Bomber Command

by Martin Bowman

  On 28 July on the raid on Stuttgart we were flying along quite quietly. In the flight engineer’s position there was an astrodome where the sextant was used for star shots. I would stand up and have a look around every now and again just to check there was nothing loose or flapping around. On this occasion, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement at the trailing edge of the port wing. My first thought was that the flap was loose and then I saw a wing appear and I realised it was a Messerschmitt 110 lining up to give us a squirt. I yelled to the pilot, ‘Corkscrew port!’ and he corkscrewed immediately. As we went down, the rear gunner saw a Messerschmitt 109 coming in from the starboard side. These two aircraft were clearly working together. The 109 came in from behind on the starboard quarter and started to fire but we’d gone down to the left. He started to follow us down but he had to turn on his back and Jim Carpenter the mid-upper gunner raked him from front to rear. The fighter was also hit by Les Sessions the tail gunner. The cockpit cover came off and the pilot came out as his aircraft went down in flames but his parachute streamed and he hit our port wing. He disappeared into the dark leaving one leg and a boot embedded in the wing, which we took back to base. I don’t suppose he survived. One good thing about being in an aeroplane at war, you never see the whites of the enemy’s eyes. When we shot a 109 down, it wasn’t a person we were shooting down. We were hitting another aeroplane. We’d drop a 4,000lb cookie and kill a thousand people but we never saw one of them.

  Jack Furner’s old Squadron (214) was to change its role and its aircraft. It was just about Christmas 1943 when he heard that 214 Squadron were re-equipping with B-17s (popularly known as Flying Fortresses), as part of this special force and he had heard also that they were seeking a Navigation Leader (as Flight Lieutenant). Furner could not resist the urge to fly this new beast. American comfort – with ashtrays! He asked to see Air Vice Marshal Richard Harrison, 3 Group’s AOC. Furner told him that he would like to get back on the Squadron. Harrison agreed. So Furner gave up the paper work at Group and hiked off at the turn of the year to Sculthorpe in North Norfolk where 214, still under the command of Wing Commander Desmond McGlinn, was preparing to accept the B-17s after modification to RAF standards and the installation of a mass of Electronic Counter Measure (ECM) equipment.

  Sergeant Don Prutton, B-24 flight engineer, 214 Squadron, explains:

  Operations were of two distinct types. In the first, two or three of our aircraft would accompany the main bomber stream and then circle above the target; the special operators used their transmitters in particular, Jostle, to jam the German radar defences while the Lancasters and Halifaxes unloaded their bombs. Then everyone headed for home. Our friends on 214 Squadron seemed to do more of these target operations than 223 Squadron. My own crew did a small number of these but the majority of our operations were the ‘Window Spoofs’, the object of which was to confuse the enemy as to the intended target. There was a radar screen created by other aircraft patrolling in a line roughly north to south over the North Sea and France. A group of us, perhaps eight aircraft, would emerge through this screen scattering Window to give the impression to the German radar operators that a large bomber force was heading for say, Hamburg. Then, when the Germans were concentrating their night fighters in that area, the real bomber force would appear through the screen and bomb a totally different target, perhaps Düsseldorf. After several nights, when the Germans had become used to regarding the first group of aircraft as a dummy raid, the drill was reversed. The genuine bombers would appear first and with luck be ignored by the German defences who would instead concentrate on the second bunch, which was of course our Window ‘Spoof’. So we rang the changes, sometimes going in first, sometimes last, in an attempt to cause maximum confusion to the enemy, dissipation of his resources and reduction in our own bomber losses.34

  Jack Furner recalls:

  The early months of 1944 at Sculthorpewere devoted to familiarising ourselves with the B-17s and getting them installed and modified, much of the work being done at Prestwick by Scottish Aviation. The B-17s were being fitted with a long list of intriguing pieces of equipment – names like Jostle, Mandrel, Airborne Cigar, Airborne Grocer, Piperack and Carpetm– each designed to jam a specific type of equipment or specific part of the transmission spectrum. German speaking operators were to be carried in the body of the aircraft, whose purpose was to detect discrete R/T frequencies being used by fighters and ground control and jam them. In addition, RAF navigational equipment (Gee, H2S, etc) had to be installed to complement the US navigational kit of LORAN, a box similar to Gee but with LOnger RANge. The Squadron’s task was to provide electronic coverage to the main bomber force by jamming, as many frequencies and equipments as our installed kit and the expertise of the operators we carried would allow. The main point of the B-17 was that it had the height – say, 25,000 feet – to fly a clear 5,000 feet above our main bomber stream and thus provide jamming cover in all frequencies. We were inextricably linked to the bomber force and we therefore followed their route, with one or two exceptions when we were sent off to create confusion and deception on our own. My task as Nav Leader, once the Squadron had settled down to its new operational role, was to oversee and monitor the efforts of all Squadron navigators and to act as Wing Commander McGlinn’s navigator on the operations he chose to take part in.

  The Squadron was ready to operate in April 1944. Sculthorpe was to be a temporary home, reverting to American use on our departure on 16 May to a neighbouring airfield at Oulton, a few miles outside Aylsham. On the very evening of that day, some of us drove into Aylsham to survey the local pubs and after a few beers I wandered across to the blacked-out town hall to look in on a dance being held there. Without hesitation I made a beeline towards a lovely girl dressed in a pink V-neck dress standing across the floor from me. I had known girls at each place before but there was always the acknowledgement that there would be nothing permanent about a relationship. I somehow knew this might be different. Her name was Patricia; she was 19, just a month away from her 20th birthday. She had a divine figure. She had a pretty face. She was an excellent dancer, easily able to follow my somewhat jerky steps (I whispered two lines in Spanish of Besame Mucho as we danced); she loved classical music and played the piano, with a distinguished pass in Grade 8 behind her. She lived in the town square, just a few yards from the town hall. She told me some time later that her mother had almost dissuaded her from coming over to the dance that evening (you’re out too often my girl); when her father heard us talking below her rooms in Aylsham Square, I understand he said to her mother ‘It’s all right, they’re talking about Beethoven.’35

  On B-17s I flew mainly with Wing Commander McGlinn but also from time to time with other captains, between January and August 1944, with operational flights from April. The number of flights recorded in my log book is 53, including only eight operational flights. Each of the operations was precisely the same from the navigational point of view as those in my first tour. Accurate navigation was of the essence in order to afford the main stream the ECM cover planned for them; that meant accurate timing around each route as well as maintaining planned track. Other crewmembers had their own tasks – mine was the safe and accurate navigation of the aircraft, in itself a full-time job with fairly rudimentary nav aids. The differences from the first tour were much increased height and therefore more careful attention to oxygen mask fitting; somewhat greater comfort and less engine noise.

  Most of us had graduated from the bombing role and it was an intriguing challenge to be protectors of those who were now continuing the bombing in ever-increasing severity. We were all mindful that what we were doing represented a vastly superior scientific and technological effort which was bound to contribute, sooner or later, to finishing the war. Our participation in the special screen set up on the night of 5/6 June 1944 served better than any other single event to confirm that idea in our minds. I quote from official reports: ‘On 5/6 June a Mandrel screen was formed to cover the approach o
f the Normandy invasion fleet and from subsequent information received, it appeared that considerable confusion was caused to the German early warning system.’ Five Fortresses on 214 Squadron flown by Wing Commander McGlinn [my captain], Squadron Leader Day, Squadron Leader Bill Jefferies, Flight Lieutenant Murray Peden and Flying Officer Cam Lye, also operated in support of the D-Day operation in their Airborne Cigar role. A Me 410 had the misfortune to choose McGlinn’s aircraft, which had Flight Lieutenant Eric Phillips, the Squadron Gunnery Leader, manning the tail turret and he shot it down.

  In September my flying was interrupted by a stupid accident. Oulton was one of the many temporary stations in Bomber Command – no permanent buildings, no fancy messes or barrack blocks. Most of the officers were billeted in Blickling Hall, previously owned by Lord Lothian who had been Ambassador in Washington 1939–40; and renowned for its historical association with Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. I used to run Music Club meetings in one of the ground floor panelled rooms of the Hall. A number of airmen and airwomen attended to hear me talk to a programme of 78s played on a wind-up gramophone with a sharpener at the ready for the fibre needles. In the grounds of the Hall, many temporary Nissen huts had been constructed, including one, acting as the Officers’ Mess. One boozy night in that Mess, there was a sudden decision by everybody there to plant somebody’s footprints around the semi-circular ceiling of the Nissen hut – merely to convince gullible visitors that somebody had taken a running jump to do it. Well, it was decided that I was Joe, being fairly light in weight. A sort of scaffolding of tables and chairs was constructed, gradually rising in height towards the centre. I took off my shoes and socks, somebody else blacked the soles with shoe polish (yes, I know, it’s crazy) and I was carefully lifted up and had my feet planted on the ceiling one at a time. All was going well until we reached the highest point in the centre. The scaffolding began to falter, the structure collapsed, I fell from a great height and my right palm came down, unfortunately, on to a piece of broken glass on the floor. I don’t remember much of what followed but I’ve learnt since that the Doc (Vyse) was on hand and took charge. I was losing blood at a fairly fearsome rate to start with apparently, until he staunched it. I was carried by ambulance to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital and was wrapped in a plaster cast for some time. The end result was the cutting of a tendon, a messy right palm and a permanently bent first finger. On the social side, I continued to see more and more of my lovely Patricia; but I must have knocked myself out of the operational business because I have no flights in my log book for the rest of the year. There was an amusing corollary to the footprints incident. At home on leave in Southend, I’d be showing my messy right palm to relations and friends and explaining frankly how it had happened; somebody whispered to my mother that I was almost certainly concealing the real facts and that it was a war wound.

  It is believed that the attack on Ludwigshafen by 66 Lancasters and 17 Halifaxes of 5 Group on 17/18 November; a purely H2S blind-bombing raid without any TIs being dropped, was accurate and that the I G Farben factory was hit. Most of the enemy fighters landed early because of misleading instructions broadcast from England to German night fighter pilots and only one Lancaster was lost. G-George on 405 ‘Vancouver’ Squadron RCAF at Gransden Lodge was flown by Pilot Officer Richard Henry Larson RCAF, all of whose crew including Lieutenant J M K Pederson USAAF were killed. The night following, elements of 3, 4, 6 and 8 Groups went to Leverkusen and the I G Farben chemicals factory but many of the Oboe aircraft suffered equipment failure, and difficult weather conditions caused bombs being scattered over a wide area. At least 27 towns, mostly well to the north of Leverkusen, recorded bombs and just one HE bomb landed in the town. Very few German night fighters were operating, probably because of bad weather at their airfields and only four Halifaxes and a Stirling were lost. Fog conditions were encountered on the heavies’ return to England and two more Halifaxes and a Stirling crashed, but four Halifaxes on 35 Squadron landed safely at Graveley when the first operational use was made of the oil-burning fog-dispersal equipment along the sides of the runway called FIDO (Fog Investigation and Dispersal Operation).

  Ludford Magna was another of the airfields equipped with FIDO, as Sergeant Gerhard Heilig on 101 Squadron recalls:

  Soon after we crossed the English coast on our return from a raid we saw the glow of a fire up ahead. As we got closer we realised that its source must be at, or very close to, our own base and we feared the worst, thinking that Ludford or one of its neighbours must have been the victim of a massive enemy strike. When we joined the circuit our relief was great that this had not been the case and we marvelled at the sight which presented itself to our eyes. I had closed down my [ABC] equipment after crossing the English coast and, as was my usual habit, had taken up my stance behind the pilot for a final look around. Within the blanket of fog, which covered the countryside for miles around was a gaping hole, cut straight like with a knife on the upwind side of the gently moving air and billowing in a great curve on the other, the parallel lines of flaming petrol below and a billowing cloud of cumulus above like some monstrous bonnet. It was an eerie feeling as we made our approach, it was like a headlong plunge into a flaming furnace, but all went perfectly smoothly and along with many others we made a safe landing, albeit with no little relief.

  From 18/19 November 1943 to 24/25 March 1944 Berlin was subjected to 16 major raids, which have gone into history as the Battle of Berlin. At ‘morning prayers’ on Thursday 18 November ‘Bomber’ Harris announced that 835 bombers would be over Germany that night, 440 of them Lancasters heading for Berlin and another 395 aircraft, mostly Halifaxes and Stirlings, that would fly a diversionary raid on Mannheim and Ludwigshafen. The total effort for the night was a new record for a non-1,000 raid night but only by one, with 884 aircraft (including 45 aircraft engaged on minor operations) being dispatched. At Wickenby, Brian Soper, a 19-year-old flight engineer on 12 Squadron, was a little shocked, not having done any ops, to be called into the Chief Flight Engineer’s office and told that he would be flying that night; not with his crew, but with Flight Lieutenant McLauchlin, a highly experienced officer, whose flight engineer had been recently commissioned and was away getting ‘kitted up’. ‘Later at the briefing, it was another jolt to see that it was the Big City; the first time for me of many’. Soper had decided to join the RAF as aircrew following the death of his brother:

  Naturally I was hoping to be a pilot. Unfortunately so was everyone else. I enlisted for aircrew in January 1942 and went for the aircrew medical and a variety of exams and other tests. Rejected as a pilot I was offered ‘aircrew’ to train as wireless operator-air gunner, which I accepted. Eventually I had a letter from the Air Ministry to say that with the arrival of the four-engined bomber an additional crew member was required to take over many of the pilot’s duties. Flight engineers were needed for Stirlings, Halifaxes and Lancasters and for coastal command, American Liberators and Fortresses. Fortunately I got in with the group for Lancasters. They were the best.

  At the conversion unit Soper had met Warrant Officer Arthur Rew, a rather pleasant pilot who was looking for a flight engineer:

  Arthur already had a navigator, Flight Sergeant ‘Butch’ Lynn and a wireless operator, W/O Don Sinnot from Newfoundland. The bomb aimer and front turret gunner, W/O George Annersly was from Edmonton. Alberta. We had about the oldest man on the squadron: ‘Wild Bill’ Redding mid upper gunner was in his thirties and like me, a sergeant. Bill had a 500 Norton motor bike on which he used to take part in trials before the war. Any weekend or during standard leave periods he used to take me pillion down to London from whence I got the tube while he went on to Chesham where he lived. This was always quite a lively ride. Finally Sergeant Frank Boyd, rear gunner. No nicer group of guys you could ever wish to meet. When we arrived at our Nissen hut, which held two crews of seven, we were replacing a crew that had ‘gone missing’. The other crew went out that night and it wasn’t long before they too were shot down. Once sett
led into the base we continued with the flying training while waiting to go on ‘ops’. Before we could do any operational flying, they decided to create a second squadron on the base. This was 626 Squadron. They picked us – not having done any ops – with some other crews who had already completed some bombing raids on 12 Squadron.

  On the night of the Berlin raid both forces were planned to cross the enemy coast simultaneously, the stream heading the ‘Big City’ reaching the capital along the Havel River in eastern Germany and then splitting into groups to bomb Siemensstadt, Neukölln, Mariendorf, Steglitz, Marienfelde and other districts of Berlin. Berlin however, was completely cloud-covered and both marking and bombing was carried out blindly. Tens of thousands of incendiaries and two- and four-ton HE bombs were dropped on Berlin within a period of barely 30 minutes. According to the post-raid report ‘the TIs could be seen cascading to the ground and much of the effort undoubtedly fell on Berlin but the comparative failure of this operation resulted from unserviceable H2S sets – of which 19 out of 27 failed; an unexpectedly light wind en route delaying the backers-up so that for five or six minutes only one Green TI could be seen burning; and a smokescreen hampering visibility.’

  Brian Soper would have worse trips later, but his first one was memorable: