by Bruce Lewis
‘Has tried very hard. Struggles against the natural disabilities of age, inclined to be slow-thinking. Acted very cool and collected in a recent emergency.’
Had the opportunity to see some of those 1499s of the fellows who are being commissioned. Only in about two cases have any of them anything above Average. In at least one case there is a Below Average. Under these circumstances it is very difficult to see how the selection for commissions is made.
We have written in our Log Books – ‘Qualified to wear the RAF Flying Badge’. No more flying now until I go on the Conversion Course.
Friday February 19th. [The Great Day]. Up at 6.30 am. Breakfast, wash and shave, then dress in our ‘Best Blues’. On Parade at 8 am. where we have an inspection. By 8.30 am. the band arrives and at 8.50 we commence the march.
On the parade ground, the band playing, guests seated in wicker chairs each side of the saluting base. Stand at ease until the Inspecting Officer arrives, when we give a General Salute. He then inspects us when we again march past the base. We, the course passing out, then march off the ground and discard our Webbing, Bayonet and Rifle. Forming up again we march back on the parade ground halting between the Guard of Honour and the base, facing the base. The names of the cadets are then called out with their Wings. The first six are in order of merit after which it is in alphabetical order.
The Wings are presented by Major-General Pool, successor to ‘Dan Pienaar’. He murmurs to each cadet, pins on the Wings and wishes him luck.
After the last man has received his wings, Major-General Pool gives a short speech at the end of which we pilots march past, salute him, march past the Guard of Honour and salute them, and off the parade ground.
While this is going on 3 aircraft are flying in formation and they salute by diving. I am no longer a pupil pilot, but a pilot. Tomorrow I shall be a Sergeant Pilot. So this ends the Diary of a U/T Pilot, 19 months from entering the service.
As far as is known Francis Kelsey wrote no further diaries during his time in the RAF. But it is a simple matter to follow the rest of his flying career from the neat entries in his Log Book. After another two months in South Africa he boarded the Stratheden and was back in England just over three weeks later.
Following a stay of a few days at 7 PRC Harrogate, he was posted to 11 AFU, Shawbury, where he remained for two months converting to twin-engine Oxfords. In mid-August, 1943, he joined a bomber crew at 28 OTU, Wymeswold, and progressed to Wellingtons.
Posted to Kelstern on 10 April, 1944, he was fortunate to miss the Battle of Berlin and the disastrous Nuremburg raid by a matter of weeks. He and his crew joined 625 Squadron, and flew on 20 April to Cologne, then to Karlsruhe, Essen and Friedrichshafen on their first four raids. With the exception of four further raids over Germany during their tour, the remaining 22 operations were all to France. After not far short of three years in training, his combat duties were completed in just over three months.
Francis had been given his commission shortly before the start of his operational tour. On completion of his 30 missions he was awarded the DFC. It was only then that his perseverence and determination were rewarded. He had always wanted to be a fighter pilot. When he left 625 Squadron he spent the rest of his career flying Spitfires and Hurricanes, not in battle, but either in short hops from one station to another, or carrying out fighter affiliation exercises giving air gunners in bombers practical experience in coping with fighter attacks.
SEVEN
The Navigator
We have already outlined the extreme difficulties faced by navigators in the early days of the RAF’s bombing offensive over Europe. They were obliged to find their way into enemy territory, locate the target, and then, having personally dropped the bombs, attempt to guide their crews safely home – an operation often covering many hundreds of miles, sometimes in total darkness. If the weather was bad, as it often was, with icy conditions, high winds or blanketing fog, then the task bordered on the impossible. At that time more bombers were lost through the intervention of nature than were ever brought down by enemy action. In the days when navigation consisted of little more than ‘dead reckoning’, luck played a major part in the question of survival.
As the war progressed, the nature of the navigator’s work changed and the demands placed upon him increased to a greater degree than on any other member of an aircrew. Starting from a crude base, not much advanced from the role of the ‘observer’ in the First World War, he became a highly trained professional, using a range of new radar devices, radio aids, and techniques developed from the hard-won experience of his pioneering predecessors.
It became routine for hundreds of bombers to set off into the night from a variety of airfields, each making their way individually to their destination. On a dark night, it was possible to complete the flight without ever sighting another friendly aircraft. Yet such was the standard of accuracy eventually achieved by navigators of Bomber Command that the majority reached the target within seconds of ETA (the estimated time of arrival). One such example of this breed was Vernon Bennett, known to everyone as Ben.
‘Ben’ Bennett, if not actually born with a silver spoon in his mouth, always seemed to be accompanied by a certain amount of good luck. Born on 9 November, 1923, Ben joined the RAF in March, 1942, at the age of 18 years, 5 months, as a potential navigator. But this was not his first association with the service. He had already completed a course with Manchester University Air Squadron while still a civilian. This wise move was to stand him in good stead on numerous occasions during his time in the RAF.
For instance, his basic grounding with the University Air Squadron entitled him to skip ITW completely and move straight on to the initial stages of actual flying as part of the Empire Air Training Scheme in Canada. Qualifying at No 1 Air Navigation School, Rivers, Manitoba, and receiving his navigator’s brevet, he also automatically became a Flight Sergeant. This instant leap up the promotional ladder was another of the perks of his university course. There were more advantages to come.
Posted to Monkton, New Brunswick, Ben and three of his NCO companions decided to stop off at Winnipeg and have a look at the city. The attractions, including four girls, proved irresistible and it was not until the early hours of the following morning that they turned up at Winnipeg station to continue their journey. They were not, perhaps, as flattered as they might have been by the concern of a Railway Transport Officer and a posse of Red Caps all determined to see them off to Monkton on the earliest possible train.
Arriving in due course at the main gate of RCAF Monkton, they were accosted by a corporal: ‘What’s your names?’
‘Bennett, Binns, Cook and Douglas’.
‘We’ ve been looking for you four buggers,’says the corporal, ‘You’ re for the bloody ‘igh jump. You’ re all on a charge!’
But, as every ex-serviceman will confirm, justice within the forces can sometimes be tinged with a modicum of unfairness. First Binns, and then Cook were marched before the Squadron Leader, and each awarded ‘extra duties’ and confined to camp for 14 days. When Ben Bennett and Jack Douglas went in to see the officer matters took a different turn.
‘You know what’s happened to the other two?’ asked the Squadron Leader. ‘Well, you can both consider yourselves damn lucky. Your commission papers came through this morning so I can’t do a thing about either of you! Here’s a chit for each of you. Go and see the Accounts Officer and he’ ll give you some money. Then report to the Clothing Officer and he’ ll issue both of you with more chits. With these chits and your money go down into Monkton and buy your officers’ uniforms.’
Yet again the University Air Squadron had come to the rescue. It was an understanding that any cadet who entered the RAF via this scheme would be awarded a commission on successful completion of his aircrew course. Jack Douglas had attended the Air Squadron at Edinburgh University.
Ben and the others had come out to Canada on the Queen Mary. They now waited for a return trip to Britain, but because
all available shipping was then heavily engaged in ferrying US troops and equipment to North Africa, there was some delay. Ben wasted no time in making the most of the social opportunities available in Monkton. The Canadians showed overwhelming hospitality to the British ‘boys in blue’.
After about a month they boarded the Queen Elizabeth. Designed to carry around 2000 passengers and 1000 crew in peacetime, on this voyage she crammed 7000 servicemen inside her capacious hull. These great ships not only had the advantage of enormous capacity, they also crossed the ocean at high speed, far faster than any German submarine. In consequence they never needed to travel in convoy.
After a fortnight’s leave, he was sent to Bournemouth for a brief course on ship and aircraft recognition and it looked as if he was being prepared for duties in Coastal Command, but he was then sent to Sidmouth where he underwent a toughening-up course conducted by the RAF Regiment. Scaling commando assault courses, running up and down hills with full pack, undergoing daily doses of PT, taking part in escape and survival exercises, he finished up at a peak of physical fitness never reached before, or regained since.
Next he was posted to 15 OTU, Harwell, where he became part of a very cosmopolitan crew. Flying Officer Alcorn, the pilot, was an Australian. The Flight Sergeant bomb aimer came from Canada. The rear gunner was a Scottish Flight Sergeant and the wireless operator, also a Flight Sergeant, was a Cockney. At the completion of their training on Wellingtons, they acquired a Flight Sergeant mid-upper gunner from India!
No flight engineer joined the crew because they were destined to fly Liberators in Burma, and, although a four-engine bomber, they were told this aircraft, when flown by the RAF, did not carry an engineer.
Only at the last moment was it realized that Ben, a qualified navigator, was not trained for the dual role of bomb aiming. Why this should have mattered is not clear, because the crew already had a bomb aimer. But while his crew flew off to Gibraltar, on the first stage of their journey east, Ben went home for some more leave!
During this time, a crew of Flight Sergeants on 51 Squadron, based at Snaith, had struck a difficult patch. So far they had only completed two operations and had been badly mauled on both occasions. On the first trip they had flown to Aachen and after their Halifax had been severely damaged by flak 20-year old Johnny (Dutch) Hollander, the diminutive Cockney pilot, had done well to make an emergency landing on a wire-mesh runway at Gatwick.
The second mission was no less traumatic. They were attacked by night fighters and were fortunate to struggle back to base. They had been briefed for their third raid and were actually standing on the concrete dispersal pan ready to climb into the Halifax when the navigator broke down. He refused to fly on the grounds that ‘this is going to be the trip when we all get the “chop”. No way will we be coming back from this one’. ‘Dutch’ and the others argued and pleaded with him, but nothing would persuade him to enter the aircraft.
In the end, reluctantly, they had to call up control and explain the situation. While the other bombers of 51 Squadron were roaring into the air on their way to Germany, a sad little scene was being enacted on the ground. While the crew stood disconsolately in the darkness below the aircraft, the CO arrived. Their comrade was put under arrest and taken away. He later faced a court martial, was stripped of his rank and disappeared from their lives.
Meanwhile Hollander’s crew were returned to the Heavy Conversion Unit to await the arrival of a new navigator. He, of course, turned out to be Ben Bennett who had been recalled from leave to join them. This was a similar situation to that experienced by Harold Chadwick, the only officer in an otherwise all NCO crew. Bomber Command gave them plenty of time to shake down together – three or four cross-countries at the conversion unit before rejoining the squadron. Even on the squadron it was only after more than a month of intensive training in air-to-air firing, sea firing, practice bombing over the range, long cross-countries of up to ten hours’ duration, that they were considered ready for operations.
Their first raid together was scheduled for the night of 15/16 February, 1944. The target turned out to be Berlin and it was the largest force of bombers sent to the German capital at any time during the war – 561 Lancasters and 314 Halifaxes. Hollander and his crew, complete with new navigator, flew off into the night, following a scheduled course that took them over the North Sea, across Denmark, entering Germany above the Baltic coast between Rostock and Stettin.
As prearranged, they had crossed the North Sea at only 1,500 feet, climbing to 18,000 after passing over Denmark. So far nothing eventful had happened and Ben had kept them meticulously on time. It was while crossing the Baltic that things went wrong. ‘Dutch’ came on the intercom:
‘What’s the fuel situation, Douggie?’
‘Time to change tanks, Skip,’ replied the flight engineer.
‘OK. Go ahead.’
Douglas Parkinson made his way amidships, intending to switch over the fuel cocks located under the rest bed. He re-plugged his oxygen tube into the nearest point. Within moments of his departure all four engines started to cough and splutter. This was disconcerting enough, but when they suddenly cut dead and the Halifax started to drop like a stone, the situation became terrifying.
‘What the hell shall we do?’someone yelled.
‘We can always glide!’suggested Ben fatuously.
‘Get back and see what’s happening, Tommy, quick as you bloody can!’ ordered ‘Dutch’, wrestling with the controls.
Tommy MacCarthy, a Geordie from Wallsend, scrambled up the steeply diving kite until he reached Douggie who was lying unconscious on the floor. Although Tommy was the bomb aimer he knew exactly what to do. Thrusting his hands under the rest bed he adjusted the fuel controls. The response was immediate as fuel flooded back into the starved engines. The Halifax came out of its plunge and resumed level flight.
They had lost thousands of feet in a matter of seconds. Ben was busy with his calculations:
‘Not a chance of getting back to 18,000 feet by the time we reach Berlin, Skipper, not with this bomb load.’
‘What do you suggest, Ben?’
‘Only one thing to do. Sticking to our 180 mph indicated airspeed, and pressing on at our present height of 10,000 feet, we’ ll reach the target on time.’
‘And have the whole of Main Force dropping their bombs on us from a great height. Sounds healthy!’
‘No bloody option, I’m afraid.’
So that is what they did – bombed on time with thousands of incendiaries and hundreds of 4,000 lb high explosive bombs hurtling past them, unloaded by their comrades above. They had no idea at the time that this was the biggest raid ever on Berlin, or that a record 2,642 tons of bombs were to cascade down that night. They came all the way back at 10,000 feet. Later they learned that 43 aircraft, 26 Lancasters and 17 Halifaxes, had been lost. Perhaps Flight Sergeant Hollander’s crew had finally taken on board a lucky omen – their new navigator.
Naturally there was an investigation into what had gone wrong on board H for ‘Hollander’. Obviously the flight engineer had suffered a blackout due to oxygen starvation. It transpired that, like all other aircrew, he kept his flying gear in a steel locker in the crewroom. His particular locker, though, was the nearest to a large, and very hot, anthracite stove. The metal panel, on the inside of which he hung his oxygen mask and tube, became overheated and the rubber equipment had perished. Parkinson was reprimanded because he had failed to use the oxygen mask testing device provided in the crewroom.
Confidence steadily increased as they welded together into a professional flying team. Their CO was a stickler for training, never missing an opportunity to send them up on fighter affiliation exercises, bombing practice or cross-country jaunts to brush up their navigation whenever there was a lull in operational flying. Although no higher in rank than a Flight Sergeant, Hollander established a reputation as a fine pilot, much respected on the squadron for his outstanding ability. The Wing Commander once said to them:
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‘You must reach the absolute peak of efficiency in your own particular job, then learn as much as you can about the other fellow’s job too – all your lives depend on it. Look how Tommy saved your bacon by knowing how to adjust those fuel cocks. You may find these training flights a bit of a bind, but they are vital if you are going to survive.’ He started to walk away, then, struck by an afterthought, he turned, ‘Come to think of it, we haven’t had a crew yet which has managed to complete a tour!’
Ben, unlike Leslie Biddlecombe, Harold Chadwick or myself, always felt certain of personal survival. It never occurred to him that he would be killed. In spite of the statistical evidence to the contrary he knew he was destined to complete a tour and come through unscathed. This confidence must have been a source of strength to himself and the rest of the crew.
They flew to bomb Stuttgart, but had to return early because of engine trouble. In a later raid they bombed the same target without incident. Operations to Düsseldorf and Essen also passed off comparatively free from trouble. Ben, of course, was two missions behind the rest of the crew. In order to even the score, he flew as navigator for a Warrant Officer Skinner on one raid, and then did another to Le Gâteau. This second trip was bedevilled by bad weather. They encountered cloud all the way to the target. The rain was so intense it was driving through the window frames and the joints in the panels of the fuselage, soaking both the occupants and their equipment. All the electronic gear was inoperative as the radio and Gee navigation aid became saturated. Ben had to plot the course by dead reckoning alone. On the return journey he was reasonably satisfied that he had their position worked out.
‘Where are we, navigator?’
‘Approximately between Beachy Head and Reading.’
