The German capital was to be attacked again on many occasions but never on the scale of that of the night of March 24-25 when 811 aircraft took part. Yet again, the weather was to have a say in the outcome and was to help cost Bomber Command dearly, 44 Lancasters failing to return, 20 of them from 1 Group alone. Twenty-eight Halifaxes were also lost.
Fierce winds battered the bomber stream as it headed across Europe, much stronger than had been forecast and so bad that the stream became scattered and many aircraft strayed over known flak belts, so much so that the majority of the losses fell to anti-aircraft gunners. Six of the aircraft lost were from Wickenby, four from 12 Squadron alone. Three members of F/O Galton de Marigny’s crew survived to become prisoners while Sgt Alan Keveren, the bomb aimer in F/O Fred Hentsch’s crew evaded capture and made it back to England. There were no survivors from F/Lt John Bracewell’s crew but the pilot of the fourth aircraft, F/Sgt Colin Bates, managed to bail out along with his wireless operator. 626 Squadron lost its CO, W/Cmdr Quentin Ross’s aircraft being shot down by a night fighter. There were no survivors from his aircraft or that of F/Sgt Keith Margetts, another victim of a night fighter. Kelstern had another bad night with three aircraft lost, although four of those who survived evaded capture and made it back to England. Another night fighter victim was P/O Alfryn Jenkins’ 100 Squadron Lancaster.
Four Lancasters were also lost from 166 Squadron with only five men surviving while two were lost by 460 Squadron, including the Lancaster flown by F/Lt Allan McKinnon DFC, who was well into his second tour with the squadron. At Elsham four aircraft were shot down or wrecked, two from each of the resident squadrons. One of the 103 Squadron aircraft was flown by S/Ldr Ken Bickers, who was just 21, a flight commander and on the third operation of his second tour. The second aircraft made it back to England but only thanks to the remarkable efforts of its crew, who were on their fourth operation.
Coffee, a tot of rum and a chat with the padre. A 101 Squadron crew pictured on their return from Berlin, winter 1943. The notices on the wall remind crews to empty their pockets before leaving on operations as ‘the smallest item of personal property might provide valuable information to the enemy’, a further chilling reminder to crews that they might not make it back. (Vic Redfern)
P/O Fred Brownings’ Lancaster was attacked by a night fighter over Denmark, but, after beating off the attack, continued towards their target, where they were due to act as a PFF supporter. At this time they estimated the tail wind had reached a speed of 80mph, which meant they had to fly a zigzag course to ensure they didn’t arrive too early. Even so they did reach Berlin fractionally ahead of the main body of the Pathfinders and stirred up a hornet’s nest from the city’s defences. As they were turning away they were attacked by an Fw190, which made three passes, raking their M-Mother with cannon fire. The intercom was out of action, the mid-upper turret damaged while the rear gunner, Sgt Bob Thomas, had been killed. There was also a five-foot wide hole in the port wing and the flaps and tail trimmers were damaged. The aircraft had become so difficult to handle that the pilot had to use his knees and all his considerable strength in an effort to keep the Lancaster level. The parlous state of the aircraft and their remaining fuel meant they had to risk everything and fly through flak belts. As they approached one the wireless operator, F/Sgt Jack Spark, remembered seeing a night fighter coned in searchlights firing red and white Verey lights as a means of identification. There were some similar flares on board so he fired them and suddenly the searchlights went out and the anti-aircraft fire stopped. Once out over the North Sea the flight engineer P/O Arthur Richardson estimated they had just 20 minutes’ worth of fuel left, just enough to reach the Sussex coast. Firing off what remaining Verey cartridges they had left, they reached the airfield at Dunsfold, south of Guildford (the airfield later used as a test track in TV’s Top Gear). The landing lights were switched on for them and, after going round once, Fred Brownings finally got M-Mother onto the runway. With no flaps to slow them, they hurtled down the runway before hitting the wreckage of an American B-17 which had crash landed there a few days earlier. Brownings was awarded an immediate DFC along with Arthur Richardson, the navigator Ron Walker, the bomb aimer Norman Barker and there was a DFM for Jack Spark. Their luck held and all six who climbed out of M-Mother at Dunsfold survived the war.
Although the M-Mother’s survivors didn’t know it, the Battle of Berlin was over. It had been hugely costly but there was to be an even bigger price to pay in the weeks to come as Bomber Command turned its attention largely away from Germany.
Chapter 12
The Perfect Pilot
Wing Commander David Holford
DSO DFC and Bar
The attack on Berlin during the night of December 16-17, 1943, Bomber Command’s ‘Black Thursday’, cost the lives of 296 aircrew, more than half that of the number of RAF pilots killed in the entire three months of the Battle of Britain.
The highest-ranking airman who died that night was the 22-year-old pilot of Lancaster JB560, HW-N of 100 Squadron, which had only been at Waltham for less than three weeks. His name was David Holford. He was the youngest wing commander and squadron commanding officer in Bomber Command history. He was regarded as one of the best young officers ever to serve with 1 Group and was to be killed in freak circumstances at the end of a raid in which he had, as usual, flown with the greatest degree of courage and with the utmost skill. This is his story.
David Holford was born in Kingston-on-Thames in 1921. He was the nephew of S/Ldr D’Arcy Grieg, a World War One pilot and part of the RAF team which won the Schneider Trophy in 1929 and, from that point on, there was only to be one career his eight-year-old nephew would pursue.
In 1938 David, then just 17, began his flying training at Harwell in Berkshire and by March 1940 had completed courses on Harts, Oxfords, Ansons and finally Wellingtons, being assessed as ‘above average’ on each. In March that year he was posted to 99 Squadron at Newmarket where he was to fly 11 operations as a second pilot, six of them with F/Lt Percy Pickard, the man who would star as the fictional S/Ldr Dickson, skipper of F-Freddie in the hugely popular 1941 film, Target for Tonight, and would be killed in his Mosquito leading the Amiens prison raid in 1944.
‘He was a bright young lad,’ remembered Norman Didwell of Leighton Buzzard, who was a rigger on 99 Squadron and was part of Pickard’s ground crew. ‘Ground crew never really formed a close relationship with temporary aircrew, we had a more firm relationship with our regular aircrew. However, I do remember P/O Holford and I know that Percy Pickard really rated him as a pilot.’
David Holford (left), still a flight lieutenant, pictured at Elsham on the day he won his DSO. (Elsham Wolds Association)
At 19, P/O Holford was initially judged too young to have an aircraft of his own but by June 1940 he had done enough to persuade those in command of 99 Squadron of his capabilities and he became an aircraft captain in his own right, completing a further 15 operations. On July 31, 1940 his Wellington was part of a small force sent to attack an aircraft factory near Hamburg. When he arrived over the target, the area was covered in thick cloud and he went on to bomb the alternative target, marshalling yards at Oldenburg. Over the target area his aircraft was caught by searchlights and badly damaged by anti-aircraft fire which knocked out one engine. However, he managed to nurse the damaged aircraft back to Newmarket and was to receive a Mentioned in Despatches for his efforts. Shortly after this he was awarded a DFC and, as a mark of his abilities, was posted as an instructor to the newly-created 11 Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourn and was promoted to flying officer.
David Holford was to spend almost 14 months with 11 OTU and was again rated as ‘above average’ as an instructor but he saw his real role in the war as a bomber pilot. He did manage to fly one operation during his time there, a diversionary attack on Châlons in June, 1941, and was finally to get his wish to return to a front line squadron when he was posted to 103 Squadron at Elsham in North Lincolnshire on Oct
ober 3, 1941, by now with the rank of flight lieutenant. His first operation was to Dunkirk later in the month and eight nights later he and his crew were part of an attack on Frankfurt and his bombs were seen to hit the city’s main railway station. However, they were lucky to make it back after hitting a barrage balloon cable near Cardiff and having to make an emergency landing at Colerne in Wiltshire.
Undeterred, he and his crew reported seeing large fires in Hamburg on their next raid. They went on to complete 29 operations, one of them the daylight attack on the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau on February 12, 1942, Operation Fuller, which was to earn F/Lt Holford his DSO. (The two battle cruisers, plus the light cruiser Prinz Eugen, had been bottled up in the port of Brest where they had been subjected to repeated Bomber Command attacks over a three month period in operations which had cost the RAF 127 aircraft. On February 11, the three ships slipped out of Brest under cover of heavy cloud and were not spotted until they were off Boulogne early the next day. RAF bomber squadrons had been stood down because of the weather but, over the next few hours, 240 sorties were flown by Bomber Command and many more by Fighter Command and Fleet Air Arm aircraft in a bid to attack the ships. Only a handful of aircraft located the warships and even fewer were able to mount attacks and no hits were reported in what was the RAF’s largest daylight bomber operation of the war so far. The German ships, however, did not escape unscathed; both Scharnhorst and Prinz Eugen later struck mines laid by 5 Group Hampdens near the Frisian Islands)
A few weeks earlier he had met a young WAAF officer, Joan, who worked in Intelligence/Operations at Elsham. Their friendship had started to develop and she was to watch the events of that day unfold with heightened concerns for the 103 Squadron crews involved.
‘I happened to be alone in the Ops room when a call came through to say that the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau had escaped from Brest and had been seen in the Straits of Dover,’ she told the author. ‘All aircraft were to attack them as soon as possible and I lost no time in informing the station commander, G/Cpt Hugh Constantine, and all the others who needed to be informed.’
Unfortunately, the squadron had been stood down after a series of almost non-stop attacks on Brest and only two pilots were immediately available, S/Ldr Ian Cross and F/Lt David Holford. Three other Wellingtons were to take off later from Elsham. Two turned back with their bombs, unable to locate the warships while the third was unable to attack because of low cloud over the North Sea.
‘David and Ian rushed out to help their ground crews to make their aircraft ready with the utmost speed. They took off together and flew side by side until they saw the two ships and, wishing each other luck, attacked separately,’ said Joan.
‘David shadowed them, in and out of the cloud, for over an hour, experiencing intense flak from both of them. His crew told me later that it was a really terrifying experience as their aircraft was frequently hit. David gritted his teeth so hard that he actually loosened one of them and it came out a few weeks later!
‘He finally dropped his bombs and hoped they had caused some damage. Fortunately the flak did not hit anything vital, but the plane was full of holes when they returned to Elsham and David was awarded the DSO for his actions.
‘Sadly, Ian Cross was shot down and we later learned he was rescued and sent to Stalag Luft 3. He was one of the men who later escaped through the tunnels they had made, but was caught and was one of the 50 men shot on Hitler’s orders.’
Ian Cross had been one of 103’s flight commanders and David Holford was promoted to squadron leader and took over his duties.
On June 8, 1942 S/Ldr Holford completed his second tour of operations on June 8, 1942 at the age of just 21. He didn’t have to wait long for his next posting. 103 Squadron was to be the first to fly ‘heavies’ in 1 Group and he was going to command the conversion unit based at Elsham. In the meantime, he and Joan were married in Leigh-on-Sea in September and rented a small cottage in the nearby village of Elsham.
103 was to get Halifaxes and, aided by two experienced instructors, David Holford threw himself into his new task. By the end of July sufficient crews had been trained and enough new aircraft had arrived for the Halifaxes of 103 Squadron to make their operational debut. This came on the night of August 1-2 when seven aircraft took part in an attack on Düsseldorf. They were led, naturally, by S/Ldr David Holford, his aircraft returning with 36 flak holes in it. The squadron was to fly only a handful of operations with its Halifax IIs before the aircraft were replaced following a Bomber Command decision to equip all 1 Group squadrons with Lancasters.
103’s Conversion Flight was later to merge with 460 Squadron Conversion Flight, then based at Breighton in East Yorkshire, and together they moved to Lindholme to form 1656 Heavy Conversion Unit and in October 1942 David Holford was appointed officer commander B Flight. He was to remain there for well over a year but did manage to fly at least one operation, taking a Lancaster to Berlin on the night of January 17, 1943, in a raid when a number of HCU aircraft were involved.
One man who flew with him at both Elsham and Lindholme was Sgt Johnny Johnson, a young Australian flight engineer whose family came from Scotland.
He was later to write: ‘At times during the war, a Bomber Command squadron suffered high losses and shaken morale. This was the case in 103 Squadron, Elsham Wolds, in 1942. As ever, when things seem bleakest, a leader emerged from the pack, in this case, David Holford.
‘On first impressions he was a typical, neatly dressed RAF aircrew officer, smallish in stature, softly spoken, inconspicuous amongst the more animated, exuberant personalities. On meeting him, though, this first assessment proved wrong. Perhaps his charisma is best caught in the late Don Charlwood’s book, No Moon Tonight: “Of his words I remember little, but his dark, staring eyes I have never forgotten. I felt they had looked on the worst and, on looking beyond, had found serenity”.’
Johnny Johnson recalled that during his time at Elsham, David Holford had been selected to represent 1 Group aircrew at an informal meeting with the Chief of the Air Staff, Sir Charles Portal in January 1943, to regularise the length of a bomber crew’s tour of operations. Among the other men at the meeting were two who were to become Bomber Command legends, W/Cmdr Willie Tait and W/Cmdr Hamish Mahaddie. The outcome was a recommendation that a tour should consist of 30 sorties followed by nine months at an Operational Training Unit, followed by a second tour of no more than 20 sorties.
‘I flew with him three times on operations as his flight engineer and many times as an instructor on training flights. On operations he had one idiosyncrasy. After the normal: “All set boys? Here we go!” he would sing “I’ve got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle, as we ride merrily along” until wheels-up was ordered. I never asked him why. Maybe that’s how he saw life at that time, a bunch of cowboys in the sky, riding off to shoot up some German town.’
He remembered David Holford as rarely happier than when he was flying, particularly when he found himself weighed down by the administration work of a flight commander and later officer commanding the conversion unit.
‘Once or twice a week he would stick his head into my office with the call: “Get your helmet, Johnny!” With only two of us in a Lancaster, ostensibly for a test flight, we would take to the skies over the Humber. Alone above the earth, David Holford’s commanding officer-façade vanished. I soon learned that unlike other pilots who struggled to subdue a heavy bomber, an aircraft became part of him from the moment he reached the cockpit. Instead of finding myself flying with a stuffy officer, I discovered in his place a devil-may-care person determined to dissipate frustrations.
‘Most often he would seek out fat cumulous masses and then dive down cloud valleys, banking round their curves as he whooped with sheer élan, Another trick was to practice two-engines-out-on-one-side landings on the flat, white stratus, checking minimum speeds and reactions.
‘On one occasion we were over Mablethorpe and we feathered three engines to see if it was possible to glide back
to base. We managed it with just 3,000 feet to spare.
‘Sometimes we would fly over to Hemswell, where David would challenge some of the Polish fighter boys there to come up and get him if they could, and then demonstrated what was vintage David Holford. I was relegated to the rear turret on those occasions to give evasive directions and some days I had the huge red spinner of a Hurricane less than ten feet from where I was seated, with a wild fighter pilot making obscene gestures. Away we would go, with a happy-go-lucky pilot at the other end, twisting and turning over the sugar beet fields.’
Johnny Johnson also recalled the inspiration crews fresh from OTUs found when they listened and watched David Holford. He would always go out of his way to help crews reach operational standard and no condemnation of them ever escaped his lips. But some things he would not tolerate: lack of punctuality, crew members forgetting equipment and thus putting others at risk, and lack of respect for ground crews, with whom he had the greatest affinity.
In March 1943 Johnny Johnson went back to 103 to resume operations. ‘You lucky b*****!’ was David Holford’s reaction. In June that year Sgt Johnson bailed out of his Lancaster after it was involved in a collision over Gelsenkirchen and it was while he was a prisoner that he learned of David Holford’s death. In April 1945 he slipped away from his prison camp in the company of a Canadian airman and, after a tough march, they made it to Allied lines. As he sipped his first cup of British tea for two years his thoughts turned to David Holford. ‘He would have been proud of me! And his memory, plus the inspiration it provoked, must have reminded many aircrew of their pride in Bomber Command.’
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