Aircrew: The Story of the Men Who Flew the Bombers

by Bruce Lewis

  DH Tiger Moth. Single-engine, Primary Training biplane. Two open cockpits in tandem with dual control

  Hawker Hart. Originally introduced into the RAF in 1930 as a single-engine Light Day Bomber, this biplane was powered by a 525 hp Kestrel

  DH 89B Dominie – RAF version of the twin-engine Dragon Rapide biplane. ( RAF Museum).

  Blackburn Botha. Designed as a twin-engine Torpedo Bomber, the aircraft was a failure in this capacity. Relegated to Air Gunnery training it was still far from ideal (RAF Museum).

  Handley Page Halifax. A superb four-engine heavy bomber used for a variety of purposes apart from dropping bombs

  Avro Lancaster. Unlike this ‘Lane’, those operated by 101 Squadron differed in having accommodation for a crew of eight instead of the usual seven (RAF Museum).

  B-17 Flying Fortresses (RAF Museum).

  Junkers Ju 88G. Luftwaffe Night Fighter. The enemy ‘homed in’ on Bomber Command ‘Heavies’ by means of Lichtenstein radar. Note the aerials installed in the nose (RAF Museum).

  Messerschmitt 109G. The ultimate development of the 109 day fighter carried an offensive armament of one 30mm cannon, two 13mm machine guns and either two 20mm cannon or two 210mm rocket launchers (RAF Museum).

  In broad daylight they flew to the target without any problems. On the bomb run Harold had set up his SABS and the red light was already glowing – the bomb would drop automatically in a matter of seconds. But before those seconds had ticked by, there was a shattering explosion right in front of the Lancaster. The perspex nose was destroyed and pieces of red-hot shrapnel ricocheted back and forth inside the bomb aimer’s compartment which was filled with choking smoke. The tubular steel rods supporting the bomb sight were severed like matchsticks.

  Fortunately for Harold, he always drew his head back inunediately before the Tallboy dropped away from the aircraft. This was because, released from the heavy load, the bomber would leap up several hundred feet, giving an unwary bomb aimer a nasty smack on the back of the head. This time Harold’s instinctive reaction saved his life.

  For a moment he lay unconscious, then, gathering his wits, he started to crawl up the steps into the main cabin, where he received his second shock. Trevor Davies, the flight engineer, took one look at him and screamed. Harold raised his trembling hands to his face. When he brought them away they were bright red. Small slivers of shattered perspex had cut into his face.

  So, with fifty-one operations behind him, more than the rest of the crew because of his extra missions with Wing Commander Tait, Harold’s combat career ended. His wounds healed and slowly he came to terms with the fact that he was going to live. Even then, celebration of his 22nd birthday on 14 September was blighted by the news that his school friend Neville Crisp had been shot down and killed in his Beaufighter on that very day, attacking E-boats in the channel.

  Leaving 617 Squadron, which had long since moved to Wood-hall Spa, Harold did a spell as an instructor. One day he received a signal to report to Thorney Island, in South Wales, to carry out some specialized bombing practice. The war in Europe was over but Japan was still fighting and plans were afoot to send 617 out to the Pacific to bomb the Japanese Navy. Unlike the German capital ships, which had been moored in various docks, the Japanese warships were on the move. The practice therefore involved bombing moving targets – black and white striped drogues towed by motor torpedo boats.

  One day he was asked to take some aerial photographs of Thorney Island, where the airfield was due for reconstruction. He was standing in the open doorway at the rear of the Lancaster with a rather cumbersome P4 camera strapped to his chest, taking shots, as his pilot, Wing Commander Brooks, flew back and forth at about 1,500 feet. Harold had grabbed the first parachute harness that came to hand, one adjusted for a man around 6 foot 2 inches. This meant that the lower canvas straps which should have been snugly embracing his crutch were actually hanging down level with his knees. Of course he was not wearing the actual chute pack which was tucked neatly away in its holder.

  Brookie called up on the intercom and told him he was going to do a gentle rate 1 turn. The turn must have been so perfectly executed that they hit their own slipstream on the way back. The sudden turbulence pitched Harold straight out of the door.

  By a miracle a small metal ring attached to the bottom of the dangling harness caught on some protrusion on the door, a bolt perhaps or a hinge, and stopped him from plunging 1,500 feet on to the concrete runway below. The wireless operator had noticed his unexpected exit and, with the help of the flight engineer, managed to haul him back on board. By this time, not surprisingly, he was out cold.

  The force with which the slack in the harness had been taken up on his downward plunge nearly ruined him. In hospital his appendages, which, to use his own words, ‘had swelled up like footballs!’ were encased in a kind of leather bladder with a hole in the front. He remained in this embarrassing state for several months. His discharge from medical supervision came in time for him to take part in a ‘joy ride’ to Berlin to see the damage that he and others had inflicted on the German capital. Gazing in disbelief at the acres of ruins brought him no particular pleasure.

  Soon afterwards he was granted leave to spend time with his wife, Cynthia, at their home in Nottingham. From Thorney Island it was a long and tedious train journey, so he was therefore pleased to scrounge a lift in a Lancaster to Fiskerton, in Lincolnshire, and in this way cut down his travelling time considerably. With satisfaction he saw that the youthful Pilot Officer planned his route meticulously, and also decided to ignore the stipulated safety height of 4,000 feet, opting to fly at 9,000 feet instead.

  They were over the Midlands and Harold was standing in the astrodome enjoying the view. Ready for leave, he was not even in flying kit, but wearing his officer’s greatcoat and peaked cap, with a small travelling case at his feet.

  Suddenly the aircraft tilted and dived straight towards the earth. With less than 1,000 feet to spare, the pilot managed to pull out of the plunge. If they had flown at the official safety height, they would have finished up several feet into the ground. The cause was simple enough – the aircraft had been on automatic pilot. The Lancaster was new, straight from the factory. Inspectors had failed to detect iron filings in the linkage control ducts; these filings had jammed the controls in the dive position on the automatic device.

  His leave completed, Harold returned by train.

  SIX

  The U/T Pilot

  The following is a selection from the daily entries in a diary kept by a U/T Pilot (a pilot under training). It covers the period from the day he joined the RAF up to the unforgettable moment when he received his pilot’s wings.

  Francis George Kelsey was an unusually mature aircrew cadet. Born in the East End of London on 23 July, 1910, he was 12 or 13 years older than the average trainee flyer. His knowledge of life, and his ability to form a view of the people he met, was greater than that of the majority of those who shared the course with him. This is apparent from some of his written comments. He also shows a refreshing honesty when he assesses his own ability, or lack of ability, to cope.

  It would have been a pleasure to have met Francis and had the chance to ask him some questions; particularly why he decided to volunteer for flying duties. He had a wife and small son, and his age would have exempted him from ‘front line’service. He was running his own printing business in Ilford, Essex. His father had to come out of semi-retirement to look after the family enterprise for more than five years while his son was away in the RAF. Sadly, Francis died in 1960. I am indebted to his son, Malcolm, for the privilege of quoting from his father’s diary.

  The Diary of a U/T Pilot

  July 7th 1941. Reported to No 1 ACRC London at 3 pm. After filling in numerous forms and having an FFI was marched off in a flight of fifty men to our billets which proved to be ‘Stockleigh Hair’, a modern block of flats in Prince Albert Road. We received our first meal in the service at 9.15 pm and it was of very poor quality. A
ll our meals are served in the Pavilion in the Zoo at Regent’s Park … We marched there, about ¾ miles, and upon finishing were allowed to wander around the Zoo until our following parade.

  After about a week the Mess Hall was parted from the Zoo and we had to march back to parade in Flights. This was due to the fact that some of the fellows had been teasing the animals.

  During the first 14 days we received inoculations, vaccinations, psychological tests, night vision test, and mathematical grading test. We were also kitted out.

  July 19th 1941. Posted to ‘Viceroy Court’ two blocks further along the road. We are now in ‘Q’ Squadron. This squadron comprises all cadets who either need eye training or require special lenses in their Flying Goggles. While in this squadron we receive lectures in Mathematics and Signals.

  July 27th 1941. Had a vision test. Results: Fit Pilot, unfit Observer, fit Wop/AG with special lenses.

  August 3rd 1941. Today some of our flight were posted to ITWs. Those of us who are left behind continue with our lectures and after a course of 24 hours I managed to scrape through the ITW Mathematical Examinations with 61%, 60% being a pass, also passed the Signals Exam at 4 words per minute with 100%, 90% being a pass.

  September 13th 1941. After 10 weeks in ACRC finally posted to No 1 ITW Babbacombe. Arose at 3 am. Breakfast 4 am. Moved off in trucks 6 am for Paddington. Left 7.15 am and arrived at Torquay at 2.15 pm. Marched up to Babbacombe. After an FFI had our first meal which was a very great improvement in both quality and quantity to that which we had received in London.

  September 15th 1941. First parade at 7.25 am. After inspection, started the Initial Training Wing Course. 19 of us finally convinced the Education Officer that we have passed our Maths Exam, so we are allowed to start Navigation immediately. Except for ¼ hour at 10 am and 55 mins break at 12.30 pm and a further ¼ hour at 3.45 pm the whole of the day from 7.25 am until 6 pm is spent attending Lectures, Drill and PT. This course is very hard work and it is necessary to study every night. One afternoon per week is given over to organized games and, within reason, one may choose which sport one would like to indulge in.

  September 30th. Issued with Flying Kit.

  October 17th 1941. Taken our last examinations this morning … Left Babbacombe at 11 am for my first leave since coming into service.

  October 22nd 1941. Back again at 23.59. We now await posting to an EFTS. Have now discovered that most postings are abroad and fortunately any Cadet over 26 years of age or is married or has been transferred from the army is not allowed overseas for training.

  November 17th 1941. … Had a scrounge round the OC’s office and found all my marks for exams which are as follows: Mathematics 61%. Navigation 87½%. Signals 95%. Law & Administration 52%. Hygiene 56%. Anti- Gas 70%. Aircraft Rec. 64%. Armaments 92%. (Law and Hygiene are both 50% passes). The passing of the exams reclassifies us to LACs with an increase of 3/-per day in pay.

  Nov 28th 1941. At last a home posting. About 9 of us to go to Sywell (Northants) to be trained as night fighters. We have been selected because in our night vision test we are average or above average (I am average). We are to go on Dec 5th.

  Dec 3rd 1941. Posting postponed until Dec 20th.

  Dec 18th 1941. Posting cancelled. All our spirits back to zero …

  Another Cadet, S Perrin, and myself have been helping in the Orderly Room for some considerable period during which I have managed to get a glimpse of my 1499A (a form that gives all results of examinations, bearing, speech, intelligence, etc). My 1499A is as follows:

  PT – average. Drill – average. Speech – average. Bearing – average. Intelligence – average (although at some time there had been a mark against – below average). General Character – A keen reliable type. Not recommended for commission. I have now come to the conclusion that I am a very average person.

  Dec 23rd 1941. Done our utmost to secure Christmas leave but all to no avail. At one period it was almost within our grasp, but due to an over-zealous LAC it slipped through our fingers.

  Dec 25th 1941. Christmas in the service. Not a very bright prospect. Rather a pleasant surprise was our Christmas dinner. Turkey, roast pork, boiled and baked potatoes, sausage and stuffing balls, brussel sprouts followed by Christmas pudding and custard, soft drinks, beer and cigarettes. Spent Christmas night at a party at the Services Club Torquay, after going to the cinema. Although I have had a very nice Christmas, one always wishes one was a home, and being away at this time pulls at your heart strings.

  Jan 1st 1942. Went to a dance last night. It was most necessary for my peace of mind. All day have been thinking of the way I have always spent Old Year’s Night and was very homesick …

  The OC of the Squadron and I do not get along very well together. My civilian occupation brought me in contact with a great many people, and it has become more or less a habit to be able to sum up a person’s character after the first conversation with them. My first encounter with him did not impress me at all, in fact it was to the contrary. Incidentally, I think that this has been reciprocal upon his part. My subsequent association with him has proved my first impression. (I was in contact with him several times a day whilst working in the Orderly Room.)

  He hasn’t any military bearing or manner but does his utmost to keep on the right side of the Wing Commander. During the whole of my stay never has he addressed any individual flights or given any Cadet encouragement. Neither does he seem very keen upon the work. Providing there is no trouble in the Squadron he doesn’t trouble about anything. He has done nothing for us, but nothing against us, in fact his psychological outlook is very poor. All our other officers are real gentlemen. When you do anything wrong you are reprimanded, but also given praise when doing anything outstandingly good …

  Jan 13th 1942. 23 of us called into the OC’s office individually and told we are posted on an overseas posting to a hot climate. It appears the regulation regarding men over 26 years and army transfers has been altered … fortunately, we have been given 13 days embarkation leave …

  When the aircrew cadets returned, they were posted to Blackpool and, after travelling all night by train, were left standing in a heavy snowstorm outside the RAF HQ from noon until 4 pm. They had not had a meal since 6 o’clock the previous evening. Eventually Francis and four others were found a billet in the attic of a boarding house. That night they froze because of a lack of blankets. On subsequent nights they slept in their flying kit.

  They shivered in Blackpool for two weeks and the only practical outcome was the issue of tropical kit – during another snowstorm.

  Thursday Feb 12th 1942. Left Blackpool 9 am. Boarded HMT Ormond [15,000 tons] at Glasgow at 4 pm. Mac and I have been separated due to the difference in our numbers which have been taken in order.

  Friday Feb 13th 1942. Sailed down the Clyde and anchored off Gourock. Conditions on ship very bad. 216 men being placed in a comparatively small space, where they eat, drink and sleep. When sleeping, hammocks are almost touching. Those on mattresses sleep where they can, on tables, under tables, in fact anywhere there is space.

  Sunday Feb 15th. Still at anchor.

  Monday Feb 16th. Anchor up at 9 pm. Voyage commenced.

  Wednesday Feb 18th … Dissatisfaction among the men regarding the difference between the Men’s and Officers’ conditions. The officers have good meals. 2 to 4 sitting at a table, with an excellent lounge for smoking, cards, etc, while men get where they can. One bright spot today, we all received a South African orange. …

  Thursday Feb 19th … boat drill every morning. Have volunteered and obtained mess orderly job. Have to draw meals for our mess (18 men) serve it, and wash and clean up after each meal … actually volunteered to kill time, it certainly does. I never seem to get any time at all.

  This is a large convoy, **Troopships, **Destroyers, **Aircraft Carriers and a Heavy Cruiser. Some excitement today watching (Fairey) Albacores landing on Carriers.

  Friday Feb 20th. … tea was made with salt water, consequently
none of us could drink it … The ship is called ‘Slave Ship’ and ‘Hell Ship’ by the men.

  Saturday Feb 21st. Sea very rough. The ship is pitching, tossing and rolling all at the same time. One moment you are standing the next you are lying down. It is surprising at what angle the ship will go over without turning turtle … Had an altercation with a Squadron Leader regarding conditions and was informed it could be worse. We could have horses down here and have to clean them and still eat and sleep down here, as they did in the last war. My reply was, ‘that still thinking in last-war terms was probably the cause of our many mistakes in this war, 25 years later.’

  Sunday Feb 22nd … Some excitement today when one of the planes from the carrier landed and tore his tail completely off. I actually saw this occur. Fortunately, the main planes and the fuselage stayed on the deck, so we assume Pilot was not killed. The one bright spot today was when ‘Bootle’ (the other mess orderly) and I shared a tin of salmon. He scrounged a couple of lettuce leaves, leavings from the officers’ tables, so had salmon and lettuce sandwiches. (Naturally it was necessary to scrounge the bread also.)

  Monday Feb 23nd. Today has been like a tropical summer’s day. It has been very warm. … Another aircraft cracked up on landing on the carrier, although I did not see this. We are sleeping on the boat deck tonight.

  Thursday Feb 23rd. (My wedding anniversary – the 4th) Saw today for the first time flying fish. They appear to be about 8 inches long. They come out of the water, fly along for 10 to 12 yards about 1½ to 2 feet above the water then they re-enter, preferably into a wave. Their appearance in flight is that of a bird with a fish body. Their ‘fins/wings’ move so quickly that they look just like a model aeroplane gliding in to land. …