Lancaster Men

by Peter Rees

  As wireless operator, one of Dick’s duties was to listen every half hour to a group broadcast for messages affecting his crew’s aircraft. Their call sign came up with a message diverting them to Linton-on-Ouse, near York, as their aerodrome was fog-bound. On arrival, they joined a ‘stack’—a number of aircraft circling the ’drome, each 500 feet above the next. As one plane landed, the next would drop 500 feet, and so on, until all were on the ground. As they circled, they were puzzled to see other aircraft overshooting the runway. It was only when their turn came to land that they realised the cause of the trouble: a thick ground mist was blotting out all sight of the runway on approach. Pilot Len Ainsworth descended but missed the runway. As he prepared to go around again, the engineer, Jim Hillier, warned that if they did not make it this time they would be out of fuel. Suddenly, as Len came in, the runway lights appeared out of the mist. They were off to one side. Len yelled out, ‘Hang on, I’m landing on the grass at the side of the runway.’ Regaining the runway about halfway along, they were guided to the dispersal area, where their fuel ran out and the engines died. In the debriefing room,

  I was handed a cup of cocoa. I had to hold it with both hands as they were shaking so much—‘a dicey do’! The fighter cannon shells had ripped open the top of the starboard wing and tailplane also ripping open the top of the petrol tank and damaging the main spar of the wing. They patched up our aircraft while at Linton-on-Ouse, putting sticky tape over the slits in the wing for our flight back to Waddington a couple of days later, but we were back to our original condition on landing as all the tape had blown off on the way. The starboard wing had to be replaced after we flew back to Waddington. At this stage the whole crew were of the same opinion that it would appear we weren’t going to last too long if all the operations were like that one.

  The RAAF airmen’s involvement in the battle of Berlin caught the attention of the Western Australian-born journalist Norman Stockton, who was the Sydney Sun’s London correspondent. Along with three other foreign reporters, including the famed American Ed Murrow, Stockton was given permission to fly on a raid to Berlin as an observer on the night of 2 December 1943. Forty-year-old Stockton was an experienced war correspondent, having covered the early stages of the Sino-Japanese war, and been accredited to General Douglas MacArthur’s headquarters in Australia. He went with a 460 Squadron Lancaster crew.

  The stream of 458 aircraft ran into a lethal counterattack from German fighters. Forty bombers were lost, including five of 460 Squadron’s twenty-five Lancasters. Stockton and Nordahl Grieg, a Norwegian war correspondent, were aboard two of the downed Lancasters and died with their crews. Another correspondent, the American Lowell Bennett, was shot down and taken prisoner; he spent the next eighteen months in captivity. Next day a sombre Murrow finished his report on the raid and the loss of his colleagues by saying: ‘I have no doubt that Bennett and Stockton would have given you a better report of last night’s activities.’

  Three weeks later, one of Stockton’s colleagues on the Sun, Don Brown, a twenty-two-year-old from Young in New South Wales, was killed in a training accident near Oxford. The next day, 22 December, South Australian Flight Lieutenant Ted Whitehead, who was instructing trainee pilots in 460 Squadron, was asked to take care of the funeral. He took Don’s casket to Oxford for burial. ‘We all loaded up in a small truck, four bearers and firing party. We were greeted at the main gate and led up to the grave. To my horror there was another 10 or a dozen more graves ready for burial[s]. A lovely service was given and his body was lowered into the grave.’ The group was about to leave when Ted with his bearers and firing party were called over to attend another service for a crew of four who had been killed at nearby Bicester. Some Australians were among them. The experience left Ted ‘fairly shaken’, but as he put it, ‘We did the honours.’

  15

  THE BOOMERANG

  As a bleak English winter settled on London, Flight Sergeant Bert Heap sat down in the warmth of Kodak House to write to his mother in Brisbane. It was 13 December 1943, and Bert was on leave as he neared the end of his training before being posted to 467 Squadron. Morale was high, he wrote, and he was comfortable. ‘We Australians as a whole are so far standing up to the winter onslaught without flinching, although comments are sometimes rather pungent.’ As he sat writing, he listened to music on a radio broadcast from France. ‘In spite of the evil days in which France is labouring, evidently some of the French have retained a taste for swing. I cannot say what the French for Woody Herman is, but it is undoubtedly his clarinet which is dominating the music now. Apparently the French still like hot records.’ Bert assured his mother that he was being ‘very well looked after’. He had started flying again, but he assured her that he had ‘landed a good pilot’, twenty-eight-year-old Flying Officer Arthur Dyer, who came from Sydney.

  The next day, 460 Squadron Flight Lieutenant Laurie Field also sat down at Kodak House to write to his mother on the family farm near Forbes in central western New South Wales. He had been on the squadron just six weeks, and in that time had been to Berlin twice—on 23 November, with 383 aircraft, and on 2 December, with 458 aircraft—and to Leipzig on 3 December, with 527 aircraft. Laurie wrote that the Leipzig op was rather easy, as had been the first trip to Berlin, when they had good cloud cover. What he didn’t say was that twenty Lancasters had been lost on the 23 November Berlin raid. But he did admit that the 2 December trip was ‘indeed hard’:

  After crossing the Dutch coast we came into flak all the way to the outskirts of Berlin where we were met by hordes of Jerry night fighters, searchlights and flak so thick—as our engineer put it—‘that you could have got out and walked on it’. However flak at the best of times is very inaccurate so that did not worry us. Quite different as regards fighters though; they were assisted in their job of locating us by huge paths of brilliant flares which lit up the sky for miles around. Dead over the target the scene was something never to be forgotten. Berlin was burning well, giving off flames of a dozen different hues, 4000 pounders were exploding at split second intervals, red tracer was cutting through the air all around us, searchlights were on in hundreds, orange flak bursts were above and below us, and more on the tragic side, there would be a ribbon of flame as some of our own boys went down.

  Laurie did not mention the loss of five of the squadron’s Lancasters on the raid, or the death of journalist Norman Stockton. But he considered it a privilege to have seen those sights and to have flown alongside ‘the best lads in the world’. These were the boys from the RAAF, the RAF, the Royal Canadian Air Force and the Royal New Zealand Air Force. They all worked as ‘one big unit’.

  I never have and never will regret volunteering for flying duties. The training was tough and monotonous at times but everything seems worthwhile now. We left Berlin a blazing mass—a huge pall of smoke being visible some 150 miles away. After leaving the outer defences of the city a night fighter came in to attack us from astern but when he found we were awake he went off to fresh fields. We reached Base OK and after interrogation a hot meal and bed were very welcome.

  On the night of 16–17 December, with the weather improving, 483 Lancasters and fifteen Mosquitos resumed the Berlin raids. But the German night fighters were ready and met the bombers at the Netherlands’ coast. Twenty-five Lancasters were lost. The attack left around 700 people dead and inflicted further damage on the Berlin railway system and rolling stock. This, together with the large numbers of people still leaving the city, was affecting the transportation of supplies to the Russian front, with 1000 wagonloads of war matériel held up for six days. As the city’s infrastructure crumbled, more than a quarter of Berlin’s residential accommodation was now unusable.

  On 23 December, Rollo Kingsford-Smith took off for Berlin on his first operational sortie since becoming Commanding Officer of 463 Squadron. But before he left there was the all-important briefing.

  Security about the target to be attacked and the route that we were to take over an enemy ter
ritory for our next operation was extremely tight and this data would not be released until briefing time just before take-off. Fuel and bomb loads varied substantially depending on the type of target and distance to be flown and the fuel reserves to be required if we were likely to be diverted on return to another part of England. This information was passed to the squadrons before the target details were released. Bombing up the aircraft and fuelling them took a lot of time and manpower.

  Last-minute updates to weather forecasts were also given. Reconnaissance flights sent out a few hours before take-off reported on conditions over the target area and at sea. A change in the forecast usually meant a change in fuel and bomb loads. Take-off times were therefore subject to change at short notice. This in turn meant altered briefing times and meal times for perhaps 200 aircrew.

  If an operation was not cancelled on account of a change in the weather, squadrons went into top gear. At 463 Squadron, flight commanders reported to Rollo as early as possible on the availability of crews, while engineer officers reported the number of serviceable aircraft. Once operations for the evening were confirmed, security was tightened even further. Non-essential communications in and out of the station were shut down, as were all private telephone links and public phones. Rollo regarded airtight security as absolutely essential. ‘Both sides had agents on the enemy side,’ he said, adding that the Germans monitored all Bomber Command radio communications. ‘Fortunately their reconnaissance aircraft seldom were able to get over our fields in daytime.’

  Most crews listed for operations checked their aircraft, equipment and guns with a short test flight as early in the day as possible. They understood that their success and survival on the coming evening’s raid would depend on all crew members and all equipment working at maximum efficiency. A flight planning conference followed. At Waddington, this was held in the Operations Room and attended by squadron commanders, the station commander and station intelligence officer.

  We would have a telephone link up with loudspeaker attachments with Group Headquarters and all other Bases operating on the same target that night. The target was announced and all the essential aspects of weather, fuel, bomb load and types, suggested route—never straight into or straight out—to the target, the bombing heights, the strength of the enemy forces would be thoroughly thrashed out and agreed on. Then the intricacies of the target marking by the Pathfinders would be suggested and agreed. What colours would go down on the target, what were the backup if the first ones were inaccurate, whether the marking would be on the target or offset and by how much. And finally the name of the master bomber or controller who would be over the target and controlling the entire operation. If necessary delaying or halting the bombing or instructing the Pathfinders to mark again.

  There were few master bombers, and the pilots all knew their names and voices. This ensured that German fakes would not succeed in giving false information or instructions. Working backwards from time over target, take-off times were calculated, bomb and fuel loads were confirmed or altered, and flight commanders, engineers, the transport section, the control tower, and the kitchens were all advised.

  Navigation leaders and bombing leaders called meetings of their navigators and bomb aimers to hand out appropriate route maps, target maps and wind information. The route to be followed from the concentration point to the target was important for navigators, who had to ensure that they kept their aircraft within eight kilometres of track and within thirty seconds of designated timing along the track and at turning points to ensure concentration of the bomber stream. The route was altered frequently to keep the enemy guessing; no route directly to the target was released until the last few minutes before take-off.

  All crews and their captains then met in the crew room, where Rollo briefed them on the target, the tactics and other essential information. When he had finished, the intelligence officer provided the latest details of the German defences along the route and over the target. Exact take-off times and times over the target, which were staggered over about ten minutes, were emphasised. Precise coordination of the main force and the Pathfinder force required perfect timing. At this stage, crews were still dressed in their normal uniform, but after the briefing they went straight to their lockers and put on flying overalls. Rollo explained:

  We already were wearing warm underwear in winter and our flying boots. We collected gloves, helmets, parachutes, Mae West inflatable life vest, inflatable dinghy which, for the pilot sat on top of the seat type parachute, our escape kit which contained appropriate used bank notes of the countries over which we were flying, Benzedrine tablets to speed us up if we got on to the ground alive, chocolate and other concentrated energy food, forged German food coupons, silk maps, a compass, photos taken in civilian clothes for forged papers and water purif[ication] tablets, also our lucky charms. Then into the bus to the aircraft dispersal area a mile or so away where the aircraft and ground crew were waiting.

  The departure process began with aircraft starting motors and joining the taxiway in designated order. The Lancasters’ Rolls-Royce Merlin engines were touchy and overheated readily at idle. If a delay occurred on the taxiway, it was often necessary to turn the aircraft into the wind and open up the throttles a little. The only message ever given from the control tower was the firing of a red flare should an operation be cancelled before take-off. An Aldis-lamp signal from a small control van parked near the end of the runway informed each aircraft in turn by a flashing green light, ‘Clear to line up,’ and then, by a steady green light, ‘Clear to take off.’ As each aircraft left, the station commander, the chaplains, and any squadron commanders or flight commanders not flying would wave farewell from the side of the runway. The crews facetiously called them the ‘have a good trip’ boys.

  When Rollo got airborne that night, 23 December 1943, for his first trip to Berlin, things did not go to plan. An hour out, flying over France at about 20,000 feet and with the outside temperature below –40°C, Rollo’s rear gunner, Darrell Procter, told him the electrics to the rear turret that electrically heated his boots and gloves had failed. He was being buffeted by the icy winds, and heating was essential if he was to stay there for the seven- to eight-hour trip. Rollo would not have minded if the turret or guns had failed, so long as he had a man in that position keeping vigilant watch, but this was much more serious. Over the next ten minutes, he discussed the problem with Darrell via the intercom.

  We had only two [options] if we were to continue. Either he abandoned the turret leaving us with no chance at all if we were attacked or he stayed there and would have been very severely frostbitten with almost certain loss of fingers and toes. Also, after a few hours, his efficiency would be highly suspect. Neither was acceptable so very reluctantly I turned and came back. I was not prepared to sacrifice a wonderful gunner who had kept us alive so far and who planned post war to be a dentist, or risk my aircraft and greatly increase the risk of being shot down with an ineffective gunner trying to do his duty by staying in the turret.

  Whatever the justification, Rollo had done a ‘boomerang’, returning home before the target had been attacked. As CO, he knew he would be grilling any other pilot who did the same, so he regarded this as a ‘shameful episode’ for him and his crew. ‘It took me a week before I could safely lift my head again.’

  16

  DANGER ABOVE

  It was five days before Christmas, and Ted Pickerd was apprehensive. His first bombing run with 463 Squadron to Frankfurt was approaching. He and the rest of the crew went through their ritual with the rabbit’s foot before boarding their Lancaster, but they knew they had drawn a ‘hard target’ for their first raid. Ted was in one of 390 Lancasters in the bombing stream, along with 257 Halifaxes and three Mosquitos. The German control towers began tracking their advance as soon as the bomber force left the English coast, and before long German fighters were swooping in for the kill. In all, twenty-seven Halifaxes and fourteen Lancasters were lost.

  Based on a
forecast of clear weather, the Pathfinders had prepared a ground-marking plan. But there was heavy cloud cover. The Germans lit a decoy fire eight kilometres south-east of the city, as well as using dummy target indicators. While some bombs were dropped around the decoy, the tendency of bombers using optical sights to release their load early, leading to a gradual ‘creepback’, or spread backwards along the designated bombing path, meant that other bombs fell on Frankfurt. The raid destroyed more than 460 houses and seriously damaged nearly 2000 more in Frankfurt and the outlying townships of Sachsenhausen and Offenbach. Various industrial sites were bombed, but no important factories were hit. For Ted, it was a salutary introduction to the hazards of bombing operations.

  Back in England, Ted also had relationship hazards to cope with. A few months earlier he had received a ‘Dear John’ letter from his girlfriend in Melbourne, breaking off their engagement. Unexpected as it was, it freed him to fraternise with young women in England. He was so taken by one of them, a petite Nottingham lass named Gwynneth, that he invited her to the 463 Squadron Christmas dinner in the officers’ mess. Just after lunch, as Ted waited expectantly for Gwynneth to arrive, his mates took him to the bar.

  This was a relatively new experience for Ted, because until he arrived in England he had been a teetotaller. ‘The first time I had anything to drink I was drinking squash with a few others in the hotel, and when they all went away there was a beer left for me. They planted themselves all round the hotel and urged me to drink it. So rather than have everybody look at me, I drank it. Next night I was sick.’