle. Oddly enough, he was the nephew of
Sgt Stuart George Bastin, the WOp/AG of the crew, and not of the similarly named
pilot, Sgt Ronald Scott. Stuart became a firm friend, and I am grateful to him for
tracking down a relative of Ronald Scott, and for the consequent access to his Record
of Service.
In his diary, Maurice Chapple refers to Ronald Scott as 'Scotty' (how else?). I shall
also use this nickname but must remind readers that two other persons in this book are
so identified, namely Sqn Ldr A.A. McD. Scott (friend of Tim Partridge) and
Montague Stanley Scotney (WOp/AG on 18 Squadron).
A resident of Bournemouth, Scotty appears to have taken to heart Rudyard Kipling's
'sixty seconds worth of distance run'. (After writing this, I was astonished when it too
was quoted by a commander in the Gulf Conflict!). Apart from being a member of his
father's firm of funeral directors, Scotty was a member of Westover and Bournemouth
Rowing Club, a member of Round Table No 5, and a member of the Ethelbert Lodge
of Freemasons (No 4712). He also found the spare time at weekends to learn to fly
with the Civil Air Guard at Christchurch. He was soon off the mark when war was
declared.
Enrolling in the RAFVR at the age of 24, Scotty presented himself at No 1 Recruit
Centre, Uxbridge on 4th October 1939. His was certainly a 'phoney' start to the war,
as he was put on ice and asked to report back at No 3 RC Padgate on 22nd May 1940!
For him, any aircrew category other than pilot was totally unacceptable, and he was
prepared to wait for the next vacancy. That the pilot training machine took so long to
get into top gear nearly cost us the Battle of Britain: in The Narrow Margin
(Hutchinson & Co 1961) Derek Wood and Derek Dempster write: 'When the Battle of
Britain began on July 10th...the one serious defect was the shortage of trained pilots.'
505
After that, of course, it was panic stations, and many a pilot was sentenced to a
premature death from sheer lack of comprehensive training. The fatalities caused by
flying accidents alone make chilling reading.
Polished up by No 5 ITW, Torquay (during the war years, the 'Queen of the English
Riviera' also boasted Nos 1, 3, 13 and 21 ITWs), Scotty then spent six weeks at an
EFTS ('50 Gp Pool') consolidating his Civil Air Guard experience. On 24th August
1940, he arrived at No 2 SFTS, Brize Norton, for advanced training on Harvards and
Oxfords. Only one week previously, the airfield had been beaten up by two Ju.88s: in
his book Action Stations 6, Michael Bowyer describes this attack as 'the most
spectacular on any British airfield during the war'. And this raid followed shortly after
an Oxford from 2 SFTS had been shot down over nearby Akeman Street. Not wholly
conducive to the art of learning to fly.
At the end of November 1940, Sergeant-pilot Ronald Scott commenced Blenheim
conversion at No 17 OTU Upwood. The initial privilege of being skipper to Sgts Bren
Healy and Stuart Bastin fell to a Canadian, Sgt Arthur J. 'Arty' Piers. It would not be
until 3rd May 1941 that the Rotterdam trio finally crewed up.
Scotty was posted to 105 Squadron, Swanton Morley, on 11th April 1941 where he
was soon in the thick of the 2 Group anti-shipping campaign. The middle two weeks
in May brought the Lossiemouth detachment and the ultimate constitution of the
crew.
Flying a good cross-section of shipping beats and Circus operations, Scotty
somehow emerged relatively unscathed as the end of June approached, and with it the
spectre of Bremen... As it turned out, he and his crew could claim the distinction of
being the only Rotterdam participants to have flown on all three of the Bremen
sorties. After the two abortive attempts - due to foul weather - on 28th and 30th June,
Scotty prepared himself once more on 4th July. The 2 Group photo album bears
witness to his part in this famous VC raid. When Scotty returned he dumped his
Blenheim on the hard-working and overstretched groundcrew in a condition which, I
suppose, was par for the course in those days: Z7361 (GB:R - definitely 'R' not 'S',
photographic evidence) had been badly holed in the fuselage and the brakes were U/S.
Scotty's misidentification on the Rotterdam raid is perfectly understandable: he was
not the only one to believe that the large cargo-liner Oranjefontein, berthed in
Waalhaven, was the even bigger liner Baloeran.
On his last leave before setting off for Malta on 25th July, Scotty became engaged
to a young lady from Boscombe (Bournemouth). Fate would decree that the wedding
would never take place.
Rommel was as keen on getting his supplies through as were the beleaguered
garrison of Malta theirs. Appropriate defensive measures were laid on by the
Germans for their convoys and ports of reception; Scotty discovered that groundbased flak was no less vicious than the arsenal surrounding enemy merchant vessels,
when his Blenheim was peppered by AA fire during an attack on Tripoli on 3rd
August.
During the early evening of 11th August, three aircraft took off for a low-level
attack on the chemical works at Crotone, on the toe of Italy. The chemical reaction
resulting from the addition of 3,000 lbs of well-placed high explosive was impressive.
But so was the stuff coming up in the opposite direction. In the words of the Squadron
ORB: 'Very accurate heavy AA fire was encountered'. Scotty returned safely to Luqa
but Sqn Ldr George Goode was a victim of the flak and 'failed to return' in Z7503.
Not mentioned in the ORB, but recorded in Maurice Chapple's diary was exactly how
506
Scotty arrived at base. Staggering back in the dark, probably shot-up and minus
hydraulics, Scotty 'wrote off "N" for Nuts coming in to land'.
The diary entry for 'Monday 25 Aug 41' is strangely at odds with the Squadron ORB
and the casualty records held by AHB which state that the fateful day was 26th
August. (Stuart R. Scott has convincing evidence that the correct date of the death of
his uncle is 25th August 1941). Maurice wrote:
'Five kites standing by for ops. Two aircraft off at 1130. "U" for Uncle and "N"
Nuts [Z7682]. Scotty went west in "N" Nuts. Hit mast of ship, and blew up. A friend
of mine and a good pilot.'
In company with Sgt Brandwood, Scotty was detailed to photograph a badlydamaged M/V about five miles east of Kuriat island, then to attack another M/V about
thirty-five miles northeast of Kerkennah. The first ship was duly sighted in the
reported position and photographed; the second vessel was found after a long search.
The ORB continues:
'It was well afloat, and there was a small sailing boat proceeding away from it,
northwest of the coast. The first aircraft - Sgt Scott - bombed with 4 x 250 lb bombs
and scored at least two direct hits and two near-misses. The aircraft hit the mast and
broke up, bursting into flames before hitting the sea.'
Tony Mee was the WOp/AG in 'U' for Uncle; his account suggests an explanation
for the tragedy:
'As Sgt Scott had shown such skill in low-level flying over the first vessel, while Sgt
Healy used the F.24 camera, hitting the mast of the second ship seems inexplicable.
There was, however, a small boat tied up on the other side of the target possibly
unloading cargo. As we had already passed an Arab dhow heading for the ship, a
fluke shot from one of the Arabs on board could have caused the accident.'
Sadly, Tony added:
'It was tragic that they should have died on a last sortie to being sent back to an
OTU as "screens" on rest.'
A further rider from Tony Mee could cause migraine attacks amongst not a few
aviation historians:
'I cannot reconcile all the information contained in the operational records with my
recollection of events! By the way, our aircraft was resprayed in Middle East
camouflage and fitted out at Watton, 21 Squadron (YH) prior to the flight to Malta...'
Scotty is commemorated on the Malta Memorial as having no known grave. His
parents were swiftly notified by telegram that their son had 'lost his life'; the CO of
the squadron was obviously not inclined to raise false hopes. Later, a more formal
notification from the UK authorities, received on 30th August, appended the casualty
grading of 'Missing, believed killed in action'.
In addition to Scotty's parents, Councillor and Mrs Albert Scott, his loss was
mourned by an elder brother as well as a young fiancée.
507
The Bournemouth Daily Echo of 30th August 1941 states that 'Sgt-pilot Scott was a
popular figure in Bournemouth'.
Bren Healy, Ronald Scott and Stuart Bastin with their Blenheim 'Cock O' The Walk'
(via Stuart R. Scott)
508
SGT W.B. HEALY
(OBSERVER IN SCOTT CREW)
On 26th June 1917 in Dublin, John and Elizabeth Healy became the proud parents
of a baby boy, Walter Brendon. Like many other of their countrymen, they chose to
carve a new life on the other side of the Irish Sea, settling in Droylsden (Manchester)
and Seaforth (Liverpool).
Employed as a decorator, Bren Healey appears to have correctly read the signs of
the gathering storm clouds in Europe, and in February 1937, he joined the 7th
Battalion King's Regiment of the Territorial Army. The lure of flying would change
the colour of his uniform, and he enrolled in the RAFVR at the Padgate Recruit
Centre in February 1940.
After initial training at No 5 ITW, Torquay, Bren joined 'No 51 Group Pool' in June.
This all-embracing term camouflages the location of his navigation training, possibly
at No 1 AONS, Prestwick. In September, Bren moved to South Wales to commence a
two-month course at No 7 B&GS, Stormy Down, near Porthcawl. On completion, he
was made temporary Sergeant Air-Observer, and joined No 17 OTU Upwood for
conversion onto Blenheims. Here he teamed up with a Canadian pilot - Sgt Arty Piers
- and an English WOp/AG (Sgt Stuart Bastin): quite a cosmopolitan crew.
April was a memorable month. On 11th, the crew joined 105 Squadron at Swanton
Morley. Just six days later, on their very first operational sortie, the crew had a 'shaky
do'. Returning from an uneventful search for shipping, using the forward base of St
Eval in Cornwall, Sgts Piers and Sarjeant were attacked by a pair of Messerschmitt Bf
109s. The ORB records:
'One aircraft - Sgt Sarjeant - was shot down in flames within five minutes. The other
aircraft was attacked for a further twenty minutes, sustaining heavy damage, but the
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pilot was able to outwit the 109s. This aircraft crash-landed at St Eval. The crew were
uninjured.'
A baptism of fire which a sprog crew would have retold later in the bar - at their
peril! Many such hairy experiences must have remained stillborn for the fear of being
accused of 'line-shooting'.
Just over one week later, on 25th April, the crew were detailed to attack the iron and
steel works at IJmuiden. The ORB records:
'One aircraft - Sgt Piers - attacked barges and small buildings on the quay, machinegunned gun positions, and was forced to crash-land on return.'
The hydraulic system in the Blenheim was extremely vulnerable...
On 13th May, just after the commencement of the Lossiemouth detachment, Bren
Healy and Stuart Bastin crewed up with Scotty. The trio would successfully run the 2
Group gauntlet, including the memorable raids on Bremen (4th July) and Rotterdam
(16th July), before setting off for Malta in late July.
Bren must have had a strong déjà-vu feeling on 11th August, after an attack on the
chemical works at Crotone. The 'very accurate heavy AA fire' claimed Sqn Ldr
Goode's aircraft and presumably the hydraulic system of Scotty's. Bren had to endure
yet another crash-landing - at least his third - on returning to Malta.
On 25th August, Bren had survived 4½ months in 2 Group. The odds were stacked
heavily against him and the young lives of Scotty and Stuart. As described in Sgt R.J.
Scott's biography, the Mediterranean claimed three more victims. Bren Healy is also
commemorated on the Malta Memorial as having no known grave.
510
SGT S.G. BASTIN
(WOp/AG IN SCOTT CREW)
The honour of writing the biography of Sgt Stuart George Bastin belongs to his
nephew. I am indebted to my good friend, Stuart R. Scott, for the following résumé of
his uncle's short life.
Born on 9th December 1921 at St Margarets, Richmond, Stuart George Bastin was
the son of Edgar Henry Bastin, a Commercial Traveller from Exeter, Devon and Rose
Bastin from Stratford. He had one younger much devoted sister, Kathleen, presently
married and herself a mother living in Scotland.
Stuart Bastin's education commenced in August 1933 when he attended Frays
College in Hatfield Road, Uxbridge until August 1935. [George Orwell once taught
here]. His education at this point was by no means terminated as he attended further
education courses comprising two sessions at Watford Technical School, engaged in
the study of Engineering, Mathematics and Machine Drawing.
Inevitably further education was completed and the next stage was to search for
employment. This he sought and found at the British American Optical Company
Limited in Watford, where he was given employment as a Toolmaker engaged in the
manufacture of Press Blanking and Forging tools. Unaware of future developments,
Stuart Bastin considered this would be his life for the next five years at least: the
reality was to be somewhat different.
In addition to being proficient at work Stuart had a keen, if not obsessional, interest
in all things aeronautical. This resulted in his joining No 2 Squadron of the Air
Defence Corps with membership commencing in August 1939. It was therefore with
great pride he sported the rank of Cadet and the service number 31.
His yearning to fly led Stuart to apply on 16th June 1939 to enlist for a period of
five years for flying duties in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. The application,
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Form 1764, was duly completed and witnessed by a local Company Manager and a
Chartered Accountant before being submitted in an effort to initiate the journey along
the road to Stuart's dream in life - to fly.
On 4th July 1939 the application form was forwarded on behalf of the Chief
Instructor at the de Havilland School of Flying (Hatfield) to the Air Officer
Commanding-in-Chief Reserve Command at Royal Air Force, Hendon. The covering
letter supporting the application form stated:
'We have received this application from the Air Defence Corps, who state that since
joining the Watford Squadron this Cadet has made excellent progress, and they trust
that his application will receive favourable consideration.'
Sadly, despite such favourable references, the response to the above came shortly
afterwards in a letter on 19th July 1939 from the Commandant of the RAF Volunteer
Reserve, Air Vice-Marshal Sir Tom Ince Webb-Bowen KCB CMG, who stated:
'Sir, With reference to your application to join the RAFVR, I have to inform you
that recruitment under normal conditions of service into the Volunteer Reserve has
now been discontinued. In the circumstances it is regretted that it is not possible to
proceed with your present application.'
This then was the point in time when all hopes were dashed and the day of fulfilling
ambition smashed despite the solace of the continuing paragraphs:
'If, however, you are still desirous of serving with the RAF, I am to request that you
will be good enough to communicate with the nearest RAF recruiting centre from
which you will be able to obtain full particulars of the present conditions of enlistment
in the RAF. The address of the nearest Recruiting Office can be obtained at any
Labour Exchange. You should produce this letter at the Recruiting Centre, together
with your RAFVR application which is returned herewith.'
For Stuart Bastin the enormity of this rejection was severe, and in recognition of
this, a letter was written on 1st August 1939 to AVM Webb-Bowen by Sqn Ldr R.
Killey, the Officer Commanding No 1 Group of the Air Defence Corps, Watford, who
stated:
'Sir,
Cadet S.G. Bastin, Watford
I am given to understand that the above made application to Hendon for enrolment
in the RAFVR. They replied on the 10th Ult, to the effect that his application has been
forwarded to you.
The cadet in question is very keen to join and he has good technical knowledge and
has proved very satisfactory as a Cadet.
I shall be glad if you will give his application further consideration.'
While the above was being processed and the wheels of bureaucracy slowly turned,
the clouds of war were steadily looming up, and when on the day of 3rd September
1939, war was declared on Germany, Stuart Bastin, in his deep desire to fly, saw his
opportunity to join the RAF.
512
Again, however, his efforts were slightly thwarted when he discovered that to
receive pilot training he would have to wait for some considerable time [as in the case
of Ronald Scott]. He therefore enlisted on 11th December 1939 for voluntary entry
into the RAF with a view to becoming a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner.
His first posting was on 11th December 1939, to No 1 RC Uxbridge resulting in the
proudest moment of his life - the first day in uniform, training as Aircrafthand u/t
Wireless Operator, Service No. 909151.
After a week at RAF Uxbridge, Stuart was passed on to No 5 RTP [Recruit Training
Pool] and a month later - on 16th January 1940 - to Pembroke Dock. Here, one of his
duties included standing on guard at night with the aim of protecting a Sunderland
Flying Boat from any would-be saboteurs or the like. One notable night when he was
on board, to his horror he found that one of the large floats had filled with water and
he and this rather large object were shortly bound for Davy Jones's locker; albeit
probably only some feet in depth, this was certainly too deep for one who had a total
dislike for being in the water. To his great relief, however, some anxious signalling on
a lamp brought some likely lads from shore to pluck him from his fate.
On 15th March 1940, Stuart was transferred to No 3 Wing, No 2 Electrical and
Wireless School at RAF Yatesbury for Wireless Equipment Training. Residing in Hut
Z31, and a member of B Squad, he was taught radio theory and the Morse code,
applying his newly acquired knowledge when airborne in the School's de Havilland
Dominies.
Having completed the course at Yatesbury and becoming a Wireless Operator u/t
Air Gunner from 7th October 1940, Stuart was again transferred, to No 10 Bombing
and Gunnery school at RAF Tinwald [Downs], Dumfries in Scotland. He took up his
post there from 20th October 1940 to find life largely consisting of stripping, cleaning
and assembly of gunner equipment with air firing, practice at drogues and simulated
ground firing. This lasted during the cold winter of 1940 until 23rd November 1940
when he became a temporary Sergeant Wireless Operator/Air Gunner. On 30th
November, he was posted to No 17 Operational Training Unit at RAF Upwood. Here
the course comprised mainly cross-country flying, practice bombing and air firing,
interlaced with ground lectures on navigation and intelligence. It should have lasted
about 2½ months; however, due to bad weather and waterlogging of the airfield the
time was extended to 3½ months.
The day finally came on 11th April 1941 when 909151 Sergeant-WOp/AG Bastin,
along with his Canadian pilot, Sergeant Arthur J. 'Arty' Piers, and Irish observer,
Walter Brendan 'Bren' Healy, joined a group of 4 pilots, 4 observers and 4 WOp/AGs
and travelled to the relatively new base at RAF Swanton Morley to become members
of 105 Squadron and assume an operational role for the first time.
[My postscript]. Stuart Bastin's operational life is identical to that of his observer,
Bren Healy. His name, however, does not appear on the Malta Memorial along with
those of his comrades, Scotty and Bren. It will be found, strangely enough, on
Column 242 of the Alamein Roll of Honour.
513
SQN LDR G.E. GOODE DFC
Not many pilots could claim to have investigated the gliding characteristics of the
famous Bristol Blenheim, unencumbered by any hint of propeller drag. George Goode
was one such pilot: 'I did lose both props', he told me. 'I watched the last one go!'
It was May Day 1941, and George was tasked with attacking the 'largest ship
possible between Hook of Holland and Rotterdam.' The 105 Squadron ORB records:
'Flt Lt Goode, Plt Off Hogan and Sgt Rowland did not discover any shipping in the
Rotterdam waterways, and bombed the oil storage tanks at Rotterdam. With a good
run-up at low altitude, hits were certain, but unobserved due to evasive action owing
to flak and enemy aircraft. These latter, five Me 109s, pressed home an attack in the
absence of cloud cover, but by exceptional flying this was repulsed for twenty
minutes, and the badly damaged aircraft - one airscrew dropped off - was brought
back to England. On crossing the coast, the remaining airscrew was lost, but the
aircraft was successfully force-landed in a field. All crew were wounded in the action
and recognition has since been accorded by the award of a DFC to Flt Lt Goode and
Plt Off Hogan and the DFM to Sgt Rowland at Buckingham Palace on 18th July, by
His Majesty The King.'
The successful forced-landing is even more remarkable when the extent of George
Goode's injury is known: he was shot through the back of one hand. Eric Applebee
recalls that this wound was extremely painful and that a lump remained on George's
hand for some time afterwards.
At the Blenheim Society AGM on 8th March 1991, I had the pleasure of meeting
Geoff Rowland for the first time. He recalls that after the crash-landing he was up to
his knees in mud! George, he said, was sent to the Officers' Convalescent Home,
Torquay, and showed me a photograph of his old skipper being presented to the
514
Princess Royal at the Palace Hotel. Geoff was sent to the Other Ranks' Convalescent
Home in Blackpool; on his release his squadron (105) had already departed for Malta.
At the time of his crash-landing, Geoff had completed 29 operations with George
Goode, whom he described as 'a wonderful pilot'.
George was in hospital until June and was not pronounced fit to fly again until he
led the fighter escort on 16th July - back to the source of his propeller problems Rotterdam.
Born in Hereford on 25th May 1915, George completed his education at a public
school in Leicester. An office job connected with the shoe trade was not for him.
Instead, he made his way out to Australia, joining the crews of those magnificent
grain-carrying barques. These old sailing ships were not quite as fast as their teacarrying cousins - the clippers - but certainly gave a good account of themselves.
George was involved in the last of these grain races: the excitement of this era would
be rekindled many years later.
In the year of his coming of age - 1936 - George enlisted in the RAFVR. After
elementary flying training at the Civil Flying School, Desford, and advanced training
at No 3 FTS Spitalgate, George was awarded his wings on 14th December 1936. Sgtpilot Goode reported to RAF Bicester in May 1937 for a one month Blenheim
conversion course, at the end of which he earned a 'Pass Class A'. In May 1938, he
commenced the three-month navigation course at Hamble, no doubt earmarking the
yachtsman's paradise as a future home.
On 13th July 1940, at No 17 OTU Upwood, George was commissioned, his
seniority backdated to 25th April 1940. In November 1940, he commenced his long
service with 105 Squadron, joining them just after their move from Watton to
Swanton Morley. The menu of the day comprised night attacks on a variety of targets
in Germany, France, Belgium and The Netherlands. On 19th December, during a
successful low-level sortie against Glisy aerodrome, Amiens, George's Blenheim R3682 - was badly damaged by flak. On his next operation, on New Year's Eve, his
new aircraft - T1848 - 'was engaged at low altitude by accurate light flak in the
vicinity of Amsterdam and sustained slight damage'.
George's New Year's resolution - not to upset the hard-pressed groundcrew - was
strictly adhered to, and he successfully dodged the flak for some time afterwards. On
24th February, he jumped a rank and went from Plt Off to acting Flt Lt.
April saw a change in the menu. The anti-shipping campaign kicked off in earnest,
and crews soon learned to distinguish between harmless-looking trawlers which
warned the enemy of their presence (squealers) and harmless-looking trawlers which
sent up a wall of flak. By the end of the month, George had survived half a dozen
shipping beats unscathed; but his luck was about to change...
May Day is a pleasant time of the year - in peacetime. But the one that fell in 1941
was distinctly unpleasant from George's point of view. However, on the positive side,
the valuable experience that he gained this day by slapping a Blenheim down in open
countryside, without serious injury to his crew, would prove priceless just over three
months later.
George's return visit to Rotterdam on 16th July was a far more gentlemanly affair.
On that occasion, he was not required to penetrate the area of intense flak
concentration inland, and he had the added bonus of a personal escort of fifteen
Hurricanes! It was his first operation with Frank Harbord and Eric Applebee, and the
only one they flew as a constituted crew before the Malta detachment. For a brief
moment, George was riding the crest of a wave: six days earlier he had been promoted
515
to acting Squadron Leader, and two days after the raid he had received his DFC from
His Majesty The King at Buckingham Palace.
Operating from Luqa, Malta at the end of July, George shared the honours of
leading attacks on enemy shipping with the other flight commander, Bryan Smithers.
It was George's turn during the early evening of 10th August. Tony Mee (WOp/AG to
Sgt Brandwood) recalls this sortie:
'Our first operational flight from Malta was led by S/Ldr Goode DFC with his crew,
Sgt Nicholls and P/O Applebee DFM. The Vichy-French ship was hit on the stern
with a 500 lb bomb dropped by the squadron leader.'
The ORB confirms this, adding: 'The bombs dropped from the other three aircraft
overshot. The ship was lefty sinking stern first.'
George was on the same shift the following day, 11th August. The ORB records:
'Three aircraft were detailed to attack Crotone Chemical Works. The target was
located and bombed. Each aircraft scored direct hits with all bombs. The target was
left a mass of flames and smoke: the parts most damaged being the centre and westcentral area. One aircraft - Sqn Ldr Goode - failed to return, and was last seen flying
over the town. The remaining two aircraft returned safely to base.'
Eric Applebee, George's WOp/AG, kindly filled in the details:
'We flew down at "zero" feet to this little coastal town - Crotone - and dropped our
bombs on a chemical factory to the north of the town. After our bombing run, I
realised that only one of our 500-pounders had dropped and told George. He went
round again! All this time, we were being shot at, of course. As we flew over the little
harbour, I saw lots of little boats: they were all small Italian gunboats! They used to
point their guns straight up into the air, and if you happened to fly through them you
were hit. We were hit in the port engine which then caught fire. I told George. "That's
not smoke", he said, "just an oil leak!" Oh, well! Then the fire got worse and the
smoke got worse. We had to put down. George just belly-flopped onto the ground: no
hassle - bonk, on his belly. No one was injured. There was no problem getting out: the
hatches all opened OK. The engine that had been on fire had shifted slightly, and the
fire was dying down. We knew we had to destroy our aircraft if possible and tried to
set fire to it. Have you ever tried to set a can of petrol on fire? It's very hard! We fired
all our Very signal cartridges into it but nothing happened. Then the Italians arrived
and started shooting at us. We stood up and shouted: "We surrender!", but they
continued shooting at us. Luckily, we were not hit. Then a naval officer appeared,
with a boat. We were on the coast, of course, and landed a bit further up from
Crotone. He saw the pongos and shouted: "Stop! Stop! Stop!" He must have been
senior to them. "Sorry!", he said. "Would you come with me, please?"
We were taken on his boat and then put down. He kindly gave us some cigarettes:
we weren't carrying any at the time. These were taken away from us later. We were
then handed over to the army and marched off to some horrible place for a few days,
in full view of the locals, who did not like us one bit. Well, we had just been bombing
them, hadn't we? Worst of all, we had seen a car coming out of the factory before we
crashed. It seemed to be running away from us and must have been important: "Shoot
him!", George told me. "It might be the boss!" I fired, and the car left the road,
516
finishing up in a tangled heap. Not surprisingly, after we were captured, everybody
was shouting and yelling at us. "Terror Fliers" we were called in those days.'
Before leaving the scene of this incident, it is worth mentioning another gem of
information which Tony Mee kindly offered. Referring to the HMSO publication The
Air Battle of Malta (Published 1944), Tony corrected the caption to the photograph on
page 32, showing a formation of Blenheims with 'YH' markings (21 Squadron). The
caption is entitled: 'Blenheim strike passing Linosa'. Tony Mee was quite adamant,
and told me:
'This is not Linosa, but Crotone in Italy; and the "21 Squadron" aircraft were being
flown by 107 Squadron, the photo being taken from a 105 Squadron aircraft!'
Historians beware!
George Goode and Eric Applebee were now POWs. Eric continues the story:
'We were sent to the Italian equivalent of Colditz - Gavi Punishment Camp - for
prisoners who were liable to give trouble and try to escape. North of Genoa, it was an
old castle that was used as a jail before it became a POW camp. It's now open to the
public, just as it was. My son has been to see it. It wasn't just for the RAF, but also the
navy and army. We were both there for a year or so: we weren't always in the same
room; and later, in Stalag Luft III, not even in the same block.'
In September 1944, in Stalag Luft III, Eric made a portrait sketch of his skipper,
now identified as POW No 228357. The handsome lines of pre-POW days are
camouflaged by the stresses and strains of George's current way of life.
After the war, George stayed in the Service, securing the rank of substantive
Squadron Leader in August 1947. Earlier in the year he was appointed as a flight
commander on 98 Squadron, operating Mosquito Mk XVIs from Wahn in Germany.
In November of that year, he took over as CO of co-located 14 Squadron, which
operated the same aircraft type. His other peacetime duties included Board President
at the Aircrew Selection Centre, Hornchurch, tours on the staff of HQ 41 Group and
HQ Flying Training Command, and running refresher courses for rusty pilots.
On 5th April 1952, in Chelsea, George married Marguerite Westland: the start of a
37-year union which his widow described as extremely happy.
In 1958, George was offered a desk job - if he would be prepared to drop a rank!
Sqn Ldr George Goode was not so prepared and elected to retire; he left the RAF on
30th April.
George's earlier passion for sailing now re-emerged, and he embarked on what he
called the happiest days of his life.
In the late seventies, George and Marguerite moved to Hamble. Sadly, George
passed away on 25th March 1989, aged 73; with his coffin draped in the Union Jack
he was buried in the local cemetery. Mrs Goode expressed gratitude that the head
curate had given such an excellent summary of her husband's life.
For a character reference, one need look no further than George's wartime colleague
and WOp/AG, Eric Applebee, who told me:
'One hell of a good bloke, and a very capable pilot. He was an outstanding person;
there was no side about him, no "senior officer" stuff. We used to go out celebrating
at night together.'
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It was typical of this modest man that I was forced to look elsewhere for personal
information. George had never even told his wife the details of his final, and quite
spectacular wartime operation.
George Goode as a POW in Stalag Luft III, September 1944. Sketched by his
WOp/AG, Eric Applebee (Eric Applebee)
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FLT LT F.A. HARBORD DFM
(OBSERVER IN GOODE CREW)
Sandfly fever was an inevitable ingredient of every Malta detachment. The virus is
conveyed by the bite of a small hairy midge or sandfly. The symptoms include
headache, feverishness, general sensations like those of influenza, a flushed face and
bloodshot eyes. It is a tribute to the MOs of the day that they could tell the difference
between sandfly fever and the ever-present hangovers of their aircrew!
Though about as popular as a hole in the head, the virus could sometimes prove
advantageous in thwarting the selected blueprint of one's fate. When Frank Harbord
was admitted into No 90 General Hospital on 4th August 1941, suffering from this
ailment, he did not foresee that more than forty years would elapse before he would
converse with his pilot and WOp/AG again! By the time Frank emerged from
hospital, George and Eric had been POWs for four days.
Frank proved an excellent contact, in spite of his finding 'difficulty in talking or
writing about those days, as it is impossible for anyone else to understand.' He and his
crew were the only Rotterdam veterans from 105 Squadron whom I managed to
contact.
Though he was more than willing to grant me permission to obtain a copy of his
Record of Service, I had to chuckle at these qualifying remarks:
'Now all will be revealed. All the skeletons will come falling out of the cupboard.
You will learn of all my misdemeanours as well as my misdeeds and transgressions.'
Unfortunately, this book was not destined to be adorned by such colourful pieces of
scandal. All MOD will release, quite rightly of course, is the bare bones: details of
postings, promotions and decorations.
519
A most valuable photograph was still in Frank's possession: one taken of the entire
complement of 105 Squadron in July 1941. What more could one ask for?
Born on 12th December 1918, Frank was employed as an engineering apprentice
with Blackstone & Co at Stamford, Lincolnshire, a firm which, he tells me, is still
going strong. He also managed to complete some 3½ years service in the Stamford
Territorials, serving in 14 Platoon of 'D' Company, 4th Battalion Lincolnshire
Regiment.
Early in 1939, Frank applied to join the RAF. A good six months later, his
application form was discovered hiding in the 'pending' tray, given a dusting,
processed and finally actioned; and, on 10th July 1939, Frank enlisted as an AC2 u/t
Air Observer under the Direct Entry Aircrew Scheme.
Aldergrove was the home of No 3 Air Observers' School in those days, the unit
being renamed No 3 Bombing and Gunnery School during Frank's training. In late
November, acting Sergeant Air Observer Frank Harbord was posted to RAF Bicester.
There, on a three-month detachment to 104 Squadron - a training squadron in 6 Group
- he learned the intricacies of the Bristol Blenheim. After a brief stay on Blenheimequipped 101 Squadron, at West Raynham, Frank moved on to 82 squadron, Watton,
arriving there in mid-May 1940.
With the Blitzkrieg in the west now underway, Frank joined in the vain attempt to
alter the inevitable outcome of the Battle of France. Not long afterwards, during the
Battle of Britain, he helped change Hitler's plans for Operation Sealion by leaving the
dictator's invasion barges in an unseaworthy condition. The aircrew attrition rate on
82 Squadron was nothing short of scandalous, yet Frank manage to last a full year
before joining yet another Blenheim squadron - 18, at Oulton.
With his pilot, Sqn Ldr S.J. 'Johnnie' Monroe, and WOp/AG Plt Off Eric Applebee,
Frank, now a Flight Sergeant, continued with the 2 Group flavour of the day: antishipping beats and Circus operations against continental fringe targets.
The perils of attacking land-based targets without fighter escort became evident
during a raid on Nordeney on 25th May 1941. When two or three miles north of the
island the formation of eight aircraft flew into intense and accurate light and heavy
A/A fire from a multitude of gun positions on the north and southeast side of the
island. As if this were not enough, a pair of yellow-nosed Bf 109s were spotted
bearing down on the formation from dead astern. At this point discretion scored more
points than valour, and the formation turned away. The ensuing exchange lasted about
ten minutes, with the Blenheims flying just twenty feet above the waves and at a
steady 200 mph. One aircraft, which had broken formation, was eagerly pounced
upon by the Messerschmitt pair (there is a parallel with nature here). Somehow, this
straggler survived the encounter, limping back to base in a badly-damaged condition.
Twenty minutes later, three more Bf 109s came onto the scene. For a further twenty
minutes, the controlled machine-gun fire from the Blenheim formation proved
effective and the 109s were eventually driven off, though not before another straggler
was downed and the gunner of a further aircraft was killed by a cannon shell. Frank
Harbord and Eric Applebee could count themselves very lucky on this occasion, as
could the three crews that joined them from 105 Squadron - those of Ben Broadley,
Scotty Scott and Jimmy Bruce.
On 22nd June, Frank was joined for the day by veteran WOp/AG, Flt Sgt John
Smith DFM; the guest air-gunner shot down one Bf 109 and claimed another as
probably destroyed.
On 30th June, the target was the power station at Pont-à-Vendin in Northern France.
Not everyone located it, however, and many bombs fell harmlessly into open fields.
520
Frank's navigation unerringly guided his pilot, Sqn Ldr Monroe, to the primary target
and their box scored direct hits on the power station and adjacent engineering works.
Photographs confirmed the accuracy of the bombing.
Frank's valuable contribution to this raid earned him praise from the AOC 2 Group,
AVM Stevenson, who signalled:
'The report received yesterday from the Photographic Interpretation Section of
Bomber Command shows that the attack on a large Power Station in Northern France
recently carried out by aircraft from Horsham and Oulton was most successful. It is
certain that this Power Station will be out of action for some months to come, and this
will have a big effect on the enemy's war effort. I wish to congratulate the crews
concerned and particularly the observers in leading aircraft on their accurate bomb
aiming.'
When his father died, Frank came into possession of a copy of this signal, and the
following letter. Addressed to Frank's father, it was sent by Flt Lt Rowley Brooke
from the Officers' Mess, Horsham St Faith, on 7th July 1941. It reads:
'Dear Harbord, I met one of your sons a week or two ago, who was stationed at our
satellite and was observer to a friend of mine, S/Ldr Monroe. The two squadrons did a
magnificent show recently, and I am enclosing the congratulatory message from the
AOC, which appeared in DROs because your boy was the "Bomb aimer" primarily
concerned. He will remember which Power Station it was when I explain that the
leading box bombed the wrong target. In conclusion, his pilot (S/Ldr Monroe) speaks
very highly of him and his work.'
The connection between Flt Lt Rowley Brooke and Frank's father is interesting. I
wonder if the common theme of turbine generators prompted the letter in the first
place? Frank explains:
'Before 1939, Mr Rowley Brooke lived at Tolethorpe Cottage and knew my dad, as
he then worked at Tolethorpe Hall [Rutland]. The water turbine and dynamo installed
in the mill at Tolethorpe supplied electricity to Tolethorpe Cottage, before the days of
the national grid.'
Just as 18 Squadron were moving from Oulton to Horsham St Faith (and leaving
their sumptuous quarters at Blickling Hall) Frank and Eric moved to 105 Squadron at
Swanton Morley. Now crewed up with George Goode, they flew their first operation
just three days after arrival - as guide to the all-important fighter umbrella on the
massive 2 Group raid on Rotterdam docks on 16th July. It would be their only UKbased operation as a crew.
And so to Malta. Fully recovered from the unpleasant effects of sandfly fever, Frank
was now without a crew. The other flight commander, Bryan Smithers, whose normal
observer had been left behind in the UK, understandably co-opted Frank from that
moment on.
Frank's remaining time in Malta was exciting enough. The incident on 27th August,
described in Bryan Smithers's biography, resulted in Frank's buttocks being punctured
by shrapnel; hilarious to everyone but the recipient. Tony Mee had good cause to be
grateful to Frank and his expert navigation. The position he passed of Tony's ditched
Blenheim on 12th September was good to within two or three miles, and enabled the
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submarine HMS Utmost to go straight to the crew in their dinghy. The position had
been assessed after Frank had been out of sight of land for some hours. Not
surprisingly, Tony Mee described him as 'a great chap'!
On his return to the UK, Frank completed a short stint at No 14 OTU Cottesmore
(Hampdens, Herefords and Ansons) before re-visiting Bicester. Eight weeks at No 13
OTU, and at the end of March 1942, temp W/O Frank Harbord was posted to 60
Squadron, India. Stretching the Blenheim IV's operational service to the limit, Frank
flew on bombing raids against Japanese bases in Burma until May 1943. At long last,
his valuable and courageous service was recognised by the powers-that-be, and he
was gazetted for the award of the coveted DFM on 16th July 1943. By this time,
Frank had been a brand-new pilot officer for just one month - quite a double.
Duties at No 69 Flying Control Section and No 22 Ferry Control Section kept Frank
occupied on the sub-continent until the end of hostilities.
Back in the UK again, Frank attended several rehabilitation courses, schools and
holding units before being finally released in August 1947.The previous year, he
married 'the young lady who had waited five years for me', proudly adding: 'We are
still together, and have a son and two daughters...' The present number of
grandchildren would be inaccurate as soon as it was committed to print!
After leaving the Service, Frank went back to engineering. By chance he bumped
into Gerry Quinn (Hughie Edwards's WOp/AG on the Bremen raid) at the
Farnborough Air Show in 1954. Still serving at that time, Gerry was a Squadron
Leader DFM & Bar.
In September 1983, Frank was finally pensioned off, after completing 32 years with
British Aerospace at Hatfield and Stevenage.
I doubt if Frank is alone in experiencing the following sentiments:
'The memories of the days on the Blenheims, and during the Falklands campaign
when reading or hearing reports of the activities of the Argentine airmen, I did have a
few nightmares.'
With that in mind, I have refrained from asking Frank to comment upon the highspeed low-level night attacks against heavily-defended Iraqi airfields carried out by
our Tornado crews during Operation Desert Storm...
How does Frank spend his retirement? Here is a sample, extracted from a letter to
me in April 1984:
'I find concentrating a little difficult this evening as yesterday I went on a Half
Marathon (13½ miles) run-jogwalk, to raise funds for the local hospital. From 520
starters I was the last to finish the course: it took me about 3¼ hours (the winner took
1 hour 12 minutes). In mitigation, I can only say that I was the oldest to take part.'
I am delighted to record that Frank succumbed to the pressure exerted upon him by
his friends, and sat down and wrote his fascinating and highly-readable
autobiography. It is titled FAMILIAR VOICES, and was first published in 1998 by
Able Publishing. The Second Edition, in 1999, contains corrections and a Foreword
by Air Marshal Sir Ivor Broom KCB CBE DSO DFC** AFC (who also wrote my
Foreword, amongst many others). If you haven't already done so, rush out and buy a
copy, before it is no longer available!
522
Frank Harbord looks on as the Squadron Adjutant occupies the WOp/AG's position in
18 Squadron's Blenheim, WV:K (R3666) at Woodford. Taken on 21st June 1941 by
Flt Lt Thorne, who flew the aircraft from Oulton to Woodford. (Frank Harbord)
Frank Harbord late 1940/early 1941 (via Julian Horn)
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Frank Harbord at Burma Star Day, Duxford, 2007 (Via Julian Horn)
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FLT LT E.W. APPLEBEE DFM
(WOp/AG IN GOODE CREW)
What was the true value of a Blenheim WOp/AG in 1941? In the case of Eric
Applebee it was a crate of whisky! This shady transaction took place after a combined
operation involving 18 and 105 Squadrons. Crews had gathered in a local pub - The
Buckingham Arms (Eric thinks). It was shortly after Wg Cdr Hughie Edwards had
won the VC for the Bremen raid on 4th July 1941.
Eric and Hughie had been friends when they were stationed together at Bicester;
they now engaged in some lively conversation. The CO of 105 Squadron was
sympathetic when he heard that Eric was none too happy on 18 Squadron. The simple
fact of the matter was that Eric's pilot frightened him more than operations: 'He was
very dangerous', Eric told me, 'and killed himself in a flying accident later in the war
[Khartoum 29th October 1942].'
'How would you like to fly for me?', Hughie Edwards asked Eric. 'Shall I fix it?' The
transfer fee agreed with the CO of 18 Squadron was a crate of whisky, which would
no doubt have come in handy on 10th July, when Tim Partridge threw his farewell
party for the locals at Blickling Hall. Whether Frank Harbord was thrown in with the
deal, or even merited a further crate of whisky in his own right, I was unable to
establish... However, after writing this, I read page 110 of Frank Harbord's
autobiography Familiar Voices (Able Publishing, 1999). Clearly, Frank did not hold
the same views of his pilot - Sqn Ldr S.J. 'Johnnie' Monroe (one of 2 Group's most
outstanding characters - see Tom Jefferson's biography). Frank writes that his and
Eric's postings to 105 Squadron 'came quite unexpectedly'! In his book, Frank refers
to Johnnie Monroe in glowing terms, and actually crews up with him again later in the
war. Regretfully, I missed the chance of bringing this strange difference of opinion to
the attention of these two gentlemen.
525
Born in Liverpool on 8th October 1919, Eric Applebee left school at the age of
sixteen and took employment as a junior assistant in an insurance office. The work
did not appeal to him, and he enlisted in the RAF in 1937.
Completing his wireless training at No 1 E&WS Cranwell, he moved to the
northeast for gunnery training at No 7 Armament Training School, Acklington. Eric
found this situation much too bleak, and he was glad to move south again, this time to
Wyton, to join the first squadron to be equipped with Blenheims - 114. The OTU setup was still a pipe dream and Eric was now on an operational squadron.
In April 1939, the squadron started to re-equip with the long-nosed Blenheim Mk
IV. The following December, Eric travelled to France with the squadron, which set up
home at Condé-Vraux as part of the AASF. After the start of the Blitzkrieg on the
Low Countries, 114 Squadron did their best to stem the tide but finished up with
virtually no aircraft. Eric, consequently, had to leave his last place in France - Nantes
- and return to Blighty by boat. Arriving just after the mass evacuation from Dunkirk,
Eric recalls being mistaken for one of those lucky thousands.
After a short stay at Horsham St Faith, Eric settled at Oulton in August 1940,
unpacking his bags in historic and extremely comfortable Blickling Hall. On the 8th
November, he was awarded the DFM for his 'distinguished work on the squadron',
followed two months later by a 'Mentioned in Despatches'.
When it was time to be 'rested' from operations, Eric was posted to No 13 OTU
Bicester as a screen WOp/AG. 'I got fed up!', he admitted - a sentiment not
uncommon amongst OTU staff - and asked if he could please go back to the war.
Brand-new Pilot Officer Eric Applebee's request was duly granted and he returned
to Oulton and Blickling Hall in mid-May 1941. His new squadron was 18, and here he
teamed up with observer Frank Harbord.
The 'controlled machine-gun fire' directed by the Blenheim formation against the Bf
109s on 25th May would have been coordinated by the officer air-gunner; it certainly
seems to have been effective on this occasion, though others were not so lucky and
were out-gunned and out-witted by the German fighters.
After the unusual transfer fee had been agreed, Eric and Frank moved to 105
Squadron at Swanton Morley, arriving on 13th July 1941. Their new skipper was Sqn
Ldr George Goode DFC. Though the crew were together for less than one month, it
would prove an harmonious relationship.
Eric's first operation with George, and the only one from the UK, was as fighter
escort for the Rotterdam raid on 16th July 1941. Hunched over his twin-Brownings in
the midst of the massive fire power of the Hurricane escort, Eric must have felt
superfluous to requirements: so much so that, when I first contacted him, he was not
at all sure if he had actually flown on this raid! Worse still, George Goode was of the
same opinion. I wondered if I had uncovered yet another regrettable error in an
Operations Record Book.
I sent a Mayday call out to Frank Harbord. His reply was encouraging. After
explaining that when aircrew were posted as 'Missing', and that their kit - including
their historically all-important logbooks - followed suit shortly afterwards, he said:
'I think Eric was the only officer WOp/AG flying on the squadron at that time, and
if his place had been taken by someone else from the Sergeants' Mess I am sure I
would remember.'
The mystery was finally resolved during a telephone conversation in October 1990.
'Do you remember ever taking part in a clay pigeon shoot?', I asked Eric. 'Oh, yes!', he
526
replied. 'That was Coltishall. We were competing against the fighter pilots. It was a
good do, and I did rather well: got one after the other. "If you can do that, you'll have
no problems hitting the goons!", the fighter pilots told me.' QED. I suspect that the
fighter pilots used a less derogatory term for their German adversaries: 'goon' is
Kriegie language!
And then there was Malta. Within two weeks of his arrival at Luqa, Eric was 'in the
bag'. The vivid description of his last operational sortie of the war is recorded under
Sqn Ldr Goode's biography. George and Eric were able to keep in close touch for the
remainder of the war. At Stalag Luft III, Eric was numerically superior to his skipper
by the value of 32.
After the war, Eric obtained a Permanent Commission, opting for the Air Traffic
Control Branch. The crunch came after he had submitted an application for an
overseas posting. The ensuing medical diagnosed a condition about which he had kept
silent for some time - the debilitating one of multiple sclerosis. Eric was summoned to
the Air Ministry. 'I'm sorry', he was told. 'We'll have to invalid you out of the Service!'
Eric was stunned. 'Why?', he asked. 'I know I've got MS, but I'm all right now. I'd like
to stay in please.' Eric's pleas fell on deaf ears.
In 1951, Eric found himself 'thrown out on the scrap heap'. However, when he later
suffered a serious bout of MS, he quite understood. With this unpredictable ailment,
Eric actually feels all right at the time of writing.
His first job on leaving the service was that of civilian air traffic controller at
Rochester airfield. 'There was a lot of flying going on', he recalled. 'Service aircraft
flown by the VR weekend pilots, with an RAF officer at the top.'
After that, Eric took 'odd jobs here and there'. He is still quite adamant that he liked
the RAF, and would have stayed in had his health permitted.
I must agree on that point: Eric's manner of speech epitomises the old-style RAF
officer. 'I'm glad you rang, old boy!', he would say, for example. I felt rather pleased
that my letter to him, in 1982, led to his first chat with George Goode since 1945!
Time marches on. Eric's son has just left the RAF, after twenty years service as an
engineer.
527
Eric Applebee - No 105 Sqn, Swanton Morley (via Frank Harbord)
528
Epilogue
As I write this postscript, in January 2015, I feel sad that, to the best of my
knowledge, all the Rotterdam veterans whom I interviewed have now departed for
that Great Hangar In The Sky. There is no one left now who took part in that
courageous low-level daylight attack on Rotterdam docks on 16th July 1941. In
accordance with the advice given to me by Richard Passmore (Roger Peacock) - see
my first paragraph in the biography of Wg Cdr Tom Jefferson - I have set to in earnest
to produce an acceptable book to be lodged with the RAF Museum. Transferring the
previous version (produced by an Amstrad!) onto Microsoft Word on my PC has been
painstaking, but well worthwhile, giving me the opportunity to correct and update my
previous thoughts.
This has been a labour of love. In 1981, my original intention was just to try and
establish what exactly happened to my cousin, Sgt Leonard Richard Mynott, a
WOp/AG on No 21 Squadron, Watton, and whether his grave could be traced. It
seemed very odd to me that his Blenheim Mk IV, V6240 (YH:B), had been recovered
from Waalhaven Dock, Rotterdam, together with the bodies of his crew - pilot, Sgt
James Eric Singleton Bevan, and observer, Plt Off Ralph Martin Slade. So why was
no trace ever found of Len? The more I delved into this mystery, the more the
pressure built to write a book, especially from that exerted by the survivors of the raid
whom I had the honour of interviewing. Many of these Rotterdam veterans became
friends for life. It was a privilege to know them and record their biographies for
posterity. The offer by the publishers to produce my book without these personal
tributes was rejected.
No one, including myself, who has never fought in a 'hot' war, can begin to know or
imagine what bravery these combatants - and that includes all those heroes who were
prepared to lay down their lives for their country and a just cause - had to face, day in
day out. The two human qualities I admire most of all are courage and altruism.
Courage means having the ability to go to work knowing that it could be your very
last day on Earth. It means carrying on even though you are frightened to death.
Lucky are those few who do not experience fear. As I wrote these biographies, and
particularly when I copied them onto my PC, I was staggered by the bravery of these
souls. I often asked myself if I would have been up to the challenge. All I can say is
that if my Cold War had became Hot in the 1960s, I would have done my very best to
deliver my nuclear weapon, but knowing full well that it wasn't just the lives of
myself and crew on the line - it was civilisation itself, or Mutually Assured
Destruction (MAD). Somehow I think this equates more to a Sense of Duty than pure
Courage. I will continue to say 'Thank You' every time I pass a War Memorial.
Before I bring this book to its logical conclusion, by explaining the outcome of my
searches into the final resting place of my cousin, I should state that my favourite
commander of World War Two is Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding, whose
leadership and foresight was mainly responsible for our victory at the Battle of Britain
in 1940. A gentle soul, his style of leadership is what I admire most, and I would have
followed him to the ends of the Earth. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered
that we shared a great interest - Spiritualism! For those of you reading this, who think
we are both nuts, I challenge you to read Lord Dowding's excellent books. These are
LYCHGATE:THE ENTRANCE TO THE PATH (Rider & Co, 1945); MANY
MANSIONS (Rider & Co, 1943); TWELVE LEGIONS of ANGELS (Jarrolds, 1946);
'GOD'S MAGIC': AN ASPECT OF SPIRITUALISM (Spiritualist Press Ltd, 1960) and
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THE DARK STAR (Museum Press Limited, 1951). I would also highly recommend a
Google search of this aspect of Lord Dowding. You will read about all the work he
did, particularly concerning the 'Rescue Circles' he was involved in during and
following World War Two. Many of the fallen failed to recognise that they had
'passed over' and he was of great assistance to not only his brave fighter pilots (his
'chicks') but also many others. This makes fascinating reading.
I shall now explain what all my searches into my cousin's grave revealed. First of
all, I followed the conventional line of approach. An eyewitness report of a survivor
of the crash, who swam to the north mole of Waalhaven, was given a change of
clothes by the friendly Dutch, and whisked away was a very tempting line of enquiry.
Regrettably, this line of enquiry led nowhere. However, it gave me hope - perhaps,
somehow, Len had got well clear of the scene of the crash, but had suffered a loss of
memory and identity (was he wearing his dog tags?). Though I got nowhere, these
thoughts overlapped my other approach - via Spiritualism. My mother had given me
convincing stories of the efficacy of contacting the dead through Mediums, who had
adopted the facial expressions, mannerisms and voices of her departed relatives. Not
surprisingly, she accompanied me on my very first sitting - with a Medium of
established reputation, who lived in Bexleyheath.
Before I summarise this visit, I should explain how difficult a process it is to hear
exactly what the departed (or their helpers) are trying to convey. It is similar to
dictating to an uninterested typist through an opaque screen - or worse! The wonder is
that anything gets through at all! Our Medium made contact, but not with Len. Almost
immediately, she described a wing commander (she put three fingers on her sleeve)
coming through, accompanied by a lady whom she presumed was his wife. As she
described him, I inwardly chuckled - it could be none other than Wg Cdr Kercher!
She added that she was getting the word 'Katchell' and 'Burnt ash' or maybe 'Burnt
oak'. Kercher and Katchell sound very similar and the wing commander and his wife
had lived in Ashburton, Devon (my neck of the woods!). I needed no further
convincing, and felt honoured that this great man had taken the trouble to come.
Thank you, sir - I look forward to meeting you one day.
Unfortunately, there was no information that she could pass that was relevant to
Len. I next tried a Medium much closer to home, whom I visited on a regular basis. I
soon got the message that his thoughts were directed towards northwest France,
particularly the town of Lille (or was it Lyons? Try saying them aloud!). Perhaps Len
had made it this far down from Rotterdam? But more and more I was picking up the
flavour of World War One. He used the name of 'Albert' and emphasised the letter 'L'.
This could have referred to Len, or, he thought, to an L-shaped cemetery in the area. I
found one such cemetery on the French/Belgian border. It contained the grave of a
gallant Sgt-pilot, whose Hurricane had been shot down towards the end of May 1940,
just a day or two before I was born. I visited Lille and searched the cemeteries, and
flew down to Lyons (my students unanimously elected to go there for their final
'jolly'!). Lyons is a lovely city - my favourite in France - but my enquiries led to
nothing. Sooner or later (actually much later) it dawned on me that I was thinking
along the wrong lines. I was probably being contacted by my maternal grandfather Albert Lewis - who almost certainly fell during World War One. There are far too
many casualties of this war with the name of Albert Lewis to be able to trace exactly
where he is buried, but I felt rather pleased that he too had made the effort to contact
me.
On one sitting I was told that Len had briefly made contact with me during a dream.
I had not mentioned this to anyone, but I can still vividly recall this dream. I was lying
530
on the floor, on bare floorboards, at night in a darkened room of a spooky house (on
track for a nightmare?) and scared out of my wits. I cried out: 'Len!' As quick as a
flash, and spoken just as fast, I heard: 'Hello, Lionel! Hello, Lionel! Hello, Lionel!'
Regrettably, I must have woken up immediately afterwards, as the contact was
broken. I asked Len's brother, George, and my brother, Malcolm, how Len had
spoken. They both assured me that his delivery was very fast! That is the only
occasion that I appear to have made contact with my dear cousin.
Running concurrently with my sittings, my brother Malcolm was doing likewise. He
eventually singled out one of the best Mediums in London, and commenced the
sitting. All he told her was that he would like to know if his cousin Len was alive or
dead - nothing more. She explained that all she could see in her Mediumship were
'pictures', little else, and almost apologetically. In no time at all, she was describing
the air-gunner's position in a Blenheim. She explained that Len sat behind the wings
of the aircraft, in a sort of cupola. When she said that she saw 'half a wing', my
brother should have asked her if she meant the half-wing of an air-gunner's brevet or
the half a wing left when V6240 struck a crane. Pity! An opportunity lost. She then let
out a gasp and said she was so sorry, but Len had received a direct hit in the turret by
a shell and it had blown him to bits. There was nothing whatsoever left of his body. It
was what I had feared, but I knew that Len would have preferred this instant death,
rather than a long and lingering one in extreme pain. To add authenticity to this sitting
she added a rider, and gave some information about me which was not known by my
brother, so telepathy could be ruled out! That convinced me that her information was
spot on. So this is what really happened to Len. God bless him.
When I first started writing this book, hardly anyone had heard of Blenheims.
Suddenly one was being rebuilt and a Blenheim Society was being formed (I am
member No 34). Books about Blenheims and their operations came tumbling from the
shelves and enlightened the public of the valour of the crews of this Light Bomber
Force. Most of the content of this book has been produced from many years of
original research, particularly the damage inflicted on shipping in the various
Rotterdam docks on 16th July 1941. I have passed this on to not a few authors who
pleaded for such information! I would be insincere if I stated that I did not mind their
books being published and mine not! However, I have already explained the reason
for this. What I would add is that it is very difficult to get historical facts correct, and
many if not all of these books contain glaring errors. Once they are printed, it is too
late to correct any errors, except perhaps by way of a subsequent edition! I suspect
that I will sit on this typescript for a trifle longer, before I commit it to print and lodge
it with the RAF Museum! By the time you read this, I will probably be in that Great
Hangar In The Sky, so it will be too late to bring my attention to any errors!
531
APPENDICES
I: Final Order of Battle 16th July 1941
FIRST WAVE
21 SQUADRON (YH) Two boxes of six aircraft from the following:
V5580 (X) Wg Cdr P.F. Webster DFC & Bar (Overall Leader)
Fg Off J.B. Robertson DFM
Flt Sgt R.E. Hunter DFM
V6240 (B) Sgt J.E.S. Bevan
Plt Off R.M. Slade
Sgt L.R. Mynott
Z7502 (R) Flt Lt D. Graham-Hogg (Box Leader)
Flt Sgt D.W. Wyatt
Sgt J. Marsden
V6321 (Z) Plt Off P.B. Ashby
Plt Off G.F. Lowes
Plt Off G.H. Seeley
V6252 (U) Sgt R.D. Woods
Plt Off E. Seidelin
Sgt P.G. Solon
Z7435 (S) Sgt J.H. Wotherspoon
Sgt C.H. Buchanan
Sgt A.J. Derrick
V5595 (P) Sgt J.R.M. Kemp
Sgt E.A. Goold
Sgt F.J. Soal
V6337 (T) Sgt L.R. Maguire RCAF
Sgt E.R. Bangor-Jones
Sgt J.L. Haskins
V6361 (F) Plt Off F.A. Reiss (Vic Leader)
Plt Off E.M. Shewell
Sgt A.B.C. Nunn
Z7437 (L) Plt Off F.K. Orme RCAF
Plt Off S.F.M. Gunnis
Plt Off A.H. Collins
532
Z7438 (D) Sgt W. Taylor
Sgt R.S. Newman
Sgt W.J.A. Spriggs
V6360 (K) Sgt H.P. Hartridge RCAF
Sgt C.D. Phillips
Sgt K.B. Minty
226 SQUADRON (MQ) One box of six:
Z7271 (K) Sqn Ldr J.O.C. Kercher (Box Leader)
Flt Sgt B.G. Evans
Sgt R.O.J. Carey
Z7305 (T) Flt Lt F.L. Campbell-Rogers (Vic Leader initially)
Flt Sgt D.E. Bingham
Sgt J.P. Sullivan
V6515 (K) Sgt N.J.A. Paton
(On loan Flt Sgt J.G.A. Maguire
110 Sqn
Sgt A.H. Beal
VE:K)
V6510 (A) Flt Lt J.S. Kennedy
Flt Sgt H.A. Asker
Sgt E.J. Brett
Z7312 (N) Sgt J. Onions DFM
Flt Sgt H.P. Warmington
Flt Sgt J.F.L. Morton
Z7280 (M) Plt Off D. Smith
Sgt F.E.M. Hicks
Flt Sgt H.C. Antley
SECOND WAVE
18 SQUADRON (WV) Box of six from the first six crews:
V6267 (M) Wg Cdr T.N. Partridge DFC (Leader of Second Wave)
Sgt G.A. Dvorjetz
Flt Sgt J.O.N. Smith DFM
V6431 (N) Sqn Ldr D.C. Smythe GM (Vic Leader)
Plt Off A.S. Aldridge
Plt Off J. Welch
V6038 (H) Plt Off M.T.K. Walkden
Plt Off B.F.W. Matthews
Sgt A.C. Cutler
533
Z7489 (T) Sgt T.G. Jefferson
Sgt R.F. Millns
Sgt M.S. Scotney
V6437 (C) Sgt W.M.G. Dunham RCAF
Sgt R.W. Adamson
Sgt N.L. Harding
Z7496 (W) Sgt R.J.B. Rost RAAF
Sgt J. Hughes
Sgt S.W. Winter
The following two 18 Squadron crews were loaned to 139 Squadron to complete
their box of six:
V6395 *
Plt Off A.C. Powner
Plt Off J.B. Sands
Sgt F. Daniels
V6197 (D) Sgt J.S. Wood
Sgt J.P.D. Johnson
Sgt W.B. Allan
* This is the aircraft recorded in Tony Powner's logbook. He had to vacate Z7495 (Q)
at the very last moment. The Squadron ORB has him in V6497 (U).
139 SQUADRON (XD) Box of six completed by above 18 Sqn crews:
Z7362 (V) Sqn Ldr E. Sydney Smith DFC (Box Leader)
Plt Off R.A. White
Flt Sgt E.G. Caban DFM
Z7431 (X) Sgt J.A. Gibbs
Sgt J.P. Shaw
Sgt D. Beale
V6266 (E) Sgt G.R. Menish RCAF
Plt Off P. Brown
Sgt R. Haley
V6322 (S) Sgt R. Hatton
Sgt J. Holroyd
Sgt R.C.H. Bennett [Reserve aircraft: V5826 (F)]
N.B. The original 139 Squadron Battle Order included:
N3627 (O) Plt Off Herbert
Plt Off George
Sgt Benton
534
Their exclusion from the Rotterdam raid was probably due to a period of
convalescence after their crash-landing at Shoreham on 14th July.
During the first half of July 1941, 139 Squadron suffered the following turnover of
crews:
6 crews - Failed to Return.
3 crews - posted.
5 crews - arrived from 13 OTU on 12th: not ready for ops on 16th.
No wonder they had to go cap in hand to 18 Squadron!
105 SQUADRON (GB) Box of six as follows:
V6453 (E) Flt Lt B.W. Smithers (Box Leader)
Sgt C.F. James
Sgt J. Fisher
V6455 (A) Sgt V.G. Farrow
Sgt E.C. Saunders
Sgt O.H. Robinson
V6373 (O) Flt Lt A.B. Broadley (Vic Leader)
Plt Off A.S. Ramsay DFC
Sgt V.R. Marsh
V6399 (T) Sgt J.G. Bruce
Sgt A.H. Flett
Sgt H. Gibson
L9379 (Y) Sgt R.J. Scott
Sgt W.B. Healy
Sgt S.G. Bastin
V6039 (Q) Sgt R.W. Taylor RNZAF
Sgt R.F.G. Withrington
Sgt S. Sparkes
N.B. The 105 Squadron Battle Order records a choice: either the crew of Sgt R.W.
Taylor or the following crew:
V6032 (J) Fg Off Duncan
Sgt Smith
Sgt Lyndall
The spare aircraft were Z7445 (P) and Z7488 (F). Leading the fighter escort from
Coltishall was the following 105 Squadron crew:
T1887 (S) * Sqn Ldr G.E. Goode DFC
Sgt F.A. Harbord
Plt Off E.W. Applebee DFM
* The ORB has Z7486 (M), which was Struck Off Charge on 4th Jul 41!
535
II: Fighter Escort - No 257 Sqn, Coltishall
Hurricane II B
Z3358
Z3164
Z3390
Z3359
Z3322
Z3511
Z3320
Z3516
Z2907
Sgt Keil
Plt Off Henman
Sgt Vowles
Sgt Knapton
Sgt Cowen
Sgt Garner
Sgt Garwood
Sgt Bathurst
Sgt Eastman
Hurricane II C
Z3088 Sqn Ldr Howard Peter 'Cowboy' Blatchford DFC. Wg Cdr Blatchford was
killed on 3 May 43: Coltishall Wing, Ramrod 16.
Z3085 Plt Off Johnston
Z3054 Flt Lt Kenneth Williams Tait DFC. Flt Lt Tait was shot down by a Ju.88 on
4 Aug 41.
Z3804 Flt Lt F.J. Soper DFM. Joined 257 Sqn June 1941. Became CO on 8 Sep 41.
Act. Sqn Ldr Soper DFC DFM killed 5 Oct 41.
Z3175 Plt Off Mason. Flt Lt Mason appointed Flight Commander 8 Sep 41.
Z3070 Plt Off Richards. On 10 Sep 41, attached to RAF West Kirby pending
overseas posting.
536
III: Personal Details of Crews
No 21 Squadron
DETAILS
PILOT: Wg Cdr
WEBSTER
OBSERVER: Fg
Off ROBERTSON
WOp/AG: Flt Sgt
HUNTER
Christian Names
Nickname
Peter Fitzgerald
Tom
Johnstone Bolton
Robbie
Robert Edmund
Bob
Date/Place of
Birth
30 Jul 14
Merthyr Tydfil
7 Nov 09
19 Jul 18
Ellesmere Port
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Electrician
Sgt-Major in
Clifton Coll. OTC
17 Feb 36
SSC for 4 years
15 Jan 26
Appr. for 12 years
25 Nov 36
6 years
Merthyr Tydfil
Berkhamsted
Whitby, Wirral
560189/44752
536399/47378
15 SQN, 17 OTU,
21 SQN, 90 SQN,
82 SQN, 139 SQN,
84 SQN, 212 SQN,
HQ 64 GP
-
/37776
Postings
Civ. Fg. Sch. Ayr,
2 FTS, 15 SQN, 17
OTU, 21 SQN, HQ
2 GP, 90 SQN, HQ
2 GP, 21 SQN,
BDU, A&AEE
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
DSO, DFC & Bar,
M-in-D
Wg Cdr
446 Flt RN, 18
SQN, 825 SQN
RN, 101 SQN, 82
SQN, 21 SQN, 90
SQN, 21 SQN, HQ
2 GP, Fighter
Control
MBE, DFM, M-inD
Sqn Ldr
Commissioned
17 Feb 36
23 Sep 40
Wg Cdr (rtg Sqn
Ldr)
25 Nov 41
Released
Died
1 Mar 44: crashed
testing Firefly
Z1839
Durrington
Cemetery, Grave
781
V.T.P. & N.G.
Webster (parents))
7 Nov 59
15 Feb 48
Mrs M. Robertson
(wife)
H. Hunter (father)
See narrative
See narrative
See narrative
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
537
DFM
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
BEVAN
OBSERVER: Plt
Off SLADE
WOp/AG: Sgt
MYNOTT
Christian Names
Nickname
James Eric
Singleton
Ralph Martin
Leonard Richard
Len
Date/Place of
Birth
June 1922
22 May 11
Burry Port,
Carmarthenshire
Joined RAF straight
from school
3 Sep 16
London
Enlistment
10 Jun 40
17 Jul 40
Home Town
Exeter
Service Number
Airman/Officer
1164941/
Postings
Civil Occupation
Unilever House
Blackfriars Bridge
Previous Service
20 Jan 40
London
-
912002/89316
RAFVR
1354733/ -
2 RC Cardington, 1
RW Norcliffe, 6
ITW, 50 GP Pool,
College Cranwell,
17 OTU, 21 SQN
1 RC Uxbridge, 3
ITW, Nav School
Prestwick, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
114 SQN, 21 SQN
10 RC Blackpool, 2
SS Yatesbury,
Swanton Morley,
Port Ellen, 17
OTU, 21 SQN
Sgt
Plt Off
Sgt
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
Released
-
1 Dec 40
-
-
Died
16 Jul 41
16 Jul 41
Crashed Waalhaven Crashed Waalhaven
16 Jul 41?
Missing Waalhaven
Buried
Crooswijk
Cemetery
Rotterdam, Plot LL,
Row 1, Grave 8
Professor S.C.
Bevan (brother)
Crooswijk
Cemetery
Rotterdam. Plot LL,
Row 2, Grave 8
Mrs M. Athmer
(sister-in-law)
Runnymede
Memorial Panel 49
No known grave
See narrative
See narrative
See narrative
Next of Kin
Other
Information
538
Major G. Mynott
(brother)
DETAILS
PILOT: Flt Lt
GRAHAM-HOGG
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt WYATT
WOp/AG: Sgt
MARSDEN
Christian Names
Nickname
Denis
David William
James
Jim or Jimmy
Date/Place of
Birth
20 Mar 20
Kandy, Ceylon
23 May 12
Devonport
23 Nov 18
Blackburn
Civil Occupation
Actor
Religious
newspaper The
Universe
Apprentice
mechanic
11 Jun 30
18 Dec 39
Blackburn
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
Kandy, Sri Lanka
Brynmawr
Service Number
Airman/Officer
961575/61044
512841/
Postings
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
POW
Home Aircraft
Depot, 101 SQN,
AOS North Coates,
10 SQN, 105 SQN,
17 OTU, 18 SQN,
21 SQN
3 RC Padgate, 2
E&W School, 5
B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN, POW
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Sqn Ldr
Flt Sgt
W/O
Commissioned
1 Feb 41
-
Released
In Retired List
January 1946
-
-
Died
18 Jul 41: Shot
down Channel Stop
Buried
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
38
Mrs M.L. Wyatt
(wife)
Next of Kin
Mrs Graham-Hogg
(wife)
Other
Information
See narrative. Shot
down off Cap GrisNez 18 Jul 41 in
Z7502 (YH:R)
See narrative. Ditto
539
975746/
-
9 Jul 46
See narrative. Ditto
DETAILS
PILOT: Plt Off
ASHBY
OBSERVER: Plt
Off LOWES
WOp/AG: Plt Off
SEELEY
Christian Names
Nickname
Philip Bernard
Gilbert Frank
Gerald Henry
Gerry
Date/Place of
Birth
c. 1921
18 Apr 17
Wandsworth
9 May 03
Banking
Publicity and
Marketing
Consultant
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
17 Feb 40
Enlistment
Home Town
Brighton
Bury St Edmunds
Great Malvern
Service Number
Airman/Officer
964970/62316
915329/62018
Postings
17 OTU, 21 SQN
No 1 RC, No 5
ITW, EFTS, 1
AONS, 7 B&GS,
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
POW
17 OTU, 21 SQN
Rank achieved
Plt Off
Flt Lt
Plt Off
Commissioned
9 Mar 41
9 Mar 41
28 Jun 40
18 Jan 46
-
- /81416
Honours &
Awards
Released
-
Died
23 Jul 41: Shot
down Channel Stop
23 Jul 41: Shot
down Channel Stop
Buried
Ostend New
Communal
Cemetery, Plot 9,
Row 4, Grave 13
S.F. & M.C.L.
Ashby (parents)
Ostend New
Communal
Cemetery, Plot 9,
Row 4, Grave 12
Mrs Seeley
(mother)
Next of Kin
Other
Information
See narrative.
Crashed in V6035,
YH:O
Mrs Lowes (wife)
See narrative
540
See narrative
PILOT: Sgt
WOODS
OBSERVER: Plt
Off SEIDELIN
WOp/AG: Sgt
SOLON
Roy Desmond
Eric
Paul Gerard
27 May 21
Rangoon
18 Nov 20
Bristol
8 Sep 16
Worcester
Accountant
Enlistment
25 Apr 40
Student: Sydney
Sussex College
Cambridge
Sgt in OTC
Blundells School
18 Mar 40
Home Town
Birkenhead
Salisbury
Worcester
Service Number
Airman/Officer
987851/112437
957397/63808
1325191/116679
Postings
17 OTU. 21 SQN,
98 SQN
10 B&GS, 17
OTU, 21 SQN,
1442 Ferry Flt, 13
OTU, 1 AAS,
A&AEE
10 RC, 2 SS, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN, 13 OTU,
98 SQN
Rank achieved
Fg Off
Flt Lt
Fg Off
Commissioned
15 Nov 41
9 Mar 41
10 Feb 42
-
1 May 46
-
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
18 Jul 40
Honours &
Awards
Released
Died
22 Jan 43: Shot
down at Bassevelde
22 Jan 43: Shot
down at Bassevelde
Buried
Eeklo Communal
Cemetery,
Belgium, Grave 15
Mrs P.H. Woods
(wife)
Eeklo Communal
Cemetery,
Belgium, Grave 17
Mrs M.H. Solon
(mother)
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Mrs D.P, Seidelin
(wife)
Killed in Mitchell
Emigrated 1946
FL 693; target
Ghent/Terneuzen
oil tanks. A/C hit
by flak over target disintegrated.
541
See Woods
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
WOTHERSPOON
OBSERVER: Sgt
BUCHANAN
WOp/AG: Sgt
DERRICK
Christian Names
Nickname
John Hamilton
Johnnie
Colin Hugh
Albert James
Date/Place of
Birth
31 Mar 18
Banarhat, Assam
14 Mar 17
Fintona, Tyrone
27 Jan 17
Civil Occupation
Clerk
Clerk
Enlistment
15 Sep 39
29 Aug 39
Home Town
Brighton
Belfast
Upper Deal, Kent
Service Number
Airman/Officer
968308/133838
758140/133488
754784/120900
Postings
8 AOS, 4 ITW,
Cranwell, 20 OTU,
21 SQN, 70 OTU,
55 SQN
3 ITW, 8 B&GS,
13 OTU, 21 SQN,
70 OTU, 55 SQN
21 SQN, 70 OTU,
55 SQN
Rank achieved
Fg Off
Fg Off
Fg Off
Commissioned
2 Sep 42
2 Sep 42
Previous Service
Honours &
Awards
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
25 Jul 43: Aircraft
disintegrated over
Novara, Sicily
Catania War
Cemetery, Sicily,
Collective grave
I.K. 44-45
Mrs C. R.
Wotherspoon
(wife)
See narrative
-
-
25 Jul 43: Ditto
25 Jul 43: Ditto
Catania War
Cemetery, Sicily,
Collective grave
I.K. 44-45
A.H.R. & A.M.
Buchanan (parents)
Catania War
Cemetery, Sicily,
Collective Grave
I.K. 44-45
A.E. & C.M.
Derrick (parents)
See narrative
See narrative
542
PILOT: Sgt
KEMP
OBSERVER: Sgt
GOOLD
WOp/AG: Sgt
SOAL
Ernest Albert
Frederick Jack
Date/Place of
Birth
John Rupert
Matland
Johnnie
9 Oct 19
London
31 Jul 20
Willesden
24 Nov 19
Petworth, Sussex
Civil Occupation
Student
Solicitor's clerk
Plumber's mate
Enlistment
16 Feb 40
29 Aug 39: 5 years
10 Jul 39: 6 years
Home Town
Loughton, Essex &
Hitchin, Herts.
Kingsbury, London
Pulborough, Sussex
Service Number
Airman/Officer
915235/
759244/
650186/
Postings
1 RC, 1 ITW, 12
SFTS, 14 OTU, 17
OTU, 21 SQN,
POW
5 ITW, 9 B&GS,
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
POW
2 E&WS, 238
SQN, 4 B&GS, 14
OTU, 21 SQN,
POW
W/O
W/O
W/O
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
Previous Service
-
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
-
-
-
5 Nov 45
14 Feb 46
28 Dec 45
Shot down by
flakship off
Gravelines on 18
Jul 41, during
Channel Stop, in
V5595 (YH:P),
POW
Ditto
Ditto
Commissioned
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
543
PILOT: Sgt
MAGUIRE
Lawrence Robert
OBSERVER: Sgt
BANGOR-JONES
Edward Reginald
WOp/AG: Sgt
HASKINS
Jack Leonard
9 Apr 19
New Jersey
26 Jun 20
Edern, N. Wales
30 Jan 22
Croydon
Civil Occupation
Clerk, truck driver,
Service stn. attend.
Previous Service
Nil
General Clerk, Imp
Tobacco Co
Nottingham
Enlistment
30 Jul 40
15 May 40
Home Town
New Jersey, USA
Edinburgh
Service Number
Airman/Officer
R 54228/J 15100
RCAF
1161505/121933
651646/
Postings
2 SFTS Uplands,
13 OTU, 21 SQN,
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
8 SQN Aden.
9 B&GS, 13 OTU,
21 SQN, 18 SQN,
110 SQN, 223
GRP, 11 SQN,
Assault Wing
India, 191 SQN etc
17 OTU, 105 SQN,
13 OTU, 21 SQN,
8 SQN
Honours &
Awards
Rank Achieved
Plt Off
Wg Cdr
W/O?
Commissioned
11 Dec 41
1 May 42
-
-
26 Jun 65
10 Feb 47
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
15 Jul 42: Shot
down Djibouti
New European
Cemetery, Djibouti,
Grave 166
Mrs R.R. Maguire
(mother)
Killed in Blenheim
Mk IV, Z7920.
Courteous signal
from Governor of
Djibouti - 5 crew
buried with full
military honours.
Mr A. BangorJones (brother)
Post-war, served in
Transport, Bomber
& Coastal
Commands. 46
Course Staff
College
544
27 Jul 39: 6 years
-
Force-landed on
Goodwin Sands
with this crew on
18 Jul 41 in V6369.
All slightly injured.
Christian Names
Nickname
PILOT: Plt Off
REISS
Frederick Albert
Freddie
OBSERVER: Plt
Off SHEWELL
Edmund Morland
Date/Place of
Birth
Civil Occupation
19 Nov 08
Buenos Aires
Cattle farming
27 Sep 14
Manchester
Enlistment
30 Jan 40
26 Sep 39
WOp/AG: Sgt
NUNN
Archibald
Benjamin Calton
Ben
24 May 14
Aldershot
Printing, milkman,
McMichael Radio
of Slough
4 years in the West
Surreys (TA), 5th
Battalion Queen's
Royal Regiment
21 Jul 39
Home Town
Buenos Aires
Birmingham
Stroud
Service Number
Airman/Officer
912892/60815
968782/61021
651205/48051
Postings
3 FTS, 17 OTU, 21
SQN, 70 OTU, 207
Group ME.
9 B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN, HQ RAF
ME, 244 SQN
2 Depot, 2 E&WS,
5 B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN, 70 OTU,
244 SQN, 75 OTU,
1 RS, 105 OTU, 11
FU, 187 SQN, 53
SQN, E.A. VIP
FLT etc
Honours &
Awards
Rank Achieved
Flt Lt
Sqn Ldr
Sqn Ldr
Commissioned
1 Feb 41
12 Jan 41
31 Dec 41
11 Jan 46
Christmas 1954
Mrs M.G. Shewell
(wife)
See narrative
Mrs V. Nunn (wife)
DETAILS
Previous Service
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
23 Aug 42: Died in
hospital after car
accident
Forest Road
Cemetery, Nairobi,
Block 16, Grave 32
Mrs G. Crowe
(sister)
See narrative
545
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Plt Off
ORME
OBSERVER: Plt
Off GUNNIS
WOp/AG: Plt Off
COLLINS
Christian Names
Nickname
Frank Kerr
Frankie
Albert Henry
Date/Place of
Birth
12 Mar 16
Ottawa
Stanley Frederick
Maude
Stan
28 Mar 18
Glasgow
Civil Occupation
Chartered
Accountant
Previous Service
Nil
Enlistment
18 May 40
12 Jul 39
26 Jul 40
Home Town
Ottawa
Alloa
London
Service Number
Airman/Officer
R 53846/J 3739
RCAF
754540/63809
Postings
2 SFTS Uplands,
17 OTU, 21 SQN
3 ITW, 15 FTS, 14
SFTS, 7 B&GS, 17
OTU, 21 SQN
1 WS, 1 SS, 9
B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN
Rank achieved
Plt Off
Plt Off
Fg Off
Commissioned
29 Jan 41
9 Mar 41
26 Jul 40
29 Apr 07
Samuel Jones Ltd
Paper makers
Tillicoultry
-
/82972
Honours &
Awards
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
-
-
-
28 Aug 41:
Crashed raid on
Rotterdam docks
Hook of Holland
Municipal
Cemetery, Row F,
Coll. Grave 35
Mr F.L. Orme
(father)
28 Aug 41: Ditto
28 Aug 41: Ditto
Hook of Holland
Municipal
Cemetery, Row F,
Coll. Grave 35
Matthew Gunnis
(brother)
See narrative
See narrative
Hook of Holland
Municipal
Cemetery, Row F,
Coll. Grave 35
Mrs W.E. Collins
(wife) Mrs J.M.
Kelly (daughter)
See narrative
546
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
TAYLOR
OBSERVER: Sgt
NEWMAN
WOp/AG: Sgt
SPRIGGS
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
William
Ronald Stanley
William John Alton
1 Aug 16
Leeds
25 Feb 20
London
4 Jan 20
Rushden, Northants
Civil Occupation
Theatre Manager
Insurance Clerk
Lorry Driver
Previous Service
Enlistment
28 Dec 39
4 Mar 40
19 May 39: 5 years
Home Town
Hereford
Burnley
Northampton
Service Number
Airman/Officer
910091/106123
954194/143030
751129/
Postings
3 ITW, 3 SFTS, 17
OTU, 21 SQN,
POW?
1 E&WS, 5 B&GS,
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
18 SQN, 21 SQN,
17 OTU, 107 SQN
Honours &
Awards
DFM, M-in-D
5 ITW, 8 B&GS,
17 OTU, 21 SQN,
17 OTU, 107 SQN,
64th Troop
Carrying Group,
107 SQN, 342 SQN
Rank achieved
Flt Lt
Flt Lt
Flt Sgt
Commissioned
13 Aug 41
4 Feb 43
Released
In Retired List
January 1946
Buried
Other
Information
-
Died
Next of Kin
-
Mrs P.D. Newman
(wife)
DFM - London
Survived the war
Gazette 24 Oct 41.
Presented at
Buckingham Palace
26 Jun 45!
547
6 Dec 42: Attack
on Philips
Eindhoven
Panel 76
Runnymede. Lost
at sea off Dutch
Coast
Mr & Mrs A.J.
Spriggs (parents)
107 SQN. Boston
Z2252 (M) shot
down after attack
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
HARTRIDGE
OBSERVER: Sgt
PHILLIPS
WOp/AG: Sgt
MINTY
Christian Names
Nickname
Henry Percival
Charles Douglas
Kenneth Buck
Minty-Foo
Date/Place of
Birth
9 Sep 19
Murree, India
30 Dec 19
Liverpool
8 Mar 18
Keynsham, Bristol
Civil Occupation
Clerk
Shop Assistant
Previous Service
Miner's Helper
Gold Belt Mining
Co
Nil
Nil
Nil
Enlistment
18 Jun 40
27 Oct 39
18 Dec 39
Home Town
Vancouver
Liverpool
Three Bridges,
Sussex
Service Number
Airman/Officer
R 58086/
RCAF
Postings
4 SFTS Saskatoon,
17 OTU, 21 SQN
3 RC, 3 ITW, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
21 SQN
3 RC, 10 B&GS,
17 OTU, 21 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
-
970558/
-
975773/
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
23 July 41: Crashed 23 July 41: Ditto
at sea Channel Stop
23 Jul 41: Ditto
Buried
Flushing Northern
Cemetery, Row A,
Grave 14
Capt P.J. Hartridge
ex-Durham Light
Infantry (father)
Crashed in V6321
(YH:Z)
Flushing Northern
Cemetery, Row A,
Grave 15
W. & E.H. Minty
(parents)
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Flushing Northern
Cemetery, Row A,
Grave 16
Mr & Mrs C.M.
Phillips (parents)
548
No 226 Squadron
DETAILS
PILOT: Sqn Ldr
KERCHER
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt EVANS
Wop/AG: Sgt
CAREY
Christian Names
Nickname
John Owen Cecil
Daddy
Brynmor Granville
Bryn
Date/Place of
Birth
26 Sep 16
1 Oct 17
Brandfort, S. Africa Mountain Ash
Robert Oswald
John
Bob
27 Dec 21
Goderich, Ontario
Civil Occupation
Builder's Clerk
Manager of caravan
site
28 Sep 38: Boy
Entrant
Chessel,
Switzerland
552896/47349
Previous Service
Enlistment
29 Nov 37
5 Sep 38: 4 plus 6
Home Town
Hitchin, Herts.
Mountain Ash,
Glamorgan
580422/50665
Service Number
Airman Officer
Postings
-
/40544
Civ FS Yatesbury,
7 FTS, 2 SFTS, 98
SQN, 207 SQN, 98
SQN, 226 SQN, 21
SQN, HQBC, 102
SQN, Reserve
2 AOS, 226 SQN,
21 SQN, 17 OTU,
180 SQN
1 E&WS,
Turnhouse SOC, 9
B&GS, 12 OTU,
98 SQN, 226 SQN,
21 SQN, 17 OTU,
29 OTU, 11 OTU,
14 OTU
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
DSO, M-in-D
DFM
Wg Cdr
Fg Off
Flt Lt (RCAF)
Commissioned
29 Nov 37
28 Oct 42
24 Nov 41
Released
-
Died
29 Nov 59
(Reserve)
20 Jul 69
Buried
Hitchin Cemetery
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Sep 63 (RCAF)
Mrs Muriel
Kercher (mother)
25 May 43: Shot
down by flak
Abbeville
Abbeville Comml.
Cemetery Extn.,
Plot 6, Row B,
Grave 2
F. & M. Evans
(parents)
Mrs G. Carey
(wife)
See narrative
See narrative
See narrative
549
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
PILOT: Flt Lt
CAMPBELLROGERS
Frank Landseer
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt BINGHAM
WOp/AG: Sgt
SULLIVAN
David Edward
Bing or Ted
John Patrick
Date/Place of
Birth
1912
India
Scotland
Civil Occupation
Real Estate
Roofing business
Previous Service
RCMP 1935-1938
Enlistment
Aug 1938
7 Nov 38
16 Jun 36
Home Town
Ottawa
Falkirk
Barry, Glamorgan
-
580479/
Service Number
Airman/Officer
/41253
11 Jul 18
Barry, Glamorgan
-
532602/
-
13 E & RFTS, 8
FTS, 57 SQN, 90
SQN, 101 SQN, 14
SFTS, 3 FTS, 226
SQN, 21 SQN,
POW*, RCAF
Post-war
1 AOS, 226 SQN,
21 SQN, POW
TRG DEP SQN,
E&WS, 226 SQN,
21 SQN
Rank achieved
Wg Cdr - Retiring
Sqn Ldr
W/O
Sgt
Commissioned
Nov 1938
Released
Transferred RCAF
post-war
Postings
Honours &
Awards
-
-
18 Mar 46
-
10 May 82
Died
Mrs Megan
Bingham (wife)
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
53.
Mr & Mrs J.
Sullivan (parents)
See narrative
See narrative
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
See narrative.
*Crashed Z7438,
YH:D, 23 Jul 41
23 Jul 41: shot
down off Ostend
550
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt
WARMINGTON
Herbert Philip
Warmy
5 Feb 20
WOp/AG: Flt Sgt
MORTON
Senior
Superintendent
Kenya Police Force
Clerk
17 Jan 29: Boy
Apprentice: 12
years from age 18
Middlesbrough
5 Sep 38
17 Jan 38: 6 years
Taunton
Brighton
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
563359/46670
580440/51922
547785/47436
Halton, N/W
Frontier, 4 FTS, 6
SQN, 13 & 15 FTS,
98 SQN, 226 SQN,
CFS, 13 OTU, Air
Min, 1 MREU etc
2 AOS, 226 SQN, 1
EANS, Leeds UAS,
HQ 44 GP,
Dunkeswell, St
Mawgan
111 SQN, 226
SQN, 17 OTU,
POW
Honours &
Awards
DFM & Bar
Rank achieved
Sqn Ldr
Fg Off
Flt Lt
Commissioned
20 Sep 41
27 May 43
27 Nov 41
Released
31 May 58
19 Dec 46
Died
Nov 84
Buried
Middlesbrough
Next of Kin
Mrs B. Onions
(wife)
Mrs E. Warmington
(wife)
Other Information
See narrative
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
ONIONS
John
Christian Names
Jack
Nickname
Date/Place of Birth 19 Dec 12
Middlesbrough
Civil Occupation
Airport Manager
Teesside
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
551
Julian Francis Lock
Butch
30 Aug 19
London
Sapper in 26th AA
BN RE (TA) 1937
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
PATON
Norman James
Alexander
Jock
Date/Place of Birth 12 Nov 16
Dalrymple
Christian Names
Nickname
Civil Occupation
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt MAGUIRE
WOp/AG: Sgt
BEAL
James George
Annesley
Paddy or Mag
23 Dec 13
Albert Henry
Bob
Veterinary Student
11 Jul 20
London
Carpenter's
Labourer
Previous Service
Enlistment
13 Jul 39: 5 years
15 Mar 35
9 Aug 38: 6 years
Home Town
Dalrymple
Birmingham
London
Service Number
Airman/Officer
754554/106980
519522/47152
617379/ -
Postings
3 ITW, 8 FTS, 12
OTU, 6 PAFU, 226
SQN
63 SQN, 98 SQN,
226 SQN
Honours &
Awards
DFM
Calshot, Mt Batten,
ME, 13 SQN, 57
SQN, 4 AOS, 207
SQN, 98 SQN, 226
SQN, 13 OTU, 226
SQN
DFC, M-in-D
Rank achieved
Fg Off
Flt Lt
Sgt
Commissioned
19 Sep 41
31 Oct 41
Released
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other Information
-
-
-
6 Dec 42: shot
down during raid on
Eindhoven
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
67
J.A. & K. Paton
(parents)
6 Dec 42: ditto
See narrative
See narrative
.
552
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
66
Mrs E.M. Maguire
(wife)
Believed to have
survived the war
DETAILS
PILOT: Flt Lt
KENNEDY
OBSERVER: Flt
Sgt ASKER
WOp/AG: Sgt
BRETT
Christian Names
Nicknames
Joseph Shaw
Ginger, Ken, Joe
Harold Albert
Arthur
Edward John
Johnnie
Date/Place of
Birth
2 Feb 14
Belfast
22 Apr 20
23 Mar 17
Gravesend
BAC at Hurn
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
Enlistment
20 Mar 39: 5 years
7 Nov 38: 4 plus 6
31 May 39
Home Town
Belfast
Norwich
Gravesend
Service Number
Airman/Officer
745508/81351
580505/47171
751324/173512
Postings
3 ITW, 12 SFTS,
17 OTU, 226 SQN,
88 SQN, 226 SQN,
Loan Canada, 31
B&GS, HQ 216
GP, Air Min., HQ
65 GP, Turnhouse
etc
DFC & Bar, AE
2 AOS, 226 SQN,
21 SQN, 88 SQN,
226 SQN, 31
EFTS, 38 SFTS, 31
B&GS, 7 OTU, 13
OTU, 107 SQN,
CGS, 69 SQN, CFS
etc
DFC, DFM
4 B&GS, 215 SQN,
11 OTU, 98 SQN,
12 SQN, 226 SQN,
17 OTU, 88 SQN,
226 SQN, 16 OTU,
17 OTU
Rank achieved
Gp Capt
Sqn Ldr
Fg Off
Commissioned
29 Jun 40
8 Nov 41
16 Mar 44
Released
6 Apr 59
22 Apr 63
26 Oct 45
Died
17 Nov 71
Buried
Cremated
Next of Kin
Mrs J. Kennedy
(wife)
Other
Information
See narrative
See narrative
See narrative
Honours &
Awards
553
M-in-D, AE
DETAILS
PILOT: Plt Off
SMITH
OBSERVER: Sgt
HICKS
WOp/AG: Flt Sgt
ANTLEY
Christian Names
Nickname
David
Smithie
Frank Edward
Malcolm
Herbert Charles
Date/Place of
Birth
5 Nov 18
Cardiff
Civil Occupation
Library Assistant
Previous Service
2nd Lt in Royal
Tank Corps (RTR)
Wore army uniform
for a while after
transfer
Enlistment
11 Aug 38: 6 years
Home Town
Cardiff
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
-
/44805
523113/
-
617502/50802
226 SQN, 18 SQN,
110 SQN, AHQ
(India)
226 SQN, 18 SQN,
105 SQN
98 SQN, 207 SQN,
98 SQN, 226 SQN,
18 SQN, 110 SQN
India
Sqn Ldr
W/O
Fg Off
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
Released
Post-war. Went
back into the Army
for a while.
Died
Buried
-
1 May 42
-
15 Dec 44: ill
health
20 Oct 42: killed in Jul 67
Mosquito DZ 313
at Oldenburg
Sage War
Cemetery,
Oldenburg, Grave 3
E.1
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Survived the war.
Plt Off to Sqn Ldr
in three weeks.
Slightly injured in
the mouth during
crash-landing
V6264 (D) 18 SQN
-10 Sep 41
554
No 18 Squadron
DETAILS
PILOT: Wg Cdr
PARTRIDGE
OBSERVER: Sgt
DVORJETZ
WOP/AG: Flt Sgt
SMITH
Christian Name
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
Thomas Noel
Tim
17 Dec 14
Finedon, Northants
George Arthur
John Oscar Noel
31 Mar 16
Ealing
6 Nov 19
Birmingham
Cinema Manager
Publicity man
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
L/Cpl
Wellingborough
OTC
Member of Civil
Air Guard: 9 hrs
solo
Enlistment
25 Nov 35
20 Oct 39
4 May 36: 9 years
Home Town
Finedon
West Molesey
Lower Gornal,
Staffordshire
550971/ -
Service Number
Airman/Officer
-
/37574
905235/
-
Postings
Civ FS Desford, 11
FTS, 40 SQN, 90
SQN, 17 OTU, 21
SQN, 18 SQN
Honours &
Awards
DFC
Rank achieved
Wg Cdr
Commissioned
25 Nov 35
Released
Died
16 Jul 41: crashed
Noordsingel,
Rotterdam
16 Jul 41: ditto
16 Jul 41: ditto
Buried
Crooswijk
Cemetery,
Rotterdam, Plot
LL, Row 2, Grave
6
Mrs M. Partridge
(wife)
Crooswijk
Cemetery,
Rotterdam, Plot
LL, Row 2, Grave
7
S. Dvorjetz
(brother)
Crooswijk
Cemetery,
Rotterdam, Plot
LL, Row 1, Grave
7
Mrs E.B. Smith
(wife)
See narrative
See narrative
See narrative
Next of Kin
Other
Information
4 ITW, 4 B&GS,
17 OTU, 82 SQN,
21 SQN, 18 SQN
RD West Drayton.
E & WS, 110 SQN,
13 OTU, 101 SQN,
18 SQN
DFM
Sgt
Flt Sgt
-
555
-
DETAILS
PILOT: Sqn Ldr
SMYTHE
OBSERVER: Plt
Off ALDRIDGE
WOp/AG: Plt Off
WELCH
Christian Names
Nickname
Donald Cecil
Don, Ginger
Anthony Selwyn
Tony
John
Junior, One-pan
Date/Place of
Birth
24 Feb 17
1 Feb 20
13 Sep 19
Salford
Light Steel
Pilot with Shell
Shelving Company. Mex and BP Ltd
University of Aston
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
L/Cpl King's
College School
Contingent
Enlistment
6 Aug 35: SSC for
4 years
26 Jun 39: 4 plus 6
Home Town
Llanfynydd, Dyfed
Birmingham
Camberley
581134/46172
625400/46092
114 SQN, 18 SQN,
114 SQN, AFDU,
13 ITW, 2 EFTS,
31 EFTS, 24 SFTS,
1 OTU, 229 SQN,
603 SQN, 122
SQN, 41 SQN, 11
SQN, 28 SQN
Service Number
Airman/Officer
-
/37331
Postings
Civ FS Brough, 5
FTS, 104 SQN, 13
OTU, 114 SQN, 18
SQN, AHQ
Med/Libya, 172
OTU, HQ ME, 178
SQN, 337 WG etc
Honours &
Awards
DSO, GM
10 AOS, 108 SQN,
101 SQN, 21 SQN,
114 SQN, 18 SQN,
63 OTU, 13 OTU,
Ford, 425 R&RU,
AHQ BAFO, 85
SQN, CFE, 29
SQN, ATCC
Hanover
DFC
Rank achieved
Wg Cdr
Sqn Ldr
Wg Cdr
Commissioned
6 Aug 35
12 Jul 41
3 Jul 41
Released
9 Dec 60
1 Feb 63
26 Dec 58
Died
14 Aug 81
May 1997
Buried
Llanfynydd
Next of Kin
Mrs D. Smythe
(wife)
Mr C. Aldridge
(brother)
Other
Information
See narrative
See narrative
556
DFC, M-in-D
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Plt Off
WALKDEN
OBSERVER: Plt
Off MATTHEWS
WOp/AG: Sgt
CUTLER
Christian Names
Nickname
Malcolm Thomas
Kershaw
Bernard Frederick
West
Albert Charles
c. 1918
Coventry
Date/Place of
Birth
Catering Trade:
University Arms in
Cambridge
Civil Occupation
Prudential
Assurance
Previous Service
20 Nov 39
Enlistment
Home Town
Blackpool
Cambridge
Coventry
Service Number
Airman/Officer
990442/62341
959968/62004
941260/
Postings
17 OTU, 18 SQN
17 OTU, 18 SQN
2 E&WS, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
18 SQN
Rank achieved
Plt Off
Plt Off
Sgt
Commissioned
9 Mar 41
9 Mar 41
-
Honours &
Awards
Released
-
-
-
Died
12 Aug 41: FTR on
raid on Knapsack
12 Aug 41: ditto
12 Aug 41: ditto
Buried
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
35
J.A. & M.A.
Walkden (parents)
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
33
G.H. & S.A.
Matthews (parents)
North Cemetery,
Flushing, Row A,
Grave 23
Mrs M. Cutler
(mother)
FTR in Blenheim
Mk IV, V6437 (C).
Crashed near
Scheldemonding
(near Flushing)
Ditto
See narrative
Next of Kin
Other
Information
557
PILOT: Sgt
JEFFERSON
Thomas George
Jeff, Tom
16 Jun 14
Walthamstow
Branch Manager
Insurance
Company (pre-war)
Chairman Finance
Company (postwar)
Civil Air Guard
OBSERVER: Sgt
MILLNS
Ralph Frederick
18 Jun 20
Holborn
Local Government
Clerk
WOp/AG: Sgt
SCOTNEY
Montague Stanley
Scotty
13 Feb 21
Croydon
Headmaster of a
London School
RAFVR-12 Jun 39:
5 years
St Peter Port,
Guernsey
748636/101521
17 Aug 39: 5 years
5 Jul 39: 5 years
East Finchley,
Middlesex
755952/115317
London
4 ITW, 10 B&GS,
1 E&WS, 5 B&GS,
17 OTU, 18 SQN,
17 OTU, 18 SQN,
139 SQN, 105 SQN CGS, HQ 216 GP,
Reserve
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
3 ITW, 5 FTS, 14
OTU, 17 OTU, 18
SQN, HQ ME,
1501 BAT FLT, 10
OTU, 1655 MTU,
105 SQN, 16 OTU
DSO, AFC, AE,
Pathfinder Badge
Wg Cdr
Flt Lt
Flt Lt
Commissioned
19 Jul 41
19 Jan 42
4 Dec 43
Released
20 Sep 46
-
Died
27 Nov 99
26 Feb 43: crashed
attack Rennes
Rennes Eastern
Cemetery, Sec 18,
Plot 1, Row C,
Grave 4
F. & M.E. Millns
(parents)
See narrative
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Mrs A. Jefferson
(wife)
See narrative
755337/170701
AE
558
21 Dec 54
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
DUNHAM
OBSERVER: Sgt
ADAMSON
WOp/AG: Sgt
HARDING
Christian Names
Nickname
Ronald William
Norman Lawrence
Date/Place of
Birth
William Matthie
Gillam
Matt
1 Jul 17
Calgary, Alberta
11 Apr 20
Newcastle
24 Jan 15
Chiswick
Civil Occupation
Clerk
Insurance clerk
Salesman
Previous Service
Enlistment
78th Battery RCA L/Sgt - 26th Field
Brigade
19 Jul 40
21 Jul 39: 5 years
17 Apr 40
Home Town
Calgary, Alberta
Newcastle-on-Tyne
Richmond, Surrey
Service Number
Airman/Officer
RCAF:
R 60299/
754726/
922058/
Postings
7 EFS, 3 SFTS, 13
OTU, 18 SQN
22 EFTS, 3 ITW, 5
AONS, 10 B&GS,
13 OTU, 18 SQN
5 B&GS, 13 OTU,
18 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
-
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
23 Jul 41: crashed
23 Jul 41: ditto
at sea Terschelling*
23 Jul 41: ditto
Buried
No known grave,
Runnymede Panel
61
J.R. & V.M.
Dunham (parents)
Westerschelling
General Cemetery,
Grave 29
W.H. & E.A.
Adamson (parents)
No known grave.
Runnymede Panel
44
L.J. & E.A.
Harding (parents)
FTR in Blenheim
Mk IV, R3666.
Graduate of Red
Deer High School
* Possibly off
Camperduin - see
Blenheim Society
Issue No 74
Next of Kin
Other
Information
559
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt ROST
OBSERVER: Sgt
HUGHES
WOp/AG: Sgt
WINTER
Christian Names
Nickname
Ronald James
Brownee
John
Stanley William
Date/Place of
Birth
1920/1921
Manly? Australia
19 Dec 19
12 Oct 15
Volunteer organist
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
Enlistment
24 Apr 40
23 Aug 39
Southampton
Home Town
Manly, New South
Wales
Wallasey
Service Number
Airman/Officer
RAAF:
Aus 402170/
987753/
Postings
13 OTU, 18 SQN
5 ITW, 1 AONS, 9
B&GS, Ouston, 13
OTU, 18 SQN
1 E&WS, 2
E&WS, 5 AOS, 13
OTU, 18 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
-
-
653507/
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank Achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
16 Jul 41: Attack
on Rotterdam
docks
Westduin Cemetery
The Hague, Allied
Plot, Row 3, Grave
66
Mrs A.H. Rost
(mother)
16 Jul 41: ditto
16 Jul 41: ditto
Westduin Cemetery
The Hague, Allied
Plot, Row 3, Grave
67
H.O. Hughes
(brother)
Westduin Cemetery
The Hague, Allied
Plot, Row 3, Grave
68
F. Winter (brother)
Crashed near
Ypenburg: crew all
died in hospital
See narrative
560
DETAILS
PILOT: Plt Off
POWNER
OBSERVER: Plt
Off SANDS
WOp/AG: Sgt
DANIELS
Christian Names
Nickname
Antony Cyril
Tony
Jack Braithwaite
Frederick
Fred, Pop
Date/Place of
Birth
17 Jun 21
Stafford
1 Oct 17
Yorkshire
c. 1915
Civil Occupation
Abrasive Products
(family business)
Previous Service
Birmingham
University OTC
Enlistment
11 Jun 40
Home Town
Wolverhampton
Bingley
Selsey
Service Number
Airman/Officer
1165007/62013
938444/63806
959051/
Postings
1 RW, 2 ITW, 12
SFTS, 17 OTU, 18
SQN, 55 SQN ME,
2 OADU, 1
OADU, Reserve
13 OTU, 18 SQN,
487 (NZ) SQN
Honours &
Awards
MBE
2 E&WS, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
18 SQN, 55 SQN
ME, Helwan, 108
MU, 105 OTU, 109
OTU, HQTC
Rank achieved
Flt Lt
Flt Lt
W/O
Commissioned
9 Mar 41
9 Mar 41
Released
10 Jul 54 (Reserve)
Resigned
commission 1978
2 Nov 2010
Died
1 Apr 40
-
28 Nov 45
9 Oct 43: Killed in
Mosquito HX 937
Schoonselhof
Cemetery,
Antwerp, IVa.B.16
Mrs A. Sands
(mother)
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
-
See narrative.
Obituary in Blen.
Soc. Journal No 70
See narrative
561
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
WOOD
OBSERVER: Sgt
JOHNSON
WOp/AG: Sgt
ALLAN
Christian Names
Nickname
John Stewart
Timber
John Philip David
William Brian
Date/Place of
Birth
30 Jul 13
Lismore, Scotland
26 Aug 11,
Twickenham
13 May 21
Newcastle
Civil Occupation
Commercial
mushroom grower
Clerk
Previous Service
Enlistment
9 Oct 39
Home Town
Ford, Princes
Risborough
Service Number
Airman/Officer
904463/146697
910586/
Postings
13 OTU, 18 SQN,
107 SQN, ME
3 RC, 1 SS, 5
B&GS, 13 OTU,
18 SQN
Rank achieved
16 OTU, 13 OTU,
18 SQN, 107 SQN,
ME
Command Mention
- Royal Aero Club
posthumous award
of Silver Medal
Flt Lt
Flt Sgt
Sgt
Commissioned
2 Apr 43
Honours &
Awards
Released
Died
16 Jul 83: Killed
King's Cup Air
Race at Shobdon
airfield, See AIB
Bulletin 12/83 for
full report.
6 Jan 40
Newcastle
Mr Frank StewartWood (son)
Other
Information
Changed name to
STEWARTWOOD.
-
5 Nov 45
755584/
-
8 Dec 41: Killed
attack on shipping
in Catania harbour
No known grave,
Runnymede Panel
38
W. & S.A. Allan
(parents)
Buried
Next of Kin
18 Jul 39: 5 years
In Blenheim Mk
IV, Z7613 (pilot:
Plt Off J.A.
Barclay) - collided
with Z9719 (107
SQN) All killed.
562
No 139 Squadron
DETAILS
PILOT: Sqn Ldr
SYDNEY SMITH
OBSERVER: Plt
Off WHITE
WOp/AG: Flt Sgt
CABAN
Christian Names
Nickname
Eric
Bill Smith
Richard Adrian
Dickie
Edmund George
Ted
Date/Place of
Birth
4 Dec 12
Montreal
2 Aug 17
Civil Occupation
Action News
Reporter Daily
Express
Bank Manager,
Lloyds Bank
Men's hairdresser
30 Mar 39
3 May 38
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
Normandy
East Molesey
Brandon
Service Number
Airman/Officer
904371/88237
745544/61023
611679/
Postings
139 SQN, POW
23 SQN, 18 SQN,
139 SQN, POW
Honours &
Awards
DFC
1 ITW, 12 FTS, 1
RW, 9 B&GS, 17
OTU, 139 SQN,
POW
Rank achieved
Sqn Ldr
Flt Lt
W/O
Commissioned
7 Nov 40
12 Jan 41
-
28 Jul 45
13 Nov 45
13 Dec 2001
2010
27 Nov 2006
Son & daughter
from his second
marriage
(Françoise White)
See narrative.
Obituary Daily
Telegraph 6 Feb
2002
Mrs R. White
(wife), Charlotte
White (daughter)
Mrs S. Caban
(wife)
See narrative.
Obituary in Blen.
Soc. Journal 68
See narrative
Released
Died
-
DFM
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
563
.
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
PILOT: Sgt
HATTON
OBSERVER: Sgt
HOLROYD
WOp/AG: Sgt
BENNETT
Robert
Bob
Jack
Robert Charles
Hawson
Bob
14 Sep 17
Chester
Surveyor for Kent
County Council
Bank clerk
Date/Place of
Birth
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
5 Feb 40
Enlistment
Home Town
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
Leicester
Maidstone
Wirral
949389/
17 OTU, 139 SQN,
84 SQN
17 OTU, 139 SQN,
84 SQN
-
3 E&WS, 2 SS, 12
OTU, 5 B&GS, 17
OTU, 139 SQN, 84
SQN, POW of
Japanese
Honours &
Awards
W/O
Rank achieved
-
Commissioned
23 Feb 47
Released
Died
Nothing in CWGC
Nothing in CWGC
Buried
Next of Kin
Other Information See narrative
See narrative
564
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
MENISH
OBSERVER: Plt
Off BROWN
WOp/AG: Sgt
HALEY
Christian Names
Nickname
George Raymond
Peter
Rowland
Date/Place of
Birth
1912/1913
1 Sep 20
Wakefield
Civil Occupation
28 Aug 17
Salina, Kansas,
USA
Metal Worker
Previous Service
Nil
Enlistment
20 Jul 40
Home Town
Salina, Kansas
Gresty, Cheshire
Wakefield
Service Number
Airman/Officer
RCAF:
R 59592/
959592/64324
1002012/
Postings
12 EFTS, 4 SFTS,
13 OTU, 139 SQN
13 OTU, 139 SQN
10 RC Blackpool, 2
SS, 5 B&GS, 13
OTU, 139 SQN
Sgt
Plt Off
Sgt
Clerk
30 May 40
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
20 Apr 41
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
30 Jul 41: FTR on
raid on targets in
N/W Germany
No known grave
Runnymede
Memorial Panel 61
Mrs A.V. Menish
(mother)
30 Jul 41: ditto
30 Jul 41: ditto
No known grave
Runnymede
Memorial Panel 31
Mrs A. Brown
(wife)
No known grave
Runnymede
Memorial Panel 44
W. & A. Haley
(parents)
FTR in Blenheim
Mk IV, V6266.
Shot down by Bf
110s from ZG76
and crashed 112
miles N of Texel.
565
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
GIBBS
OBSERVER: Sgt
SHAW
WOp/AG: Sgt
BEALE
Christian Names
Nickname
John Adrian
James Peirson
Donald
Date/Place of
Birth
24 Dec 20
Hampstead
1912/1913
Canada
7 Dec 19
Civil Occupation
Student
Journalist in
Tewkesbury
Enlistment
23 Jul 40
19 May 40
Home Town
Kingston Hill
Llandudno?
Gloucester
Service Number
Airman/Officer
1174298/
920449/
1161382/
Postings
5 ITW, 32 SFTS
Canada, 13 OTU,
139 SQN
13 OTU, 139 SQN
Blackpool, 2 SS, 6
B&GS, 13 OTU,
139 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
Previous Service
-
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Next of Kin
E.N. & M.E. Gibbs Mrs Shaw (wife)
(parents)
13 Oct 41: Shot
down by Bf 109s
Haut Tingry (Pasde-Calais)
Eastern Cemetery,
Boulogne-sur-Mer,
Plot 13, Row C,
Coll. Grave 1-3
W.H. & M. Beale
(parents)
Other
Information
Killed in Blenheim
Mk IV, N3627.
Duty: formation
practice.
Killed in Blenheim
Mk IV, Z7273 (H).
Baled out uninjured
on 8 Aug 41 crash.
Died
Buried
8 Aug 41: Engine
fire on T/O from
Oulton. Crashed
North Barningham.
Norwich City
Cemetery, Sec 54,
Grave 523
8 Aug 41: ditto parachute not
fastened properly
Norwich City
Cemetery, Sec 54,
Grave 524
Killed after bailing
out of Blenheim
Mk IV, N3627
566
No 105 Squadron
DETAILS
PILOT: Flt Lt
SMITHERS
OBSERVER: Sgt
JAMES
WOp/AG: Sgt
FISHER
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
Bryan William
Cecil Frank
John
3 Nov 18
Poole
16 Jul 20
Bristol
20 Jun 20
Leigh, Lancs.
Civil Occupation
Costing Clerk
Ladysmith Motors
Previous Service
Private, School
Cadet Corps
Enlistment
28 Dec 38: SSC for
4 years
20 Jul 39: 5 years
20 Feb 40
Home Town
Ladysmith, Natal
754868/172793
978513/130071
Civ FS Rochester,
10 FTS, S of AC, 2
SQN, 4 SQN, 10
OTU, 17 OTU, 105
SQN, 149 SQN, 13
OTU, SDL etc
DFC
17 OTU, 105 SQN,
82 SQN
17 OTU, 105 SQN,
149 SQN, 233 SQN
Sqn Ldr
Fg Off
Flt Lt
Commissioned
28 Dec 38
29 Jan 44
8 May 42
Released
17 Sep 46
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
-
Warrington
/41750
-
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
Maj E.C. Smithers
(father)
See narrative
See narrative.
Beware Sgt C.F.
James RAFVR,
died 19 Aug 42:
Charles Frederick
1380108, 174 SQN,
Runnymede Pan 86
567
26/27 Sep 45: pilot
of Dakota: supply
dropping
Taukkyan War
Cemetery,
Rangoon, 26. D. 24
Mrs K.T. Fisher
(wife)
See narrative crashed near
Panglong, Lashio.
DETAILS
PILOT: Flt Lt
BROADLEY
OBSERVER: Plt
Off RAMSAY
WOp/AG: Sgt
MARSH
Christian Names
Nickname
Arthur Benjamin
Ben
Alistair Stewart
Vernon Richardson
Ricky
Date/Place of
Birth
7 Aug 15
Southampton
18 May 09
14 Feb 20
Wigan
Civil Occupation
3 years service in
Malay States
Building Trade
Previous Service
Civil Air Guard
3 Nov 39
Enlistment
Home Town
Hemel Hempstead
Tunbridge Wells
Wigan
Service Number
Airman Officer
903262/87659
908632/88659
971254/
Postings
13 OTU, 82 SQN,
105 SQN, POW
13 OTU, 82 SQN,
105 SQN
13 OTU, 82 SQN,
105 SQN, POW
Honours &
Awards
DFC
DFC
DFM
Rank achieved
Flt Lt
Plt Off
W/O
Commissioned
2 Nov 40
3 Nov 40
Died
Nothing in CWGC
Killed 31 Jul 41:
off Lampedusa
harbour
Catania War
Cemetery, Sicily,
Grave Ref. IV.L.50
Mrs A.M.M.
Ramsay (mother)
See narrative
See narrative.
AHB5 & CWGC
state death 1 Aug
41
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
-
Released
568
-
10 Oct 47
See narrative
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
BRUCE
OBSERVER: Sgt
FLETT
WOp/AG: Sgt
GIBSON
Christian Names
Nickname
James George
Jimmy
Adam Herd
Henry
Date/Place of
Birth
21 Feb 18
Buckie
9 Jan 15
Buckie
24 Dec 06
Liverpool
Civil Occupation
Bank clerk
Shop assistant
Waiter on the
London-Holyhead
railway
Enlistment
10 May 40
10 Jan 40
10 Oct 39
Home Town
Buckie
Croydon
Southend-on-Sea
Service Number
Airman/Officer
989150/124216
910709/
Postings
4 ITW, 3 SFTS, 13
OTU, 105 SQN, 17
OTU, 105 SQN
13 OTU, 105 SQN
Honours &
Awards
DFM
1 ITW, 8 B&GS,
13 OTU, 105 SQN,
17 OTU, 16 OTU,
17 OTU, 1655
MTU, 109 SQN
DFM
Rank achieved
Fg Off
W/O
W/O
Commissioned
1 May 42
Previous Service
Released
-
-
28 Mar 43: killed
near Lille
14 Jan 44: killed at
Mehr, Germany
Buried
Lille Southern
Cemetery, Plot 5,
Row A, Grave 29
Mr G. Bruce
(father)
Reichswald Forest
War Cemetery,
Grave 3.F.13
Mrs E.B. Flett
(wife)
See narrative
See narrative
Other
Information
-
DFM
-
-
Died
Next of Kin
905120/
569
See narrative.
Beware 1138669
Sgt Hugh Gibson,
487 (NZ) SQN,
died on 3 May 43,
aged 20.
PILOT: Sgt
SCOTT
Ronald John
Scotty
OBSERVER: Sgt
HEALY
Walter Brendan
Bren
WOp/AG: Sgt
BASTIN
Stuart George
Date/Place of
Birth
Civil Occupation
c. 1915
26 Jun 17
Dublin
Decorator
9 Dec 21
Richmond, Surrey
Toolmaker
Previous Service
Civil Air Guard
Enlistment
4 Oct 39
7th Battalion King's No 2 SQN, Air
Regiment, TA
Defence Corps
22 Feb 40
11 Dec 39
Home Town
Bournemouth
Liverpool
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
904184/
978873/
DETAILS
Christian Names
Nickname
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Funeral Director
-
Watford
-
909151/
-
5 ITW, 2 FTS, 17
OTU, 105 SQN
5 ITW, 7 B&GS,
17 OTU, 105 SQN
2 E&WS, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
105 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other
Information
25 Aug 41: crashed
in sea N/E of
Kerkennah
No known grave.
Commemorated on
Malta Memorial,
Panel 2, Column 1
25 Aug 41: ditto
25 Aug 41: ditto
No known grave.
Commemorated on
Malta Memorial,
Panel 1, Column 2
No known grave.
Commemorated on
Alamein Roll of
Honour, Column
242
Mrs R. Bastin
(mother)
See narrative. Ditto
Mr & Mrs A. Scott Mrs E.M. Healy
(parents)
(mother)
See narrative.
See narrative. Ditto
Confliction of date
of crash/death 25 or
26 Aug 41
570
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
FARROW
OBSERVER: Sgt
SAUNDERS
WOp/AG: Sgt
ROBINSON
Christian Names
Nickname
Victor Gordon
Edwin Cyril
Oswald Harry
19 May 20
Stoke Newington
25 Apr 20
Cardiff
Bank clerk
Civil Servant
Grocery assistant
Enlistment
10 Jun 40
15 May 40
12 Sep 39
Home Town
Romford
London
Cardiff
Service Number
Airman/Officer
RAFVR
929616/
RAFVR
925661/
RAFVR
967533/
Postings
1 RW, 4 ITW, 2
SFTS, 13 OTU, 105
SQN
4 ITW, 10 B&GS,
13 OTU, 105 SQN
2 E&WS, 5 B&GS,
17 OTU, 139 SQN,
105 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Flt Sgt
Date/Place of Birth 2 Feb 22
Romford
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
-
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
Buried
Next of Kin
Other Information
19 Jul 41: attack on
shipping off The
Hague
Row 3, Grave 62,
Westduin
Cemetery, The
Hague
Sidney Herbert &
Constance Farrow
(parents)
Killed in Blenheim
Mk IV, Z7439: shot
down into the sea
off Scheveningen
571
19 Jul 41: ditto
19 Jul 41: ditto
Row 3, Grave 61,
Westduin
Cemetery, The
Hague
Alfred Ebenezer &
Ethel Lucy
Saunders (parents)
of Finsbury Park,
Middlesex
Ditto
No known grave.
Commemorated on
Runnymede
Memorial Panel 37
Hugh Joseph &
Alice Maud
Robinson (parents)
of Canton, Cardiff
Ditto
DETAILS
PILOT: Sgt
TAYLOR
OBSERVER: Sgt
WITHRINGTON
WOp/AG: Sgt
SPARKES
Christian Names
Nickname
Ronald West
Reginald Frederick
George
Selwyn
Date/Place of
Birth
1915/1916
New Zealand
7 Jul 15
Portslade, Sussex
16 Jan 16
South Shields
Insurance clerk
Lino type operator
16 Dec 39
12 Apr 40
Shoreham-by-Sea
& Hove
South Shields
975504/
992848/
Civil Occupation
Previous Service
Enlistment
Home Town
Christchurch
New Zealand
Service Number
Airman/Officer
RNZAF
NZ 401790/
Postings
17 OTU, 105 SQN
14 FTS, 1 ITW, 10
B&GS, 17 OTU,
105 SQN
1 SS, 10 B&GS, 17
OTU, 105 SQN
Sgt
Sgt
Sgt
-
-
-
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
-
-
-
Released
-
-
-
Died
Buried
19 Jul 41: crashed
in sea off The
Hague
Noordwijk General
Cemetery, Plot 1,
Joint Grave 2
Next of Kin
A.S. & N.A. Taylor
(parents)
Other
Information
Shot down in
V6039 attacking a
convoy of 8 M/Vs
& 6 flakships. Joint
grave with Flt Lt
H.S. Young (died
12 Aug 41 in
Z7352, 226 SQN)
19 Jul 41: ditto
19 Jul 41: ditto
Bergen-op-Zoom
Canadian War
Cemetery, Plot 7,
Row AA, Grave 12
Mrs H.E.
Withrington
(mother)
NOT spelt with 'e'.
NB This was the
crew's second
operation (after
Rotterdam 3 days
previously)
Bergen General
Cemetery, Plot 1,
Row E, Grave 15
572
Mrs E.E. Sparkes
(wife)
DETAILS
PILOT: Sqn Ldr
GOODE
OBSERVER: Sgt
HARBORD
WOp/AG: Plt Off
APPLEBEE
Christian Names
Nickname
Date/Place of
Birth
George Edward
Frank Alfred
Eric William
25 May 15
Leominster
12 Sep 18
8 Oct 19
Liverpool
Civil Occupation
Clerk
Engineering
apprentice
14 Platoon, 'D' Co.,
4th Battalion Linc.
Regiment TA
10 Jul 39
Insurance clerk
Welwyn Garden
City
581215/52887
Bury, Lancs.
1 E&WS, 7 ATS,
114 SQN, 13 OTU,
18 SQN, 105 SQN,
POW, post-war in
Air Traffic Control
Previous Service
Enlistment
8 Jun 36: 4 plus 6
Home Town
Hamble
Service Number
Airman/Officer
Postings
580233/81675
Honours &
Awards
Rank achieved
Commissioned
Released
DFC
6 E & RFTS, 3
AOS, 104 SQN,
101 SQN, 82 SQN,
18 SQN, 105 SQN,
14 OTU, 13 OTU,
60 SQN India, 69
FCS, 22 FCS, postwar HQ Transport
Cmd, 24 SQN, 17
AHU, Debden,
Digby
DFM
Sqn Ldr
25 Apr 40
30 Apr 58
Flt Lt
11 Jun 43
20 Aug 47
Flt Lt
13 May 41
1951
Died
25 Mar 89
Jan 2010
1996
Buried
Next of Kin
Hamble
Mrs M. Goode
(wife)
Mrs Applebee
(wife)
Other
Information
See narrative
Mrs P. Harbord
(wife), James
Harbord (son)
See narrative.
Obituary in Blen.
Soc. Journal 67.
Autobiography
Familiar Voices
(1998)
Civ FS Desford, 3
FTS, Bicester,
Hamble, 17 OTU,
105 SQN, POW,
post-war 21 AFU,
98 SQN, 14 SQN,
CSC Hornchurch,
HQ 41 GP, HQTC
573
Jan 37
537379/44982
DFM, M-in-D
See narrative. Blen.
Soc. Journal 27
IV: Blenheim Mk IV Selected Data
DIMENSIONS
Wing span
Overall length
Height (rigging position)
Height (tail down, one propeller vertical)
56ft 4in
42ft 7in
15ft
12ft 9½in
ENGINES
Two Bristol Mercury XV nine-cylinder air-cooled radial engines with single-speed
superchargers. Maximum output 995 BHP.
AIRSCREWS
De Havilland-Hamilton three-blade metal, two-position (fine pitch and coarse pitch no feathering), hydraulically operated, with a diameter of 10ft 6in.
FUEL SYSTEM
Two inner wing fuel tanks, each of 140 imperial gallons. Two outer wing fuel tanks,
each of 94 imp gal (for long range). For even longer range, e.g. transit to Malta, two
50 imp gal auxiliary tanks were mounted in the bomb bay.
OIL SYSTEM
Two main oil tanks, one in each nacelle, each of 11½ imp gal. Two auxiliary tanks,
each of 2½ imp gal.
HYDRAULIC SYSTEM
Operates the landing gear (main wheels only), flaps and air-gunner's turret. Enginedriven pump on port engine only. Emergency operation: engine/pump failure - use
auxiliary hand-pump; hydraulics shot through - (late mod) use emergency CO2 bottle
to lower undercarriage only.
PNEUMATIC SYSTEM
Operates wheel brakes, fuel jettison valve and gun firing gear for the wing-mounted
Browning machine-gun. Engine-driven air compressor on starboard engine;
accumulator air bottle on starboard side of fuselage immediately aft of main spar. A
triple pressure gauge shows the accumulator pressure and the pressure at each wheel.
ELECTRICAL SYSTEM
12 volt 500 watt generator, driven by port engine, which charges two accumulators:
one for engine starting - situated on the starboard floor of the front fuselage - and the
other for general services - situated on the port side, forward of the turret.
574
ARMAMENT
Internal bomb load: 2 x 500lb bombs, or 4 x 250lb bombs (main well), plus 4 x 25lb
incendiaries, or reconnaissance flares (in smaller adjacent wells), or various
combinations of HE and incendiary bombs. External bomb load: Light-Series carriers
under the fuselage aft of the bomb cell for practice bombs or reconnaissance flares.
One fixed .303-in Browning machine-gun in the port wing, fired by the pilot. Two
.303-in Browning machine-guns in the Bristol Mk IV dorsal turret, fired by the airgunner. Optional: Vickers 'K' .303-in machine-guns mounted in the rear of each
engine nacelle and under the lower tail section (introduced by Basil Embry); two
.303-in Browning machine-guns mounted in Frazer-Nash chin blister, fired by
observer by means of a mirror (all known as 'frighteners' - used more in hope than
anger); one Vickers 'K' machine-gun mounted in the nose canopy, also fired by
observer.
WEIGHTS
Normal operational all-up weight
Maximum all-up weight
14,500lb
15,000lb
PERFORMANCE
Max speed, sea level
Max permissible speed in dive
Stalling speed (clean), 14,500lb AUW
Service ceiling
Range (1,000lb bomb load)
Take-off run to clear 50ft, at 14,500lb AUW
Landing run over 50ft
575
227 mph
285 mph
78 mph
22,000ft
1,460 miles
940 yds
850 yds
General view of the Blenheim Mk IV cockpit, looking forward ( National Archives
AIR 10/2366: A.P. 1530B, Pilot's Notes)
576
Guide to Blenheim Mk IV cockpit ( National Archives AIR 10/2366: A.P. 1530B,
Pilot's Notes)
577
The Bristol Blenheim Mk IV - cutaway diagram by J.H. 'Jimmy' Clark ( Key
Publishing)
578
Bristol Blenheim Mk IV Air Gunner's turret - my cousin's 'office' (AP2768A)
579
V: Explanations of Aircraft Record Card
Information
AC
Category in which repair is beyond unit capacity
AG
Accident on ground
AGT
Airwork General Trading
AST
Air Service Training (repaired at Hamble)
AW
B
Category replacing AC later in the war
CAS
Casualty
CAT
Category
CM,CN
DA
Deposit Account (Holding List for allocation)
E
Write-off
EA
Enemy Action: damaged on ground by raid
E1
Write-off: reduced to spares
E2
Write-off: scrap
Em
Write-off: missing
ERFE
En Route Far East
43 GRP DA Deposit Account: Holding List for Allocation
FA
Flying Accident
FB
Flying Battle
FC
Fighter Command
FOR
FTU
Ferry Training Unit
M1
ME
Middle East
MR
Major Repairs
MU
Maintenance Unit
OADU
Overseas Aircraft Despatch Unit
OAPU
Overseas Aircraft Preparation Unit
OATU
(Bicester) OTU? Overseas Aircraft Transit Unit?
O
(EA.O)
PSO
Provisionally Struck Off
RAAA
Repaired Aircraft Awaiting Action
RNDA
Royal Navy Deposit Account
RIW
Repaired In Works
ROD
ROS
Repaired On Site
SAS
Supermarine Aviation Southampton
SOUTH.A Repaired In Works
SOC
Struck Off Charge
TAF
Tactical Air Force
580
VI: Blenheim Mk IV Aircraft on Rotterdam
Raid 16 July 41
All built by Rootes Securities Ltd.
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
21
(YH)
V5580 (X)
Wg Cdr
Webster
TAKEN
ON
CHARGE
8 MU 27/11/40
21 SQN 12/12/40
21
(YH)
V6240 (B)
Sgt
Bevan
5 MU 19/3/41
21 SQN 7/5/41
21
(YH)
Z7502 (R)
Flt Lt
GrahamHogg
39 MU 26/6/41
Disp. Slade
Farm 26/6/41
21 SQN 4/7/41
21
(YH)
V6321 (Z)
Plt Off
Ashby
15 MU 31/3/41
21 SQN 16/4/41
MALTA 1/5/41
21 SQN 15/5/41
581
CATEGORIES SOC
FG
HRS
FB (PSO) 21/10/41
Hit sea: forced
to ditch
1/11/41 194.15
FB (E) Missing 16/7/41
Crashed
Waalhaven
dock
Rotterdam: shot
down by Vp
1107 flakship
1/7/42
101.35
FB (E) Missing 18/7/41
Shot down by
Bf 109 during
attack on
shipping in
Dover Straits
2/8/41
11.20
FB (E) Missing 23/7/41
During attack
on shipping off
Ostend. Pilot:
Sgt Hartridge
2/8/41
85.45
SQN AIRCRAFT PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATEGORIES SOC
21
V6252 (U)
(YH)
5 MU - 19/3/41
CAT (AG) 28/7/41
Sgt Woods
21 SQN- 7/5/41
43 GRP DA 19/7/41
21
Z7435 (S)
(YH)
Sgt
Wotherspoon
21
V5595 (P)
(YH)
Sgt Kemp
21 SQN 10/8/41
38 MU - 15/6/41
21 SQN 21/6/41
39 MU 16/12/40
101 SQN 5/1/41
21 SQN 10/5/41
21
V6337 (T)
(YH)
Sgt Maguire
15 MU - 31/3/41
21 SQN 19/4/41
MALTA - 1/5/41
21 SQN 15/5/41
ROS/BRISTOLS
- 8/10/41
21 SQN 10/2/42
114 SQN 26/2/42
582
FG
HRS
1/10/41 116.55
FB (E) Missing 15/9/41
Haugesund,
Norway
FB (E) Missing 28/8/41
Rotterdam
docks
29/8/41
-
FB (E) Missing 18/7/41
Shot down by
flakship during
attack on
shipping in
Dover Straits
2/8/41
86.05
FB (E) - 2/6/42
Missing from
Intruder
Mission
2/6/42
155.00
SQN
AIRCRAFT
PILOT
21
(YH)
V6361 (F)
Plt Off
Reiss
21
(YH)
Z7437 (L)
Plt Off
Orme
21
(YH)
Z7438 (D)
Sgt
Taylor
21
(YH)
V6360 (K)
Sgt
Hartridge
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
8 MU - 6/4/41
21 SQN 26/4/41
OAPU 16/12/41
OATU
BICESTER 9/1/42
OADU
PORTREATH
- 25/1/42
CATEGORIES
8 MU 15/6/41
21 SQN 19/6/41
43 GRP DA 4/7/41
21 SQN 11/7/41
ME (MALTA)
- 1/2/42
INDIA 11/6/42
8 MU 14/6/41
21 SQN 19/6/41
FA (AC) 4/7/41
15 MU 31/3/41
21 SQN 19/4/41
MALTA 1/5/41
21 SQN 15/5/41
43 GRP DA
ROS - 30/8/41
21 SQN 23/10/41
13 OTU 9/1/42
583
FA (AC) MALTA 3/2/42
SOC
-
FG
HRS
-
8/11/43
-
2/8/41
43.20
7/5/44
-
ERFE - 17/3/42
FB (AC) 21/7/41
FB (E) - 4/4/43
Crashed on
approach DUM
DUM, INDIA
FB (E) - Missing
23/7/41 Shot
down by Bf 109
during attack on
shipping off
Ostend. Pilot S/L CampbellRogers
FA (AC) 31/1/42
CAT E1/MR 7/5/44
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
V6360 (K)
continued
226
Z7271 (K)
(MQ)
Sqn Ldr
Kercher
226
Z7305 (T)
(MQ)
Flt Lt
CampbellRogers
226
V6515 (K)
(MQ)
On
loan
from
110
(VE)
Sgt Paton
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
ROS - 31/1/42
13 OTU 18/2/42
TAF FC 13
OTU - 1/6/43
ROS/
BRISTOLS 27/1/44
13 OTU 24/3/44
15 MU 5/5/41
226 SQN 27/5/41
SAS (AST) 24/7/41
RAAA 4/10/41
20 MU 10/10/41
21 SQN 25/10/41
MALTA
8 MU 18/5/41
226 SQN 28/5/41
CATS
SOC
FG
HRS
FB (E) 29/1/42
9/2/42
129.30
FB in Sea 26/8/41
Shot down
by flakship
during
attack on
convoy near
IJmuiden
30/8/41
69.45
23 MU 30/4/41
82 SQN 11/5/41
110 SQN 18/6/41
Wattisham on loan
FB (E) Missing
14/8/41
Attack off
Norway
16/8/41
-
584
SQN
AIRCRAFT
PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATS
SOC
FG
HRS
226
(MQ)
V6510 (A)
Flt Lt
Kennedy
FA (AC) 7/11/42
FA (B) 13/4/43
RECAT E1 22/5/43
Engine
failure: crashlanded
Hucknall
22/5/43
570.15
226
(MQ)
Z7312 (N)
Sgt
Onions
15 MU 30/4/41
226 SQN 27/5/41
18 SQN 12/11/41
114 SQN 17/1/42
18 SQN 31/7/42
13 OTU 1/10/42
ROS
(BRISTOLS)7 & 13/11/42
13 OTU 24/12/42
RIW/AGT
RENFREW 13/4/43
10 MU 22/5/41
226 SQN 17/6/41
8/9/41
-
226
(MQ)
Z7280 (M)
Plt Off
Smith
38 MU 9/5/41
226 SQN 1/6/41
FB (E) Missing
7/9/41 Shot
down by flak
off
Scheveningen
FB (E) Missing
10/8/41 Shot
down by Bf
109 off Calais
31/8/41
83.45
18
(WV)
V6267 (M)
Wg Cdr
Partridge
33 MU 25/3/41
18 SQN 15/6/41
FB (E) Missing
16/7/41
Shot down by
flak. Crashed
Noordsingel
canal
Rotterdam
17/7/41
12.40
585
SQN
AIRCRAFT
PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATS
SOC
18
V6431 (N)
(WV)
Sqn Ldr
Smythe
CAT
AC/FOR 9/7/42
CAT B/M1
- 30/12/42
AW/CM 27/3/43
AW/CN 30/6/44
Mar/45?
Stretton
18
V6038 (H)
(MV)
Plt Off
Walkden
27 MU 14/4/41
18 SQN 28/5/41
114 SQN 25/10/41
ROD - 9/7/42
114 SQN 15/9/42
RIW (SOUTH.
A) - 30/12/42
15 MU 11/4/43
RIW/AGT
RENFREW 17/2/44
RNDA 24/4/44
39 MU? 2/2/41
18 SQN - No
Date
43 GRP DA 10/5/41
18 SQN - No
Date
18
Z7489 (T)
(WV)
Sgt
Jefferson
33 MU 22/6/41
18 SQN 29/6/41
13 OTU 15/10/41
ROS(B'STOLS)
- 24/12/41
13 OTU 19/3/42
ROS - 17/4/42
13 OTU 24/4/42
ROS 29/8/42
13 OTU 24/12/42
13 OTU TAF
FC 1/6/43
FA (AC) 18/12/41
FA (AC) 14/4/42
FA (AC) 23/8/42
CAT
E1/M1 27/2/44
586
EA.O. (AC) 30/7/41
- 10/5/41
FB (E) Missing
20/7/41 Hit
mast and
crashed into
sea off Le
Touquet
27/2/44
FG
HRS
-
99.55
-
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATS
SOC
FB (E) Missing
12/8/41 Hit
HT cables
over Dutch
border en
route
Knapsack.
Crashed in
sea off
Flushing.
Pilot: P/O
Walkden
FB (E) Missing
16/7/41 Shot
down by flak
during attack
Rotterdam
docks.
Crashed near
Ypenburg
30/8/41 53.20
FB (AC) 25/6/41
FA (AC) 7/6/42
FA (E) 28/8/42
Collided with
N6169 off
Flamborough
Head
30/9/42 395.20
18
V6437 (C)
(WV)
Sgt
Dunham
27 MU 14/4/41
18 SQN 28/5/41
18
Z7496 (W)
(WV)
Sgt Rost
23 MU 24/6/41
18 SQN 30/6/41
18
V6197 (D)
(WV)
Sgt Wood 23 MU 5/3/41
18 SQN 12/5/41
43 GRP DA- ?
18 SQN - ?
226 SQN 17/10/41
18 SQN 12/11/41
110 SQN 9/1/42
18 SQN 13/3/42
13 OTU 26/3/42
ROS ORO 7/6/42
13 OTU 23/6/42
587
FG
HRS
17/7/41 2.40
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
18
(WV)
V6395
Logbook v.
ORB
(V6497 [U])
Plt Off
Powner
139
(XD)
Z7362 (V)
Sqn Ldr
Sydney
Smith
107 SQN, 226
SQN, 110
SQN, 18 SQN,
301 SQN,
FTU, No 1
OADU
38 MU 29/5/41
139 SQN 11/6/41
139
(XD)
Z7431 (X)
Sgt
Gibbs
139
(XD)
V6266 (E)
Sgt
Menish
23 MU 13/6/41
139 SQN 18/6/41
43 GRP DA 6/8/41
ROS - 13/8/41
139 SQN 19/9/41
ROS
(BRISTOLS) 14/11/41
139 SQN 14/11/41
21 SQN 10/12/41
33 MU 29/3/41
139 SQN 13/6/41
588
CATS
SOC
FG
HRS
Sold to
Portugal
15/9/43
FB (E) Missing
16/7/41 Crashlanded in
Rotterdam
centre
CAT E Missing
15/1/42 Blew
up while
attacking ship
off Kerkennah
18/7/41
-
15/1/42
-
FB (Missing)
30/7/41
During attack
on towns and
targets in N/W
Germany
1/8/41
32.05
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
139
V6322 (S)
(WV)
Sgt
Hatton
105
(GB)
V6453 (E)
Flt Lt
Smithers
105
(GB)
V6455 (A)
Sgt
Farrow
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
15 MU 31/3/41
139 SQN 4/6/41
43 GRP DA 24/6/41
33 MU 20/4/41
105 SQN 19/5/41
88 SQN 19/8/41
105 SQN 15/10/41
ME - 30?/11/41
55 SQN
22MU - 21/4/41
ABBOTSINCH
- 14/5/41
22 MU - 9/6/41
105 SQN 12/6/41
88 SQN 19/8/41
43 GRP DA
ROS - 2/9/41
88 SQN 3/10/41
82 SQN 23/11/41
589
CATS
SOC
FB (AC) 1/8/41
24/6/41
FB (E) Missing
30/7/41
During
attack on
towns and
targets in
N/W
Germany
OVERSEAS 3/6/42
CAS
SERIAL
81/31
FB (AC) 28/8/41
FA (E) 27/12/41
Crashed
during takeoff, Bodney
1/1/42
FG
HRS
45.10
-
71.30
SQN AIRCRAFT PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATS
SOC
FG
HRS
105
V6373 (O)
(GB)
Flt Lt
5 MU - 5/4/41
Broadley 105 SQN - 18/4/41
88 SQN -17/8/41
13 OTU - 14/9/41
ROS - 7/1/42
13 OTU - 16/3/42
TAF FC - 1/6/43
(ROS)BRISTOLS17/8/43
13 OTU 22/10/43
27/11/43 971.55
105
V6399 (T)
(GB)
Sgt
Bruce
FA (AC) 3/1/42
FA (AC) 3/6/42
FA (AC) 17/8/43
FA (E) 24/11/43
Crashed
on
approach
Bicester
5 MU - 9/4/41
CAT E 105 SQN - 26/4/41 16/8/42
88 SQN - 19/8/41 Caught
105 SQN fire at
15/10/41
dispersal
17 OTU point
24/12?/41
Upwood
16/8/42
105
L9379 (Y)
(GB)
Sgt Scott 10 MU - 10/2/40
47 MU - 25/6/40
ROOTES 20/10/40
8 MU - 15/11/40
105 SQN 14/12/40
88 SQN - 17/8/41
105
V6039 (Q)
(GB)
Sgt
Taylor
527.00
FB (E) 29/8/41
Missing
28/8/41
Attack on
Rotterdam
docks
-
10 MU - 15/2/41
19/7/41 22/7/41
105 SQN - 30/3/41 Shot down
by flak
attacking
shipping
off The
Hague
-
590
SQN
AIRCRAFT PILOT
TAKEN ON
CHARGE
CATS
SOC
105
(GB)
T1887 (S)
Logbook v.
ORB (Z7486: M)
Missing
Bremen
4/7/41!
8 MU - 4/7/40
105 SQN 12/7/40
88 SQN 17/8/41
Belly-landed
Swanton
Morley, CAT
B, 4/11/41
26/11/41
Sqn Ldr
Goode
591
FG
HRS
-
VII: Bombing Reports for 16 Jul 41 - Extracts
from all relevant ORBs
21 SQUADRON
Wg Cdr Webster
1. Attacked 5000-ton M/V between Docks 12 and 13. 3 Direct Hits. 4 x 250lb, 4 x
25lb. Columns of smoke seen. Claimed destroyed.
2. One of 2 aircraft that attacked this M/V. At river quay between Docks 11 & 12.
One 250lb undershot, and 3 hit amidships, causing white shower like flour or cement.
2nd Aircraft
1. Attacked 5000-ton M/V between Docks 12 & 13. Scored 2 Direct Hits amidships.
2. Results unobserved in Bomber Command summary!
3. One of 2 aircraft that attacked this M/V etc - see Wg Cdr Webster.
3rd Aircraft
1. Attacked 7000-ton M/V. Results unobserved.
2. West of Dock 14. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb.
3. Between Docks 13 & 14, at river quay.
4th Aircraft (Plt Off Ashby?)
1. Attacked and set on fire a warehouse. Also obtained Direct Hits on 4000-ton M/V.
2. East of Dock 14. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. 3 possible hits. Seen smoking by another
aircraft. Claimed destroyed. Warehouse on quays set on fire by one bomb.
3. Between Docks 13 & 14. Last bomb burst north of ship, setting fire to warehouse
and making view of ship! 3 bombs either near or hit ship.
5th Aircraft
1. Dropped 1 x 250lb on a warehouse, 1 x 250lb on a M/V of 1500 tons, and a third
250lb on a factory.
2. M/V in Dock 11. Also 3 x 250lb. Burst on warehouse south of river, and chimney
of factory.
3. Smoke was observed in the distance on attack on warehouse south of the river.
Factory north of dock 11. Results of attack on M/V and factory unobserved.
6th Aircraft (Sgt Wotherspoon)
1. Scored 3 Direct Hits on 2000-ton M/V, and machine-gunned a factory.
2. Dock 12. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Claimed destroyed. Wharves on Dock also hit.
3. Three Direct Hits on ship. Columns of black smoke from ship and wharf to north.
Gunned factory north of Dock 11. On run-in, cut through cable of 70-ton crane with
cable-cutters.
592
4. Attacked with such audacity and from so low a level that the wing cut through the
cable of a large crane. The wing was only slightly damaged.
7th Aircraft
1. Attacked a 10000-ton M/V, scoring a Direct Hit on the stern.
2. In river north of Dock 24. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Claimed damaged. Bursts on
quayside building causing column of smoke 200 feet high.
3. Alongside river quay at Dock 24. 1 x 250lb hit on stern. 3 bombs undershot at
quayside. Columns of black smoke 200 feet high from quay.
8th Aircraft
1. Attacked 15000-ton M/V east of Dock 5. Hits on centre of ship, causing brownishgrey smoke. Claimed destroyed. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. One hit on warehouses on
quayside.
2. Had 3 funnels. East of Dock 5 at river quay. One bomb 24 yards short of ship and 2
amidships. Brown and grey smoke. 1 x 250lb overshot onto a warehouse on quayside.
9th Aircraft (Plt Off Orme)
1. 17000-ton M/V, the 'Baloeran', south of Dock 13. Also attacked by 10th aircraft.
4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. 3 Direct Hits. Debris flung 100 feet high. Claimed destroyed.
Building south of Docks also hit.
2. Two hits were scored between the funnels.
3. One bomb on dockside building south of the river. Debris 100 feet high. One bomb
Direct Hit amidships aft of three funnels. Also machine-gunned.
10th Aircraft
1. & 2. Same as 9th aircraft.
3. Scored two Direct Hits between funnels of liner. Other two bombs not seen.
11th Aircraft
1. Attacked 2000-ton M/V in river north of Docks 22 & 23. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25 lb.
2. Alongside river quay between Docks 22 & 23.
226 SQUADRON
Sqn Ldr Kercher
1. Two M/Vs each 2/3000 tons bombed and machine-gunned. Hits certain, being
moored close. Barracks 5 miles south of The Hague machine-gunned. 4 x 250lb. 50
rounds front gun, 500 rounds rear.
2. Moored together, believed Dock 19. Single 1 double funnel, black with single
white stripe. 1655. 30 feet. Hits on both ships certain. After bursts, greyish-black
smoke seen to rise in volumes.
3. One double, 3 single funnels painted black with single white band.
4. Claimed destroyed.
593
5. Thought to be a barracks - at 30 feet - but no activity was seen around.
Sgt Paton
1. M/V about 1800 tons in Dock 19. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Bursts right alongside ship.
Blue smoke seen. Claimed damaged.
2. Bombed and machine-gunned. Smoke observed rising from the ship in quantities.
50 rounds front gun, 500 rear. Attacked from 50 feet.
3. Ship was high out of water, and black smoke was seen to rise as aircraft drew away.
Destroyed.
4. Single black funnel with white ring. 1658 hours.
Flt Lt Kennedy
1. 8000-ton ship in Dock 13, bombed and machine-gunned. All bombs hit vessel.
Fires started, smoke and flames mast high. 4 x 250lb, 50 rounds front, 500 rear. 50
feet. Destroyed.
2. Attacked from 100 feet. Ship on south wall with red funnel and many derricks.
1700 hours. Hits by all bombs seen on topside above water line. Two fires seen in
starboard bow.
3. Many derricks south of this Dock, and 17000-ton liner reported as hospital ship
with red cross on topsides.
Sgt Onions
1. Large white liner 10/15000 tons in Dry Dock, believed Dock 2. 4 x 250lb. Bursts
seen, position not identified, believed successful. Claimed damaged.
2. From 15000-20000 tons. Bombed and machine-gunned, 50 front, 400 rear. 1658.
Bombs dropped in salvo but aircraft was below topside level, and bursts were
observed but could not be identified well, but observer is confident of successful
salvo.
3. Bursts observed to rear of ship, but owing to low getaway unable to pinpoint them.
Plt Off Smith
1. Two small M/Vs about 1800 tons, one in Dock 2 (2 x 250lb), another near mouth
(1 x 250lb). Bombed and machine-gunned. 3 x 250lb, 400 rounds rear. Light flak
encountered.
2. Attacked from 20 feet, dropping 2 x 250lb on M/V against wharf, and 1 x 250lb on
M/V at entrance to Dock. Results were unobserved owing to low-level attack. 1658
hours.
3. Unobserved due to bursts of other bombs . Aircraft had to swing to port for safety.
1 x 250lb not dropped.
4. Dock 2 (believed), large red-painted ship seen behind white hospital ship as aircraft
approached from the south.
5. M/V against wharf - size unknown!
594
18 SQUADRON
Sqn Ldr Smythe
1. Bombed cargo boat of 5800 tons, seen to be the 'Hermod'. Direct Hits obtained.
Explosion and fire seen.
2. Dock 86 (sic). 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Results not observed. One Direct Hit by other
aircraft seen. Claimed damaged. Heavy explosion west of Dock 8 causing debris
100/150 feet high. Direct Hit on 2/3000-ton M/V in Dock 10 area also seen.
3. Attacked cargo vessel 'Hermod', 5800 tons, Dock 8. Results unobserved.
Plt Off Walkden
1. M/V 4000 tons in Dock 28. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Terrific explosion with flames and
smoke up to 200 feet. Claimed destroyed. 50 feet.
Sgt Jefferson
1. M/V 2000 tons in north side of Dock 28. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Believed Direct Hits.
Claimed destroyed. 4 ships in Dock 25 seen smoking as though from Direct Hits. 50
feet.
2. North side of Dock 25. Believed scored Direct Hits, but results not actually seen.
Sgt Dunham
1. Attacked 3000-ton vessel in Dock 10 but results were not seen. One bomb was seen
to hit a warehouse on the quay and the side was seen to blow out. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb.
2. One bomb seen to fall on warehouse to north of dock. Also observed wall of
warehouse blown out and whole building in flames to west of Dock 10. Direct Hit
seen on M/V by another aircraft. Claimed destroyed.
Plt Off Powner (Attached 139 Sqn - JMX 862)
1. Bombed motor-tanker of 3000 tons in river opposite Dock 12, and 500-ton vessel in
Oude Maas from 50 feet. Results not seen.
2. 3 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb on tanker, 1 x 250lb on smaller vessel.
3. Small vessel, 400 tons, seen lying on its side in north side of Dock 20D. Smoking.
Large derrick crane demolished on west side of Dock 20D, and large M/V on fire in
north side of Dock 20D.
Sgt Wood (Attached 139 Sqn - JMX 930)
1. Bombed naval vessel of 2000 tons in river opposite Dock 28, but no results were
seen. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb.
2. One small escort vessel seen to blow up in Dock 25 or 28.
595
139 SQUADRON
Sgt Gibbs (JMX 411)
1. Attacked cargo vessel of 3/4000 tons from 100 feet and scored Direct Hit in centre
of ship, causing terrific explosion. Pilot machine-gunned other naval vessels in
harbour.
2. Danish M/V of 4000 tons in Dock 19. Direct Hits seen, also terrific explosion and
flames (confirmed by photos). Claimed destroyed. Cargo vessel 3/4000 tons seen
smoking in river between Docks 16 & 18.
Sgt Menish (JMX 517)
1. M/V 4000 tons bombed from 1700 feet. Results not observed. Dock 28.
2. Direct Hits, and one of missing aircraft seen to obtain 2 Direct Hits. Claimed
destroyed. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb.
Sgt Hatton (JMX 669)
1. Attacked cargo vessel of 1600/2000 tons. WOp/AG observed explosion in centre of
ship.
2. Dock 14. 4 x 250lb, 4 x 25lb. Claimed destroyed.
105 SQUADRON
Flt Lt Smithers
1. Attacked a 6000-ton M/V, and the WOp/AG reported seeing smoke issuing from
the vessel.
2. Smaller M/V in front alongside jetty south of Dock 14. 4 x 250lb. Claimed
destroyed. Bursts seen in Docks 19 & 20 with brown smoke.
3. Smoke from ship seen by WOp/AG after attack, but results not fully observed.
Sgt Farrow
1. Attacked a 7000-ton liner, but results unobserved.
2. Dock 14. 4 x 250lb. Direct Hits and vessel seen on fire. Claimed destroyed.
3. 7000-ton liner north side of Waalhaven. Also attacked by Sgt Scott. First of these
two did not observe results, but second saw stick on liner 'Baloeran' [actually
Oranjefontein]. 2 bombs between bow and funnel and 2 overshooting.
Flt Lt Broadley
1. Attacked a partly-built 8000-ton M/V (nearing completion) in one of the harbour
Docks. Direct Hits were observed, followed by clouds of black and brown smoke.
2. On stocks outside Dock 14. 4 x 250lb. Claimed destroyed.
3. WOp/AG saw Direct Hits on ship amidships.
596
Sgt Bruce
1. Attacked barges, and a 6000-ton M/V, and clouds of black smoke were seen from
the latter.
2. Dock 20. 3 x 250lb (M/V), 1 x 250lb (barges).
3. M/V - bursts amidships. Claimed destroyed.
4. Attacked string of barges on south side of Waalhaven and obtained 1 Direct hit.
This aircraft also attacked 6000-ton M/V on east side of Waalhaven.
Sgt Scott
1. Attacked a 7000-ton liner, but results unobserved.
2. Dock 20. Also attacked by Sgt Farrow. 4 x 250lb.
3. 7000-ton liner north side of Waalhaven. Also attacked by Sgt Farrow. First of these
two did not observe results, but second saw stick on liner 'Baloeran' [actually
Oranjefontein]. 2 bombs between bow and funnel and 2 overshooting.
Sgt Taylor
1. Attacked the liner 'Baloeran' [Oranjefontein], but results were unobserved.
2. 7000-ton liner Dock 20. Also attacked by Scott and Farrow. 4 x 250lb.
3. Attacked liner 'Baloeran' [Oranjefontein]. Results unobserved. Also machinegunned barges in Waalhaven.
4. This was the first operation made by this crew.
597
VIII: Admiralty Definitions of Classifications of
Ship Casualties
CAT 1 SUNK OR CONSTRUCTIVE LOSS i.e.:
(a) Must be seen actually to sink, blow up, or to be burnt out.
(b) Enemy admission after air attack.
(c) Subsequent definitive confirmatory reconnaissance, i.e. wreck or wreckage seen,
boats etc.
(d) Hits by sufficient weight of bombs to pass as constructional loss.
(e) Captured.
CAT 2 SERIOUSLY DAMAGED
(a) Beached.
(b) Well on fire.
(c) Abandoned.
(d) Reported well down by stern, bad list etc. Not actually observed to sink.
(e) Hits by sufficient weight of bombs to cause serious damage.
CAT 3 DAMAGED
Seen to be hit, but not sufficiently heavy enough, or insufficient evidence to assess
under Cat 2 above.
CAT 4 NO OBSERVED RESULT/NEAR MISSES/NO DEFINITE CLAIM
(a) Unobserved results.
(b) Near misses.
(c) Believed hit.
NOTES
1. Ship of 2000 tons, having been known to be hit in a vulnerable part by 1 x 250lb
bomb, will be placed in Cat 1 or 2.
2. Ship of 2000-4000 tons, if hit in vulnerable part by 2 x 250lb bombs, will be placed
in Cat 1 or 2.
3. Ship of over 4000 tons, if hit in vulnerable part by 3 or more 250lb bombs, will be
placed in Cat 1 or 2.
4. If 500lb bombs, figures should be halved. If ship is tanker, the above ship figures
should probably be doubled.
5. Claims classed under Cat 3, if within 10 yards with 1 x 250lb bomb, and within 15
yards with 1 x 500lb bomb.
6. All attacks have been included in reports, even though no claim is made, in case
subsequent evidence shows damage to have been done.
7. Attacks on warships, or other vessels of 100 tons or under, are not included in this
report.
598
IX: Admiralty Record of Ship Casualties
16 Jul 41 (PRO Ref: ADM 199/1914)
Ref
No
481
Est Tons
Class
1800
C
3
Author's
Allocation
Paton - 226
482
8000
C
1
Kennedy - 226
483
3000
C
2
Kercher - 226
484
3000
C
2
Kercher - 226
P
4
Onions - 226
486
20000
[17001]
1800
C
4
Smith -226
487
4000
C
1
Walkden - 18
5193
C
3
489
2000
C
1
Smythe/Partridge
- 18
Jefferson - 18
490
3000
C
3
Dunham - 18
491
3000
M/T
4
Powner - 18
492
500
C
4
Powner - 18
493
4000
C
1
494
4000
C
1
Sydney Smith/
Menish - 139
Gibbs - 139
495
2000
C
3
Hatton - 139
496
6000
C
3
7000
[10547]
17001
[10547]
5000
P
2
P
3
C
3
500
10000
C
3
Smithers/Bruce 105
Farrow/Scott/
Taylor - 105
Orme/Hartridge?
- 21
Webster/2nd A/C
- 21
7th A/C - 21
501
7000
C
4
3rd A/C - 21
502
1500
C
4
5th A/C - 21
503
2000
C
1
Wotherspoon - 21
504
4000
C
3
505
2000
C
4
4th A/C (Ashby?)
- 21
11th A/C - 21
506
10000
C
3
8th A/C - 21
507
8000
C
3
Broadley - 105
485
488
497
498
499
Name
[Baloeran - Du]
Hermod (Ge)
Oranjefontein
(Du)
Baloeran (Du)
[Oranjefontein]
599
Category
508
Knute Nelson
(No)
5749
C
3
?
The allocation of crews to the above Admiralty Assessments is conjectural. and it is
based almost entirely on the Bombing Reports. The correct (and sole) attacker of the
Baloeran was Sgt Onions of 226 Sqn.
600
Bibliography
1. PRIMARY SOURCES
(a) PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE, LONDON (NOW NATIONAL ARCHIVES)
ADM 199/1914 - Admiralty: Record of Ship Casualties 16 Jul 41
ADM 199/2065 & 2066 - Admiralty: Wartime Damage to Ships 1941
ADM 199/2072 - Admiralty: Wartime Damage to Ships: Index of Ships
ADM 199/2080 - Monthly Chronological History & Merchant Ship Casualties 1941
ADM 199/2195 - Admiralty: War Diary Summaries: Situation Reports
AIR FORCE LISTS - Details of crews (Service Numbers, promotions etc)
AIR 14/42 - OTU Syllabus (Blenheims)
AIR 14/523 - No 2 Group Operational Tactical Reports & Summaries/Events
AIR 14/746 - No 2 Group Directives, 1 Jun 40 - 31 Jul 41
AIR 14/928 - Bomber Command Monthly Summaries 1941 Jan - Dec
AIR 14/3363 - Bomber Command Day Bomb Raid Sheets 1 Jun 41 - 31 Dec 41
AIR 20/2330 - Middle East POWs
AIR 20/2336 - Allied POWs in Germany and German occupied territories
AIR 22/74 & 75 - Air Ministry Weekly Intelligence Summary, Feb 41 to May 42
AIR 24/203 - Bomber Command Operations Record Book, Jan 41 - Dec 41
AIR 24/233 - Bomber Command Intelligence Reports & Narratives
AIR 24/1051 - Middle East Command Operations Record Book
AIR 25/23 - No 2 Group Operations Record Book 1941 - 1943, & Appendices
AIR 25/33 - No 2 Group Operations Orders & Instructions Jul 41 - Dec 41 & Appxs
AIR 25/669 & 670 - No 50 (Training) Group Operations Record Books
AIR 25/841 & 842 - No 207 (General Purposes) Group Operations Record Books
AIR 27/73 - No 6 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/116, 120 & 121 - No 8 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/164 - No 12 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/202 - No 15 Squadron Operations Book
AIR 27/243, 244, 247, 248 & 249 - No 18 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/263 - No 21 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/287 - No 23 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/412 - No 40 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/471 - No 48 Squadron Operations Record Book (Detachment to Port Ellen)
AIR 27/517 - No 55 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/537 - No 57 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/681 - No 82 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/716 - No 88 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/731 - No 90 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/781 & 782 - No 98 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/801 - No 101 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/809 & 810 - No 102 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/821 - No 104 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/826, 827, 828 & 830 - No 105 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/849 - No 108 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/853 & 854 - No 109 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/858 - No 110 Squadron Operations Record Book
601
AIR 27/882 - No 114 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/959, 962 & 964 - No 139 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/1119, 1120, 1121 & 1122 - No 178 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/1131 - No 180 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/1233 - No 207 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/1329 - No 215 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/1332 - No 216 Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 27/1406 & 1408 - No 226 Squadron Operations Record Books
AIR 27/1526 - No 257 Squadron Operations Record Book (Fighter Escort)
AIR 27/1935 - No 487 (NZ) Squadron Operations Record Book
AIR 28/168 - RAF Coltishall Operations Record Book
AIR 28/386 & 389 - RAF Horsham St Faith Operations Record Books
AIR 28/502 & 503 - RAF Luqa Operations Record Books
AIR 28/790 & 793 - RAF Swanton Morley Operations Record Books
AIR 28/897 & 901 - RAF Wattisham Operations Record Books
AIR 28/903 & 905 - RAF Watton Operations Record Books
AIR 29/230 & 231 - CIU (Central Interpretation Unit), Medmenham
AIR 29/414 - No 1 PRU (Photographic Reconnaissance Unit)
AIR 29/648 - No 13 OTU, Bicester Operations Record Book
AIR 29/658 - No 17 OTU, Upwood Operations Record Book
AIR 29/769 - Bomber Development Unit
AIR 29/896 - A&AEE (details of fatal crash Wg Cdr Webster 1 Mar 44)
AIR 30/163, 170 & 186 - Awards & Decorations
AIR 34/307, 308, 309, 310 & 311 - CIU Interpretation Reports 1941
AIR 37/20 - No 2 Group Operational Effort
AIR 37/21 - No 2 Group Operations Record Book Sep 41 - Jan 43 (handwritten)
AIR 37/47 - No 2 Group Scrapbook (excellent photographs of Rotterdam raid)
AIR 40/347 - Aerial photos of docks etc in German controlled territory
AIR 55/53-58 - No 1 Missing Research & Enquiry Unit (General Information)
AVIA 18/731 - A&AEE Results of tests on Firefly Z1839 (Wg Cdr Webster)
(b) MINISTRY OF DEFENCE - NAVAL HISTORICAL BRANCH
All German records relevant to the raid: 18 Photostat foolscap copies of the War
Diaries of the German Naval Commander in the Netherlands, the Vorposten Flotilles
and individual Vorpostenboots moored in Rotterdam on 16th July 1941, the War
Diaries of the Navy Office Kriegsmarinedienststelle, and the War Diaries of the
Wehrmacht.
(c) MINISTRY OF DEFENCE - AIR HISTORICAL BRANCH
Aircraft Record Cards, Casualty Information and No 21 Squadron Scrapbook
(includes copyright photo of 21 Sqn on final run-in to Rotterdam docks 16 Jul 41.
(d) RAF PERSONNEL MANAGEMENT CENTRE, GLOUCESTER
Records of Service.
602
(e) PUBLIC ARCHIVES OF CANADA
Records of Service.
(f) MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, WORCESTER - DIRECTOR GENERAL OF
DEFENCE ACCOUNTS
Biographical information.
(g) COMMONWEALTH WAR GRAVES COMMISSION
http://www.cwgc.org/find-war-dead
(h) DEAN & CHAPTER OF ELY CATHEDRAL
The books containing the No 2 Group Roll of Honour.
(i) BODLEIAN LIBRARY, OXFORD
Access to many out-of-print books.
(j) THE GUILDHALL LIBRARY, LONDON
Entire collection of Lloyd's Lists, World War II Lists, Confidential Lists, Marine
Collection and War Loss Records.
(k) BRITISH LIBRARY NEWSPAPER LIBRARY, COLINDALE, LONDON
Personal information from wartime newspapers.
(l) PRIVATE SOURCES
Interviews and correspondence with former Blenheim aircrew and groundcrew listed
in the acknowledgment section of this book.
2. SECONDARY SOURCES
(a) BOOKS
Air Ministry, Air Publication 1530 B: PILOT'S NOTES: THE BLENHEIM IV
AEROPLANE: TWO MERCURY XV ENGINES (September, 1939)
Air Ministry, Air Publication 1732 B: INSTRUCTOR'S HANDBOOK of Advanced
Flying Training (May 1943)
Ashworth, C., RAF BOMBER COMMAND 1936-1968 (Patrick Stephens Ltd, 1995)
Barker, R., The Ship-Busters (Chatto & Windus Ltd, 1957)
Barker, R., Strike Hard, Strike Sure (Chatto & Windus Ltd, 1963)
Bennett, CB, CBE, DSO, Air Vice-Marshal D.C.T., PATHFINDER (Frederick Muller
Ltd, London, 1958)
Blair, D., Clipped Wings (Private, early 1940s)
Boiten, T., BRISTOL BLENHEIM (The Crowood Press Ltd, 1998)
603
Boiten, T., BLENHEIM STRIKE (Air Research Publications, 1995)
Bouman, P.J., Wilton-Fijenoord History (Wyt & Sons, 1954)
Bowyer, C., Bristol Blenheim (Ian Allan Ltd, 1984)
Bowyer, C., BOMBER BARONS (Book Club Associates, 1983)
Bowyer, M.J.F., 2 GROUP R.A.F.: A Complete History 1936-1945 (Faber and
Faber, London, 1974)
Bowyer, M.J.F. et al, ACTION STATIONS: Wartime Military Airfields 1939-1945,
Volumes 1 - 10 (Patrick Stephens Limited, 1979 - 1987)
B.R. 549, GEOGRAPHICAL HANDBOOK SERIES: NETHERLANDS (Naval
Intelligence Division, October 1944)
Buckham, R., Forced March to Freedom (Canada's Wings, 1984)
Butterworth, A., With Courage and Faith: The Story of No. 18 Squadron
Royal Air Force (Air-Britain, 1989)
Capa, R., One Bomber Missing ('Illustrated' Magazine 26 July 1941)
Charlton, CB, CMG, DSO, Air Commodore L.E.O., BRITAIN AT WAR: The Royal
Air Force: From September 1939 to December 1940 (Hutchinson & Co, 1941)
Charlton, CB, CMG, DSO, Air Commodore L.E.O., BRITAIN AT WAR: The Royal
Air Force: From January 1941 to March 1942 (Hutchinson & Co, 1942)
Chorley, W.R., BOMBER COMMAND LOSSES of the Second World War , Volumes
2-6 (Midland Counties Publications, 1941-1945)
Churchill, W.S., The Second World War: 6 Volumes (Cassel & Co, 1954)
Clavell, J., King Rat (Michael Joseph Limited, 1962)
Clouston, DSO, DFC, AFC & Bar, Air Commodore A.E., The Dangerous Skies
(Cassel & Co Ltd, 1954)
Cummings, C., FINAL LANDINGS: A Summary of RAF Accidents and Combat
Losses 1946 to 1949 (Nimbus Publishing, 2001)
Dearnaley, E.J. and Warr, P.B., Aircrew Stress in Wartime Operations (Academic
Press, 1979)
Dudgeon, CBE DFC, Air Vice-Marshal A.G., The Luck of the Devil (Airlife, 1985)
Dudgeon, CBE DFC, Air Vice-Marshal A.G., Wings Over North Africa (Airlife 1987)
Edrich, DFC, W. J., Round the Wicket (Frederick Muller, 1959)
Embry, GCB, KBE, DSO & 3 Bars, DFC, AFC, Air Chief Marshal Sir Basil,
MISSION COMPLETED (Methuen & Co Ltd, 1956)
Epstein, MA, PhD, M., The Annual Register 1941 [ for the Netherlands] (Longmans,
Green & Co, 1942)
Fairhead, H. & Collis, R., AIRFIELD FOCUS: 4: HORSHAM ST FAITH (GMS
Enterprises, 1992)
Fearnley, L., Blenheim Odyssey (Len Fearnley, 1990)
Franks, N.L.R., Valiant Wings (William Kimber, 1988)
Freeman, R.A., THE ROYAL AIR FORCE OF WORLD WAR TWO IN COLOUR
(Arms and Armour, 1993)
Gann, E.K., FATE IS THE HUNTER (Hodder and Stoughton, 1961)
Gardner, C., AASF (Hutchinson & Co [Publishers] Ltd, 1940)
Gardiner, G., AIRFIELD FOCUS: 30: WATTON (GMS Enterprises, 1996)
Gillman, DFC, DFM, RFMetS, MRAeS, MRIN, Captain R.E., The Shiphunters (John
Murray, 1976)
Halley, J.J., ROYAL AIR FORCE AIRCRAFT V1000 to V9999, W1000 to
W9999 (Air Britain Publication)
Halley, J.J., ROYAL AIR FORCE AIRCRAFT X1000 to X9999, Z1000 to
Z9999 (Air Britain Publication)
604
Halley, J.J., The Squadrons of the ROYAL AIR FORCE (Air Britain Publication 1980)
Hammerton, J., ABC of the RAF (Amalgamated Press Ltd, 1941)
Harbord, DFM, F., Familiar Voices (Able Publishing, 1999)
Hastings, M., Bomber Command (Michael Joseph Ltd, 1979)
Henry DFC, M., AIR GUNNER (Crécy Publishing Limited. 1997)
HMSO, The Air Battle of Malta (1944)
HMSO, Bomber Command (1941)
HMSO, We Speak From The Air (1942)
HMSO, THE AIR FORCE LIST (Appropriate years from 1940 onwards)
Hunt, L., A Short History of No. 2 (B) Group R.A.F. (Private c. 1965)
Hunt, L., Twenty-One Squadron (Garnstone Press, 1972)
Hurst (Partridge), M., And Women Must Weep (Unpublished typescript c. 1982)
James, L. Warwick, Marlborough College Roll of Honour 1939-1946 (Private, 1947)
Johnson, G., Test Pilot (BBC Publications, 1986)
Jones, CH, CB, CBE, FRS, Professor R.V., MOST SECRET WAR: BRITISH
SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE 1939 - 1945 (Hamish Hamilton, 1978)
Jong, L. de & Stoppelman, J.W.F. The Lion Rampant (Querido, 1943)
Kee, R., A Crowd is not Company (Eyre & Spottiswoode Ltd, 1947)
Lee, GBE,CB, Air Chief Marshal Sir David J.P.L., Never Stop the Engine when it's
hot (Thomas Harmsworth. 1983)
Lloyd, KBE, CB, MC, DFC, Air Marshal Sir Hugh P., Briefed to Attack (Hodder &
Stoughton, 1949)
Lloyd's Register of Shipping (Appropriate years)
Lucas, P.B., Flying Colours (Hutchinson & Co [Publishers] Ltd, 1981)
Lucas, P.B., Out of the Blue (Hutchinson & Co [Publishers] Ltd, 1985)
Lucas, P.B., Thanks for the Memory (Stanley Paul & Co Ltd, 1989)
Lucas, P.B., Wings of War (Hutchinson & Co [Publishers] Ltd, 1983
Mackay, R., Bristol Blenheim in Action (Squadron/Signal Pubs Inc)
Macmillan, N., The RAF in the World War: 4 Volumes (Harrap, 1950)
Mason, D., Who's Who in World War II (Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1978)
Mason, Sqn Ldr Pablo, Pablo's War (Bloomsbury 1992)
Masters, D., Up Periscope (Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1942)
Middlebrook, M., and Everitt, C., The Bomber Command War Diaries: An
Operational Record Book, 1939-1945 (Viking 1985)
O'Brien, T., Chasing After Danger (Collins, 1990)
Onderwater, H., En Toen Was Het Stil (Hollandia in Baarn, 1981)
Oughton, J.D., Profile 218: Bristol Blenheim Mk IV (Profile Pubs Ltd)
Passmore, R., Blenheim Boy (Thomas Harmsworth Publishing, 1981)
Passmore, R., Moving Tent (Thomas Harmsworth Publishing, 1982)
Poolman, K., Night Strike from Malta (Jane's Publishing Co, 1980)
Pope, S., AIRFIELD FOCUS: 9: SWANTON MORLEY (GMS Enterprises, 1993)
Ransom, D., Battle Axe: History - 105 Squadron (Air Britain, 1967)
Richards, D., and Saunders, H. St. G. ROYAL AIR FORCE 1939-1945:
3 Volumes (HMSO, 1953, 1954)
Scott, M. MacD., BLENHEIM ON THE DECK: The Story of a 2 Group Pilot
(Unpublished typescript, c. 1980)
Scott, S.R., Battle-Axe Blenheims: No. 105 Squadron RAF at War 1940-1 (Alan
Sutton Publishing Limited, 1996)
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Publishing, 1999)
605
Simons, G.M., Mosquito: The Original Multi-Role Combat Aircraft (Pen & Sword
Aviation, 2011)
Simpson, OBE, DFC, Squadron Leader W., ONE OF OUR PILOTS IS SAFE (Hamish
Hamilton. 1942)
Simpson, OBE, DFC, Squadron Leader W., THE WAY OF RECOVERY (Hamish
Hamilton, 1944)
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Spooner, DSO, DFC, A., Clean Sweep (Crécy Books Limited, 1994)
Talbot-Booth, E.C., Merchant Ships (Sampson Low, 1942, 1944 and 1949)
Taylor, H.A., Test Pilot at War (Ian Allan, 1970)
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Warner, G., The Forgotten Bomber (Patrick Stephens, 1991)
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Whittle, K., An Electrician Goes to War (Air Force's Publishing Service, 1994)
Winfield, R., The Sky Belongs to Them (William Kimber, 1976)
Wing Commander, A, Bombers' Battle (Duckworth, 1943)
Wooldridge, DFC & Bar, DFM, J. de L., Low Attack (Sampson Low, 1943)
Young, Cynthia, CAPA IN COLOR (Prestel, 2014)
(b) MAGAZINES
The Aeroplane, Flight, AIRCRAFT PRODUCTION (January 1941: PRODUCING
THE 'SHADOW' BLENHEIM), Air Mail (Royal Air Forces Association), "Bristol"
BLENHEIM (Blenheim Society), Illustrated (26th July 1941), Intercom (Aircrew
Association), BOMBER COMMAND ASSOCIATION: NEWSLETTERS, Saturday
Evening Post (30th August 1941).
606
Self Profile
Rusty Russell
I was educated at Kingskerswell Voluntary Primary Church of England School
(1945 - 1951) and Torquay Grammar School (1951 - 1959). After joining No 1528
(Torquay) Squadron, Air Training Corps, I took full advantage of the wonderful
opportunities offered by obtaining my Glider Pilot's 'B' Licence in 1956 (aged 16), a
Private Pilot's 'A' Licence in 1957 (aged 17), following an award of a Flying
Scholarship on Tiger Moths, and visiting Canada on the Reciprocal Visit Scheme in
1958 (aged 18). In 1958 and early 1959, I would re-visit Exeter most weekends, and
be given flights in the Balliols and Mosquitoes of No 3 CAACU. These wonderful
pilots even let me do their interceptions! After my return from Canada in the summer
of 1958, I received a very welcome letter from the RAF, offering me a DC 'B' (Direct
Commission Scheme 'B'), to report to No 1 ITS, South Cerney on 5th February, 1959.
After 16 weeks as an Officer Cadet, I was commissioned as an Acting Pilot Officer on
Probation on 30th May 1959. After South Cerney, I completed my pilot training on
Piston Provosts at No 2 FTS, Syerston and Vampire T.11s at No 8 FTS, Swinderby,
being awarded my wings on 18th November 1960. Following the Bassingbourn OCU
Course, I was posted to No 31 (PR) Squadron, flying Canberra PR7s on low-level
photographic reconnaissance.
In November 1963, I was posted to the OCU at Finningley, to fly Vulcan B2s. I
joined No 35 Squadron, Coningsby, in April 1964, moving to Cottesmore in
November of that year. The most memorable period during my time in the V-Force
(nuclear role at the height of the Cold War) was a Pacific Ranger (complete westabout
circumnavigation of the globe) lasting two weeks in September 1967, stopping at such
exotic places as San Francisco, Honolulu, Wake Island and Guam.
607
In January 1969, I left No 35 Squadron and completed a Canberra Refresher Course
at Bassingbourn, before joining the Radar Research Flying Unit, RRE, Pershore,
where I flew Canberra variants (and hybrids!) and Viscount 837/838s. We were
cleared down to 50ft AGL – definitely my best tour in the RAF!
In July 1971, I was posted to CFS Little Rissington, for QFI training on No 258
Course. In January 1972, I commenced an 18-month tour at Linton-on-Ouse,
instructing on Jet Provost 3s and 5s. The unexpected swift return to CFS Staff at Little
Rissington tore me away prematurely from those glorious Yorkshire Dales. My tour at
CFS included instructing on the ‘Waterfront’, Pilot Navigation Instructor (air and
ground), HQCFS Air Staff (writing the Commandant’s correspondence, and helping
him choose the next Red Arrows – heady stuff!) and Air Cadet Liaison Officer – often
all four simultaneously! On 12th April 1976, I flew Jet Provost Mk5A, XW425 in a
Formation Flypast – destination, Cranwell, where CFS set up its new home. So,
having failed three times to become a student at Cranwell, I finished up on the staff!
I left the RAF on 1st July 1977, not wishing to take up a career flying desks. Then
followed ten years as a Commercial Flying Instructor at Oxford Air Training School,
mostly on Piper Seneca Mk2s, training the World’s airline pilots up to CPL/IR
standard. When my instructional juice had been used up, I joined FR Aviation,
Bournemouth (Hurn), flying Dornier 228s and BN2T Turbine Islanders on seriously
low-level maritime reconnaissance (Fisheries Patrol, Customs Patrol, Foreign
Submarine Spotting, Hush-Hush Stuff, Search & Rescue, Coastguard, Dumping &
Dredging, and HM Government General Dogsbody on the High Seas). I was a Flight
Commander, Training Captain and Licensed Hooligan – definitely my best flying job
ever!
When we lost the Fisheries Contract in September 1998, I was made redundant. I
chose early retirement, and reflected upon my incredible run of good fortune, which
in many ways felt uncomfortably similar to the tales related by Ernest K. Gann in
Fate is the Hunter! Perhaps the Closest Encounter of the Nervous Kind was an
argument with an ITCZ thunderstorm at Butterworth, Malaysia, on 15 th July 1966. At
700ft on final approach in a Vulcan, we lost 45kts in a split second and literally fell
out of the sky in a deep stall, in what was recognised years later as a microburst. My
Guardian Angel was quite adamant that standard stall recovery would not work. What
He/She gave me in that instant of sheer terror was the only way to survive a
microburst. We managed to climb away at 150ft! Many years (and many incidents)
later, I wondered - for how much longer in my career could I be this well protected
and avoid the clutches of the Grim Reaper? So, when my ATPL came up for renewal
in December 2004, I allowed it to lapse, and reluctantly, but gratefully, hung up my
flying boots, with a total of 16,000 flying hours. I now live in Oxford with my wife,
Carol. We both enjoy walking, beachcombing, geology, and gardening.
Rusty Russell
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