Our heavy losses took place on the return flight over the North Sea, as the German fighters, now refuelled, were ordered to chase us over the sea beyond their point of no return, being assured of being picked up by their very efficient air sea rescue. It is strange how fate plays such a hand. Had my replacement aircraft been in good trim, or had I not lost my old LQ-X, I would have flown back on the route which turned out to be a killing field for the German Fighter Command. As soon as we were under the impression that we were out of range of the fighters we would have certainly relaxed and may have been just another of the casualties.
After debriefing, we were given our usual generous tot of Navy rum, which would have been better appreciated at the other end of the operation before we left; and then a good breakfast of eggs and bacon, which was traditional and an unheard of luxury in those days of strict rationing; then to bed to sleep the clock round. On leave in London when the first of the expected V-1s went off, I couldn’t help wondering whether it had all been worth the effort. But then war is cruel and by today’s standards we were only children.
After seven and a half hours in the air John Searby’s crew had picked up the Wyton flashing beacon and landed, to be driven immediately to the interrogation room where Duncan Sandys was waiting:40
He had already gathered much information from the crew reports but wanted final confirmation from me. I could only say that from what I had seen this had been a successful operation but I could not confirm the destruction of Peenemünde. We must await the photo reconnaissance aircraft with its detailed survey of the area. Mr. Sandys was very pressing and this was understandable but he appreciated the necessity for caution and in any event he had heard enough to convince him that the job was well done. Even had we known what lay behind it all I don’t think it would have made the slightest difference; the determination and ‘press on’ spirit of the bomber crews never varied regardless of the character of defences of the target.
Dr R V Jones, the famous British scientist, recalled:
I was not consulted about the aiming points in the raid, nor would I have expected this to be necessary; but in retrospect I wish that I had. Bomber Command had originally intended to make its main attack on the development works and installation at Peenemünde but Sandys convinced the Command that it was even more important to attack the housing estate, which contained the homes of the scientists and engineers associated with the rocket project. I would probably not have agreed with this emphasis because much of their essential work had probably been done and the main object should be to smash the research and manufacturing facilities. But with the emphasis on the housing estate and with the unfortunate miscarriage of two important path finding ‘markers’, a substantial proportion of our bombs fell to the south of the establishment itself and particularly in the camp, which the used the foreign labourers, including these who had risked so much to get information through to us. We never had another report from them and 600 of them were killed as compared with 130 or so German scientists, engineers and other staff . . .41
The initial marking over the residential area went awry and the TIs fell around the forced workers camp at Trassenheide more than a mile to the south, where 500–600 foreign workers, mostly Polish, were trapped inside the wooden barracks. (The daylight reconnaissance twelve hours after the attack revealed 27 buildings in the northern manufacturing area destroyed and 40 huts in the living and sleeping quarters completely flattened.) Once rectified Operation Hydra went more or less according to plan and a number of important members of the technical team were killed. They included Dr Walther Thiel, the engineer heading the V-2 liquid oxygen propulsion department and second in importance only to Wernher von Braun, the chief scientist. 1 Group’s attack on the assembly buildings was hampered by a strong cross wind but substantial damage was inflicted and this left only 5 and 6 Groups to complete the operation by bombing the experimental site.
Sergeant W L Miller, a flight engineer on 460 Squadron said, ‘Over the target, we were being kicked about in front and underneath, mostly by exploding ‘cookies’. My God, I now knew what a fly feels like being dangled over a coal fire on which chestnuts are roasting. Below was a jumble of fire and wreckage.’42
Another flight engineer, Bill Griffiths, on 115 Squadron recalled. ‘It gave me a lot of pleasure to hit those fucking buildings. It really did. “Bombs Gone: Right, we got the bastards” I thought.’
‘After we got back,’ says Wilkie Wanless ‘the results came in and there was a message from ‘Bomber’ Harris saying, “Congratulations boys on a job well done.” I don’t think it was as successful as they said it was.’
The trip had not been ‘the snip’ that Jack Furner had thought it would be:
The intensive flak over the target was far worse than briefed – we were bouncing around on a dense carpet of it; and on the way home, flak ships accurately placed all the way along our track, or so it seemed to us. It proved all very tiring for Skipper John Verrall. He lined up the aircraft for the final approach to Chedburgh exactly eight hours after take-off and ever so slightly misjudged his touchdown point on the runway. Proud old EF404 ran off the end of the runway and into a ditch. We were shaken but unhurt.
On the 434 ‘Bluenose’ Squadron RCAF ops board at Tholthorpe 13 miles North West of York were three blank spaces. Flight Lieutenant Ian Lorne Colquhoun and his crew of Halifax M-Mother had gone down to a night fighter near Wolgast. The pilot and three of his crew died in the aircraft; the three others who survived were taken prisoner. Flight Sergeant Fred Piper MiD and four of the crew of T-Tommy, including 27-year-old bomb aimer Sergeant Robert Carson Jordan of Glen Rose, Texas were dead; the Hallybag being hit by flak and abandoned over Westerland. Two men survived and were taken prisoner. G–George flown by Sergeant Gregg McIntyre Johnston RCAF was missing too. Johnston was killed but he stayed at the controls long enough for all six of his crew to bail out safely.
At Middleton St. George there was no word from three Halifax V crews on 428 ‘Ghost’ Squadron RCAF. V-Victor and F-Freddie had gone down in the Baltic with the loss of all fourteen crew and I-Ink had come down on land near Barth-Velgast where the pilot and one of his crew lay dead. Five men were lucky to escape and they were taken prisoner. Hearts were in mouths at the 467 Squadron RAAF base at Bottesford in Leicestershire too. Squadron Leader ‘Ray’ Raphael DFC and crew would not be coming home; the Lancaster having crashed in a lake while approaching the target. All eight crew were dead. N-Nuts To The Nazis flown by Frank Dixon was also missing. Leutnant Peter Erhardt of II./NJG5 flying a Bf 110 night fighter shot the Lancaster down near Greifswald. The two gunners lay dead in the Lancaster. Dixon, E W Dickson, R Garnett the rear gunner and two other crew members were taken prisoner. Garnett recalls:
We were hit, just a very gently judder, but the speed of the aircraft was affected. The sensation was though the aircraft had hit a very big cloud of cotton wool. We saw no tracer. That was a complete mystery to us gunners. We couldn’t see how an aircraft could be hit by invisible fire like that. Then immediately a real stream of fire and sparks came back past my turret from the port wing. It was just like a real gunpowder plot night, just like a bonfire being lit. Dixon told us to get out at once. I heard him asking for someone to pass his parachute.
After leaving the target Warrant Officer ‘Pluto’ Wilson piloting F–Freddie called over the intercom for everyone to be extra vigilant. But without warning the crew felt their Lancaster judder, as it was riddled with both machine gun and 20mm cannon fire from a Bf 109G Wilde Sau fighter. Sergeant ‘Paddy’ Barry the rear gunner, recalled:
It was an explosive and confused situation. It happened so quickly and dramatically. Cannon fire ripped in from the 109. There was an explosion inside the bomber. The fighter came up, exposing his belly and I got a burst in before my hydraulics were destroyed and the turret immobilised. Everything went haywire. The ammunition started exploding in the ducts; the damned aircraft was on fire and in a mad screaming dive at a sharp angle. I
t was, I thought, a death dive. I sat there completely relaxed, waiting to die.
Standing beside the pilot, Charles Cawthorne clearly recalled seeing tracer bullet trails looping high over their port wing and hearing the terrifying noise of the enemy’s ammunition hitting the aircraft.
George Oliver our mid-upper gunner made an immediate response to the attack and our rugged Australian Skipper put the aircraft into a violent dive to port in the hope of escaping further attention from the fighter. However, after losing several thousand feet of altitude he announced he was having great difficulty in getting the aircraft out of the dive. Without further ado I leaned over to assist by grasping the control column with both hands and together we pulled it back until the aircraft responded and we were flying straight and level again. On recovery, I checked the engine gauges and fuel control panel and looking aft saw what looked like the whole of the rear fuselage on fire with thick black acrid smoke billowing forward. Out of the smoke climbing over the main spar came George the mid-upper gunner and he was soon joined by David the wireless operator. Both had their chutes clipped on ready to jump out of the front emergency exit. I reported the fire to the Skipper and expected him to give the order to abandon aircraft but to my amazement he coolly said, ‘Well go and put the bloody thing out then’. If it had not been for those cool calculated words, we would have all finished our ops tour there and then.
Armed with fire extinguishers, George and I went aft over the main spar to tackle the blaze and there we were quickly joined by David. We found the ammunition lines to the rear turret ablaze with one round setting fire to the next with alarming speed. The fuselage was full of thick smoke which made our progress difficult and soon it was realised the dead man’s handle, a device for rotating the rear turret in the event of hydraulic failure, had received a direct hit. The turret’s hydraulic oil supply had been sprayed around the floor not only adding fuel to the fire but making it difficult to stand in our rubber flying boots. When all extinguishers had been emptied, we resorted to smothering the blaze with our gloved hands and eventually we succeeded in putting the fire out.
It was then that we realised that ‘Paddy’ Barry was wounded and trapped in his turret. With the aid of the aircraft axe, George, the mid-upper gunner managed to open the back doors of the rear turret and I assisted in manoeuvring ‘Paddy’ over the tail plane and up to the rest bed near the main spar. Despite Paddy’s precarious state [his face was lacerated by shards of Perspex and blood was pouring from a wound in his leg] we had to leave him and return to our crew positions to report on the fire damage sustained from the night fighter attack and take stock of the battle that was taking place all around us in the bomber stream. From the flight engineer’s panel I calculated that we were losing a considerable amount of fuel and after reporting this to the Skipper and navigator it was decided we would divert to an airfield in neutral Sweden. At this juncture Swill, the bomb aimer and I were told by the Skipper to make Paddy as comfortable as possible. By the light of a masked torch, we realised he had sustained a serious injury to his left foot from an exploding cannon shell. I attempted to inject morphine to ease his pain but could not get through his protective clothing. In desperation, I started to cut away his flying boot, which was torn and saturated with blood. In the semi-darkness of the fuselage it was difficult to see any detail and what I thought to be a large piece of boot was in fact a piece of skin, which I immediately replaced and bound the wound with a shell bandage. I then returned to my seat in the cockpit and after rechecking the fuel gauges I realised the self sealing fuel tanks had been effective and the loss of fuel had been stemmed. Following a hurried crew conference, it was decided we had sufficient fuel to attempt the return journey over the North Sea to England.
The Skipper then announced he was still having trouble controlling the aircraft which continuously wanted to climb and it was necessary for him to stand on the rudder pedals and wedge his back against the seat with fully extended arms to prevent the aircraft climbing. In an endeavour to relieve the physical effort of the situation the Skipper and I removed our Mae Wests and after inflating, jammed them both between the control column and the pilot’s seat. We did not realise that the problem was caused by the loss of our elevator trim tabs, which had been shot away during the night fighter attack.
By the time we crossed the enemy coast the Skipper was completely exhausted and it became necessary for me to fly the aircraft over the relatively safe area of the North Sea. With great difficulty we changed seats and by the grace of God, nothing untoward happened during the sea crossing. Approaching the Lincolnshire coast the Skipper took over again and David Booth, the wireless operator, called our base for a priority landing due to our seriously wounded gunner and the precarious state of the aircraft. Bottesford responded to our request and the Skipper ordered all crew members to their crash positions for an emergency landing. I had to remain in my normal crew position to assist the Skipper with the handling of the aircraft. On final approach, I was fully prepared to select full flap which was the normal procedure but the Skipper quickly reminded me that only a couple of weeks before an Aussie pilot on the Squadron called Tillotson had suffered a complete fracture of the rear fuselage on his aircraft following full flap selection after suffering serious battle damage to the rear fuselage. His aircraft’s tail fell off with disastrous results. I didn’t require any further warning and my hand kept a respectful distance away from the flap lever.
In the early morning light after nearly seven hours in the air we glided over the threshold of the runway and touched down at 04.20 hours. With engines spluttering we taxied off the runway and came to a stop on the grass, where we were immediately attended by the fire and ambulance staff who carefully extricated Paddy, our injured gunner. It was now quite light and on evacuating the aircraft through the rear door, I was amazed to see the extent of the damage we had sustained. Internally the skin of the rear fuselage was charred and black from the intense fire and shafts of light pointed to where machine gun bullets and cannon shells had entered and exited the aircraft. Externally, the wings, rear fuselage, tail plane and both rudders were all severely perforated by machine gun and cannon fire. Overall PO-F Freddie was in an appalling state but miraculously all four engines were undamaged and had functioned perfectly throughout the flight to bring us home.
After debriefing, we went for our post-op egg and bacon breakfast. Before retiring to our billets for a well earned rest we visited sick quarters to see Paddy [who at one point had been given the last rites by a Catholic chaplain] before he was transferred to the local hospital. He later became one of plastic surgeon Archibald McKindoe’s wartime guinea pigs and was ultimately fully restored to health despite a much damaged ankle. Two days later we were all delighted to hear that our Skipper had gained the immediate award of the DFC and George Oliver the mid-upper gunner, who was confirmed as having shot down the attacking Me 109 before vacating his turret was awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal. All the remaining crew members received the appropriate DFC or DFM decoration at the end of the tour. Within days of this episode, we were on operations again and following two raids on Berlin our crew were awarded Tour Complete status by the Squadron Commander on 9 September 1943. We were in fact the first crew to survive a tour of bombing operations with 467 Squadron RAAF since it was formed at RAF Scampton in November 1942.
Ron James concludes:
It had been a costly day for the Allied air forces: the Americans losing sixty bombers on the Schweinfurt raid and the RAF’s total bringing it over the one hundred mark. The Americans were taught a valuable lesson that day: that long range penetration over Germany without fighter cover all the way, was not a viable proposition. Unfortunately, it took the British longer to realize that by sending out a large bomber force during a full moon period was a recipe for disaster. Later raids on Berlin and Nuremburg would hammer home this point. Only the spoof raid on Berlin, which drew off the enemy fighters whilst we bombed Peenemünde, saved us from being mas
sacred. Not until much later did we learn that the preemptive strike was to destroy Hitler’s V-weapons, the V-1 and V-2. At the time all we lads could think of was, ‘Thank God it’s over, now maybe we can get some sleep’. Forty-eight hours without shut-eye is a long time and when we eventually did get our heads down we slept through until evening.
Not being detailed for ops on the night of 22 August, ‘Mick’ Cullen the wireless operator on Flight Lieutenant Robert Megginson’s crew on XV Squadron at Mildenhall took Brenda Jaggard to ‘The Bird’ at Beck Row for a drink to celebrate her birthday. The rest of the crew decided to go with him and they all spent the evening together. After closing time, Brenda invited them all back to her parents’ home, where they were always made welcome. The rest of the evening was spent with Pilot Officer Desmond ‘Mitch’ Mitchell the rear gunner, seated at the piano playing the popular songs of the day, with Mick, Brenda and the others happily singing along. The evening came to an end with much laughter and happiness.
The following evening Megginson’s crew were detailed to take part in the first raid for many months on Berlin. O-Orange left the runway at Mildenhall at 20.40 hours and struggled into the air, crossing the Norfolk coast at Cromer and heading east. The weather was clear and visibility excellent; it was obvious that the enemy night fighters would be active.
Notes
1. Later statistics would show that 600 Stirling bombers were lost out of 1,750 built; 62 were lost in August 1943 alone.
Bomber Command Page 10
