Aircrew: The Story of the Men Who Flew the Bombers

by Bruce Lewis

  As they set course for home, the skipper, as was his custom, called up each crew member in turn to ask if they were all right. Everyone replied except Howard. After several unsuccessful attempts to get an answer, Jack Baker, the wireless operator went along the fuselage to investigate. To his astonishment, Jack found the rear turret empty – Howard had baled out over Berlin! No trace of him was ever found.

  Dennis Pearson, a West Indian, took over the tail gunner’s job and remained in Arthur’s crew until the completion of operations, as did all the other NCOs, including Harry ‘Johnny’ Johnson as navigator, and Trevor Davies, the recently promoted flight engineer.

  From the start of their tour, in early September, 1943, until the end of March the following year, Bomber Command lost in the region of 1500 heavy bombers over enemy territory, and many more in crashes in England. Over 10,000 young men’s names had been deleted from the command’s roll call during this period. Yet, towards the end of January, 1944, and with their missions totalling twenty-eight trips, they were still only just over half way through their operational duties!

  A Bomber Command tour with Main Force consisted of thirty operations, after which, for those fortunate enough to reach such a figure, there would be a ‘rest’ period of six months, normally spent as an instructor, before returning to fly a further twenty-five missions. But for Flight Lieutenant Fearn’s crew it was to be altogether different because of the intervention of 617 Squadron.

  The astounding exploits of 617 Special Duties Squadron need no retelling in detail here. They have been immortalized in the history of the RAF, in Paul Brickhill’s The Dam Busters, and in the award-winning film of that name. It was a squadron unique in the annals of war, formed in the spring of 1943 to carry out the audacious raid which breached the Moehne and Eder Dams in Germany. Thanks to the courage of the airmen who undertook this mission and the inventive genius of Barnes Wallis who gave them the ‘bouncing bomb’ to do the job it was a major success. The price was high, eight out of the nineteen Lancasters taking part were lost, and only three of the fifty-six airmen involved survived.

  Since that time, nearly nine months earlier, 617 had specialized in raiding selected targets with mixed results. They had had a crack at the Dortmund-Ems Canal, a viaduct in Italy, an armaments factory near Liège, a flying-bomb site, and even a leaflet raid – always operating in small numbers, sometimes of not more than nine or a dozen Lancasters. Their original brief to attack at low level had been changed. With the acquisition of the revolutionary Stabilizing Automatic Bomb Sight, they were now bombing from a greater height – sometimes at the maximum of 20,000 feet, similar to Main Force, but, on other occasions, around 12,000 feet.

  In need of experienced crews, 617 Squadron canvassed the various squadrons, mostly in 5 Group, asking for volunteers to join them. It may seem surprising that the members of Harold’s crew, now with only two trips to go before completing their tour, should even contemplate such a move. Yet they did. Crew loyalty probably accounts for their reaction. They felt that if they split up for six months they might never get together again. Eventually, they argued, they would have to do a second tour anyway. ‘Better stay together and get on with it now, rather than risk our necks later with strangers.’ So they volunteered – and were accepted.

  By this stage, Arthur, Harold and Trevor had each been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, while Harry, the navigator and still a Sergeant, got the Distinguished Flying Medal.

  Arrival at Coningsby meant a return to rigorous training, but this was a relief from the strain of night operations. Harold revelled in the cunning efficiency of the SABS – the new bomb sight. But, as Paul Brickhill said in The Dam Busters:

  It needed more than a hawk-eyed bomb aimer; it called for team work. The gunners took drifts to help the navigator work out precise wind direction and speed, and navigator and bomb aimer calculated obscure instrument corrections. An error of a few feet at 20,000 feet would throw a bomb hopelessly off. Altimeters work off barometric pressure, but that is always changing, so they used a complicated system of getting ground-level pressures over target and correcting altimeters by pressure lapse rates (with temperature complications). A small speed error will throw a bomb off, and airspeed indicators read falsely according to height and the altitude of the aircraft. They had to compute and correct this, and when it was all set on the SABS the pilot had to hold his exact course and height for miles while the engineer juggled the throttles to keep the speed precise. That, over-simplified, expresses about a tenth of the complications. When the bomb aimer had the cross-wires on the target he clicked a switch and the SABS kept itself tracking on the aiming point by its gyros, transmitting corrections to the pilot by flicking an indicator in the cockpit. The bomb aimer did not have to press the bomb button; when it was ready the SABS did that, and even told the pilot by switching off a red light in the cockpit.

  Practising day after day, with help from the rest of the team, Harold’s accuracy reached extraordinary levels. His best effort, over the bombing range at Wainfleet Sands on the East coast, was when he dropped six practice bombs from 15,000 feet on to the target with an average error of only 20 yards! The squadron invited units of the Eighth American Air Force, stationed at Mildenhall, to take part in a bombing competition. The Americans were quoted at that time as being able ‘to put a bomb in a barrel from 20,000 feet!’ The B17 Flying Fortresses flew over on the chosen day and bombed the practice target. They were unable to get anywhere near the pin-point accuracy of 617 Squadron.

  The crew’s first raid with 617 on 8/9 February was led by the squadron’s new Commanding Officer, Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire, when they attacked the Gnome & Rhone aero-engine factory at Limoges. Only twelve Lancasters were involved and, in bright moonlight, Cheshire and his crew went in first at low level. They made three passes over the factory to warn the workers to take shelter, then, at 50/100 feet, on the fourth run they dropped a load of incendiaries on the buildings.

  The remaining eleven Lancasters aimed their 12,000 pounders at the factory, ten scoring direct hits, the eleventh bomb falling in the river alongside. No casualties among the French population were reported; in fact, a message was ‘smuggled’ through to 617 Squadron from the Mayor of Limoges, on behalf of himself and the girls working in the factory, thanking the RAF flyers for the timely warning before the bombing began. This new form of low-level marking became a speciality of the squadron, later refined by Cheshire when he moved on to the faster, more manoeuvrable D.H. Mosquito before eventually transferring to the even speedier, single-engine long range Mustang fighter.

  For the next four months they bombed numerous targets of this type, individual manufacturing plants, including the vitally important signals depot at St Cyr, near Versailles, and culminating in the most unusual task of all, when on the night of 5/6 June, 1944, 617 flew meticulously timed legs over the English Channel, while dropping out a screen of Window to simulate a huge fleet of approaching ships. This operation was designed to fool the Germans into thinking the Allied invasion of Europe was taking place further north than it actually was. The ruse worked.

  Three nights later they had their first chance to put Barnes Wallis’s 12,000 lb Tallboy bomb to good effect. This was a deep-penetration weapon with a sharply pointed nose which ‘corkscrewed’ into the target. (It bore no relation to the previous 12,000 lb blockbuster). The Allied armies were establishing a toe-hold in Normandy when it was reported that a Panzer Division was approaching by train from the south and would, within hours, be passing through the Saumur railway tunnel.

  The raid was mounted with great haste and Arthur Fearn’s crew were soon climbing for height, accompanied by twenty-four other Lancasters from 617. As they arrived over the tunnel the target was illuminated by flares dropped by four Lancasters of 83 Squadron and marked at low level by three Mosquitoes. Harold guided Arthur into the bombing run, released the gigantic Tallboy and scored a direct hit on the tunnel entrance. All the bombs were dropped with great ac
curacy and, as they exploded under the ground, they created small earthquakes which brought down tons of rocks and rubble completely blocking the tunnel.

  The squadron only had a limited supply of Tallboys, though ‘Butch’ Harris’ was constantly taking up the cudgels on their behalf, demanding faster delivery. But at the height of the invasion there were pressing demands for war equipment of all kinds. The 617 ‘Lanes’ had been specially converted to accommodate the Tallboys. The bomb doors had been removed and the undersides of the bombers contoured in such a way that the bombs, when winched up into position, formed an integral part of the aircraft’s belly. After the bombs had been released, the aircraft looked strangely concave.

  Occasionally, when conditions over the target turned out to be unsuitable for bombing, the order would go out for the precious Tallboys to be brought back to base. Harold never forgot one such occasion. They had returned with their 12,000 lb bomb and, on receiving permission to land by their WAAF controller, had actually touched down on the runway. Then there was an urgent call over the R/T, ‘Bandits! Bandits in the circuit!’ Next moment all the airfield lights were switched off. Harold, who, against regulations, was lying in the nose, saw a dark shape above them. It was another ‘Lane’ and it was about to land on top of them.

  ‘Swerve, Arthur! Swerve for Christ’s sake!’ he yelled. Instinctively Arthur veered off to port; the bomber, with its huge load of high explosive, charged across the airfield. They missed the squadron bomb dump by feet and finally came to rest with the nose of the aircraft overhanging a water-filled Lincolnshire dyke. A female voice from the control tower came over the head-sets, ‘Where are you, E Easy? Where are you, please?’ Arthur’s reply does not bear repeating.

  It was indeed fortunate that Arthur was left-handed and left-footed. In the darkness a right-handed man would undoubtedly have swerved the other way – and crashed straight into the control tower.

  On 6 July Wing Commander Cheshire led his squadron to attack the V3 gun site at Mimoyecques. This battery of enormous guns, with barrels 400 feet long, and situated underground, had been installed by the Germans to blast London to smithereens. 617’s Tallboys put paid to their hopes for ever. When they returned, Cheshire was ordered by Air Vice Marshal Cochrane to leave the squadron and take a rest from operational flying. He would also revert to being a Group Captain, a rank he had relinquished in order to lead the squadron in the air. Shortly after, Leonard Cheshire was awarded the Victoria Cross for sustained courage over four tours totalling 100 operations.

  Harold thought him a remarkable leader and quite different from any other Squadron Commander he had known. In the Mess this tall, thin, studious-looking Wing Commander seemed self effacing, almost withdrawn, as if lost in thought. From personal experience he knew him to be sensitive and concerned for the needs of others.

  The old lags told Harold that their retiring CO was in complete contrast to Guy Gibson, the original leader of 617. He had been a man of stocky build, a sharp tongue when the occasion warranted, yet with a boisterous sense of humour. Gibson, too, was a holder of the Victoria Cross, awarded for his outstanding conduct during the famous Dams Raid. Yet, apart from the obvious differences of physique and demeanour, these men had much in common. Their courage was unquestioned. Their ability to remain cool, flying with professional efficiency even during the most perilous moments, distinguished them as outstanding leaders in the air. On the ground they shared the intellectual gift of thinking out satisfactory answers to complex problems.

  The successor to these rare commanders was a Welshman, Wing Commander Willie Tait. At first the boys of 617 found it hard to puzzle him out. With smooth black hair, a brown face and slim frame, he would stand in a group for long periods of time without saying a word. When he did open his mouth, as often as not it would be to stuff a large black pipe into it. On the occasions when he did speak, it took time for his listeners to interpret his strange brand of dry, Celtic wit.

  His reputation was established in the eyes of the crews when they flew to the rocket site at Wizernes. Handling a Mustang for the first time in action, Tait lobbed his smoke markers from ground level in the teeth of fierce flak. Then, climbing steeply to 4,000 feet, he realized that haze and low cloud would obscure the markers from his Lancasters flying at 18,000 feet. Diving down again into the shell fire, and circling immediately above the building in the hope that the light would reflect off his wings, he called up to the bombers above him, Try bombing me!’

  By the end of the war Willie Tait, who was 26 years old when he took over 617, had been awarded four DSOs and two DFCs-a record.

  One morning on air test Arthur was not satisfied with the performance of the aircraft. After executing a series of dives and turns he realized that there was a fault in the fuel feed system, resulting in momentary engine cut-out. A raid had been planned to take place in a few hours’ time, and he was far from happy about flying until the fault had been rectified, but there was no time to put things right. As the crew stood in the shadow of the bomber a car drew up and out stepped the CO. ‘Listen Fearn’, said Tait, ‘if you don’t want to fly tonight, then I’ ll take your crew.’

  ‘OK.’ replied Arthur, ‘They’ re all yours!’ Then, with mock solemnity, he walked round and shook hands with each of them in turn. Finally he said, ‘It’s been nice knowing you, boys. We’ ve been together a long time, but tonight’s the night when you all get the chop!’

  Needless to say, they didn’t and Harold later flew with Tait to bomb the German battleship Tirpitz, then sheltering near the Norwegian port of Tromsö. The target was at the Lancaster’s extreme range, a 2,250 mile round trip. Only by removing the mid-upper turrets and other equipment, installing extra fuel tanks and taking off from Lossiemouth, in Scotland, did the bombers stand any chance of getting there and back. In the event they were thwarted by a bank of cloud which hid the ship. The Tirpitz was reprieved for two weeks, but was finally sunk by 617 after numerous attempts spread over many months.

  Before this, Harold had flown on a mission to Rilly-la-Montage, where the Germans had stored flying bombs in an old railway tunnel. About a hundred aircraft took part, the Main Force crater-ing the approaches to the site, while 617, with its Tallboys, caved in both ends of the tunnel. Two aircraft were lost on that daylight raid. One was a 617 Squadron Lancaster piloted by Flight Lieutenant Wilham Reid VC, previously mentioned in connection with 61 Squadron. The official record says he was shot down by flak, but Harold, from his vantage point in the perspex nose of his bomber, actually watched the aircraft being destroyed – he is perfectly certain that the tail unit was knocked off by a falling bomb. Miraculously William Reid survived.

  Arthur Fearn’s crew had diced with death from the beginning of September, 1943; now it was the late summer of 1944 and they were about to fly their final operation. Always a time of nervous apprehension. Having cheated Fate for so long, would she, in the end, have the last laugh? The raid was to be on the U-boat pens at La Pallice, a hot spot for flak well remembered from a number of previous trips.

  Fairey Battie operating in France, Spring 1940. A sleek and ‘modern-looking’ aircraft, it was completely outgunned and outmanoeuvred by opposing German fighters (RAF Museum).

  Bristol Blenheim. Three years before the outbreak of World War Two this was the fastest medium bomber in the world. Yet from the start of hostilities it was outgunned by the enemy. Only the useful turn of speed from its twin engines gave crews some chance of survival (RAF Museum).

  Armstrong Whitworth Whitley. At the beginning of the war it was the only RAF ‘Heavy’ designed specifically to operate at night ( RAF Museum).

  Vickers Wellington. Designed by Barnes Wallis and incorporating a geodetic construction of great strength, this bomber was by far the best of the RAF’s earlier wartime twin-engine ‘Heavies’. Note the geodetic framework showing through the beam gunport, giving an almost ‘Tudor’ window effect! (RAF Museum).

  Heinkel HE 111. One of three twin-engine bomber types used in
large numbers on heavily escorted daylight raids by the Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain (Robert Hunt Library).

  Short Stirling. Here being ‘bombed-up’. First and biggest of the new breed of Bomber Command’s four-engine ‘Heavies’, it was inferior in every way to either the Lancaster or the Halifax (RAF Museum).

  Miles Magister. Single-engine, Primary Training monoplane. Two open cockpits in tandem with dual control (RAF Museum).

  Airspeed Oxford. Twin-engine Advanced Training monoplane. Accommodation for three crew – instructor and two pupils (RAF Museum).

  Avro Anson. Twin-engine Advanced Training monoplane (RAF Museum).

  Handley Page Hampden. Twin-engine medium bomber. With a crew of four this was among the most cramped aircraft ever designed (Robert Hunt Library).

  North American Harvard. Single-engine Advanced Training monoplane

  Airspeed Horsa. Troop or freight-carrying glider. Apart from pilot and co-pilot, this glider could lift fifteen fully-armed airborne troops (RAF Museum).

  A DH Mosquito Night Fighter Intruder of the type that came to the rescue of Reg Scarth and his crew (RAF Museum).

  Handley Page Halifax similar in appearance to that used by 161 Squadron (RAF Museum).

  Avro Lancaster of 617 Squadron. Various modifications were undertaken, at different periods to accommodate the special bombs carried by 617 Squadron. This 617 ‘Lane’ has a ‘cut-away’ under-belly forming a neat recess for giant bombs (RAF Museum).