His second and final single-Lancaster nuisance raid began in the early hours of April 1. O’Donoghue and his crew were allocated Lancaster ED626, a virtually new aircraft which had only been delivered to the squadron earlier that month.
They took off at 4.30am and their target this time was the little town of Emmerich on the Rhine which they planned to reach at dawn. The weather was again foul with strong winds lashing Elsham and the cloud base so low it seemed to be pressing down on the airfield. O’Donoghue again hoped to catch the Germans napping and it appears that, initially, he was successful. The Lancaster was believed to have reached its target and bombed at first light but it was then that his luck ran out.
The whole of Northern Europe was covered by the world’s most sophisticated air-defence system and, once the Lancaster was picked up on radar, a chain of event began which was to lead to the destruction of ED626 and the deaths of all those on board.
One of the Luftwaffe’s crack day fighter units, 3/JG1, was based at Arnhem/Deelen in Holland, and its Fw190s were scrambled to intercept the Lancaster as it turned for home. It is likely they took only minutes to find the bomber and the ensuing fight would have been a grossly unequal one. At around 7.20am an RAF listening post picked up a distress call and two minutes later the bomber crashed in flames five miles east of Harderwijk, a small town in the centre of Holland. The ‘kill’ was later credited to Ofw Fritz Timm, one of JG1’s least experienced fighter pilots. Timm was to go on to become a Luftwaffe ace with five Allied aircraft to his credit before he, too, was killed in combat at the end of May, 1944.
Back at Elsham there was an ominous silence. Crews who had been woken early that morning by the sound of O’Donoghue’s take-off began to look at their watches and wonder whether this time his luck had finally run out.
At the station tannoy summoned all crews to the briefing room where they were told that a distress call had been picked up from a single aircraft which had been hit as it was believed to be crossing the Dutch coast on its way back to England. There was a chance, the men were told, that the Lancaster had ditched in the North Sea.
Australian Don Charlwood, who flew as the navigator in Geoff Maddern’s crew, later recalled: ‘We were ordered out on a square search in the area east of The Wash but our chances of success were negligible. Met had forecast waves of 30 to 40 feet high and the gale was still blowing.
‘All that morning we flew, scanning the changing mountains and valleys of the grey North Sea. White-caps rose and broke, lashed by squall after squall before eventually we flew back across the scudding clouds and the windmills of Norfolk with little hope that anyone would have anything to report.
‘When we reached Elsham it was to learn that the German radio had claimed a single heavy bomber shot down. All members of crew had been killed. Perhaps the listening post had heard O’Donoghue’s last call.’
The confusion over the location of the crash probably emanated from that last message from the dying Lancaster. Harderwijk is some distance from the North Sea but the town is bordered by the Veluwe Meer, one of the inland waterways which are a feature of this part of Gelderland and, in the murk of that terrifying morning, perhaps the crew of ED626 mistook that for the coast.
Today six of the crew, O’Donoghue, F/Os Ashcroft and Burns, and Sgts Callaghan, Fry and Winn, lay side by side in the British military section of Harderwijk General Cemetery. The rear gunner, Sgt Stafford, is buried some 15 miles away in the Amersfoot (Oud Leusden) General Cemetery, suggesting that somehow he became separated from the rest of his crew in the final seconds of Ofw Timms’s attack.
Whatever did happen, Bomber Command learned a simple message that All Fools’ Day morning, four-engined bombers were not suited to daylight nuisance raids whatever the weather. There would be no repeat of S/Ldr O’Donoghue’s exploits nor would there be any medals for him and his crew.
The hero who took his Lancaster home for tea
Medals were not always awarded for a single act of courage. Many went to airmen who showed outstanding courage and determination over long periods of operations. Once such was Arthur Harrington Jefferies, one of the most colourful characters to fly with 1 Group. He was a man destined to fly on some of the most harrowing operations during the long, hard winter of 1943-44 and was to be awarded a Conspicuous Gallantry Medal. But his devil-may-care attitude to authority and his disciplinary record meant that when he was killed on his 29th operation he was still an NCO, something almost unheard of for a pilot of his experience and undoubted ability.
F/Sgt Jefferies had joined the RAF at 18 and was to have numerous brushes with authority during his short career in Bomber Command. He had already had one spell on a disciplinary course before going to 1662 Heavy Conversion Unit at Blyton in April 1943. He then joined 101 Squadron at Holme-on-Spalding Moor where he flew four operations before the move to Ludford. From there he was to fly on a number of raids, including Hamburg where he nursed his badly damaged Lancaster back to Ludford.
At the end of August 1943 he appears to have run into problems once more and was sent to the RAF disciplinary centre in Sheffield. He finally returned to Ludford in November but was immediately sent to Lindholme where he joined a new crew which was posted to C Flight of 100 Squadron.
Soon after they arrived at Waltham they became part of the new 550 Squadron and later moved to North Killingholme. There a blind eye was often turned to his disregard of RAF discipline. He wore his cap at a jaunty angle, left more than the regulation number of buttons unfastened and walked everywhere with his hands firmly in his pocket, which is perhaps why he died on the Nuremberg raid still a non-commissioned officer. Ted Stones, who served on Jefferies’ ground crew, later recalled: ‘One cold winter’s day Jefferies and I were walking past the guardroom when the Station Warrant Officer, ‘Lavender’ Yardley, stepped out, told him off and said he ought to be setting an example. Arthur replied: “I am. Its bloody cold and they ought to keep their hands in their pockets too!”’
One day in December 1943, with the Battle of Berlin at its height, Arthur and his crew were detailed to fly their aircraft LM425 N-Nan on an air test and then a practice bombing operation on one of the coastal ranges. This didn’t go down too well with Jefferies and his crew. They had been planning a night out in Grimsby but, instead, it looked like they would be stuck at Waltham after returning from their bombing exercise. This was when Arthur Jefferies came up with the idea of a slight diversion in their flight plan, to the USAAF airfield at Grove, just a few miles from his parent’s home in Wantage, Berkshire.
They took two or three of their ground crew with them and, once they landed at Grove, they were only too happy to guard their Lancaster, N-Nan, taking it in turns to visit the nearby American PX to stock up on supplies that were all too rare at Waltham. In the meantime, Jefferies and his crew talked the Americans into lending them a jeep and they promptly drove off to his home where his mother was only too pleased to serve a splendid tea for her son and his friends.
On their return to Waltham they left N-Nan at its dispersal and went to their billet only to be summoned over the station tannoy for an official dressing down. Their failure to return from their exercise had led to the Observer Corps being asked to report any crashed aircraft and air-sea rescue units being alerted to be on the look-out for ditched aircraft while all the time they had been tucking into Mrs Jefferies’ tea in distant Wantage.
The following night they were on operations again and left Waltham for Berlin, one of the eight raids the crew was to complete on the German capital.
At both Waltham and North Killingholme, senior officers saw beyond the lack of discipline, the uniform buttons left unfastened. They saw an outstanding young pilot who never failed to press home an attack and, following a raid on Stuttgart in March, he was recommended for a CGM. ‘His coolness and deliberation in driving home his attacks have at all times been an inspiration to his comrades,’ wrote his CO, W/Cmdr Jimmy Bennett. Notification of his award of the CGM arrived at North
Killingholme on the very day that F/Sgt Jefferies died along with three members of his crew when they were shot down on their way to Nuremburg. He was just 21 years of age and it was his parents, George and Bertha Jefferies, who later received his medal and were left to mourn the young man who once flew 150 miles to bring his entire crew home to tea.
Binbrook’s one-legged gunner
Flying Officer Roberts Dunston was awarded the Distinguished Service Order after completing 30 operations flying as rear gunner in a 460 Squadron Lancaster at Binbrook. What made Bob Dunstan extraordinary was that he did it with just one leg.
Bob Dunstan (third left) with his crew at Binbrook, 1944. (Laurie Wood)
Dunstan had joined the Australian Army straight from school at the age of 17 in 1940 and was part of 2/8th Field Company which was sent to Egypt to fight the Italians. His company was quickly absorbed into the 6th Division Engineers and took part in the successful attack on Bardia in January 1941. A few days later his unit was tasked with checking the Italian minefields, pill boxes, machine gun posts and tank traps prior to the Australian assault on Tobruk when their vehicles were fired on by Italian artillery. A shell burst 50 yards from his truck and, by some cruel stroke of misfortune, young Roberts Dunstan was hit in the right knee by a splinter.
He was taken to a first-aid post and then endured an agonising overnight drive in a field ambulance to a casualty clearing station. After a brief stop, he was transferred by the hospital ship Dorsetshire to an Australian military hospital in Alexandria. Medics there examined his wound and told him he’d nothing to worry about. But the wound became infected, he later remembered being given anaesthetic and waking up in agony in a different ward. Four days later he was told his right leg had been amputated.
In May that year he returned to Australia and nine months later was discharged from the Australian Army with £50 back pay and a new aluminium leg. He returned to his home in Mount Eliza, Victoria to recuperate and, still only 18, went back to school to complete his studies. By now he realised most of his old chums in the 2/8th were either dead or in German PoW camps while he was living in a peaceful suburb of Melbourne. ‘I found myself impatient,’ he later recalled, ‘wanting like hell to be in it again.’
That’s when he spotted a recruiting poster for the Royal Australian Air Force, proclaiming ‘It’s a Man’s Job!’ At first he dismissed the idea. After all, he’d only got one leg. But then he thought more about it. He met the educational standards, he had been in the military and he had a good knowledge of gunnery. So, trying to put a swing into his somewhat lop-sided step, he went to the local recruiting office where, initially, no one seemed interested in taking on a one-legged flyer. But Dunstan was a persistent young man and kept trying, returning day after day after his classes in law at Geelong High School ended. Then, much to his surprise, a letter arrived at the family home telling him he’d been accepted and, because of his previous service, recruit training was waived. A year to the day after arriving back in Australia he reported for duty at the No 2 Bombing and Gunnery School at Port Pirie.
After a four-week course which involved numerous flights in Fairey Battles shooting at drogues, he was one of 70 wireless operators/air gunners to receive their brevets and was promoted to sergeant air-gunner. In November 1942, he was among 800 young RAAF officers and NCOs to arrive at Avonmouth on the troopship Highland Brigade. He was to spend time looking up distant relatives and spent time in Bournemouth and London where he was intensely proud to see so many Aussie uniforms.
He went to 27 OTU at Lichfield where most Australian crews received their initial training on Wellingtons. Here he joined the crew of Tom Clayton, a 20-year-old pilot from Liverpool, Aussie bomb aimer Colin Francis, wireless operator Eric Clemens and navigator Laurence (Tich) Richards, both Londoners who had gone through the blitz before joining the RAF. Then it was on to 1 Group’s 1656 HCU at Lindholme in South Yorkshire, where Tom Clayton was replaced by F/Lt John (inevitably ‘Nobby’) Clark while two Australian sergeants, Ian Murray from Western Australia and Vin Hegarty from Adelaide, joined as flight engineer and mid-upper gunner respectively. Now with five Australians in the crew they found themselves posted to 460 Squadron RAAF, which had recently moved from Breighton to Binbrook.
Lancasters were not easy aircraft to get around in, even if you had two legs. Dunstan found the easiest way to get to his rear turret was to unstrap his leg and then crawl along the fuselage before climbing into his gunner’s seat, leaving the leg back in the fuselage with his parachute. Quite how he would have coped in an emergency is not recorded. No doubt given his determination he decided it was a bridge he would cross when he came to it.
At Binbrook his crew were allocated a veteran Lancaster Mk 1, W4927, which had been given the squadron code AR-C but which was, for some reason, always referred to as Dog-2. It was to prove a lucky aircraft for Nobby Clark and his crew. Their first operation was on June 11, 1943 when they were part of a force of 783 aircraft which attacked Dusseldorf. Over the target they were caught by several searchlights and spent a hair-raising few minutes trying to escape. Their aircraft was hit numerous times by shrapnel and the bomb aimer Colin Francis had his helmet blown off by one small shell fragment. Back at Binbrook, the holes were patched up and Dog-2 took them to Bochum and back the following night.
The Binbrook crews were to get a taste of what it was to be on the receiving end when they spent a night in the shelters as nearby Grimsby suffered a heavy attack from the Luftwaffe. The Battle of the Ruhr was at its height and Dog-2 joined the bomber streams for attacks on Oberhausen, Cologne, Krefeld and Mulheim before the crew were given six precious days of leave. Dunstan took the opportunity to go to Edinburgh with Vin Hegarty, who had relatives there and who he was keen to show a piece of Happy Valley flak which had hit him in the shoulder but had failed to penetrate his leather flying jacket.
Turin, Hamburg, Mannheim, Nuremburg.... the raids went on. Early in August Dog-2’s crew was stood down briefly from operations and planned a raucous night out in Grimsby. But as they went into the mess for lunch, Dunstan was pulled to one side and told he would be flying as a replacement rear gunner with the station CO, the legendary Australian Group Captain Hughie Edwards VC DSO DFC, whose courage was almost matched by his reputation for hairy Lancaster take-offs and landings. Dunstan joined Edwards’ crew and they made their way out to E-Edwards’ dispersal where the group captain joined them ready for what proved to be an uneventful trip to Berlin and back. The landing, however, was far from faultless, Edwards missing the runway as he thumped the Lancaster down, later offering his apologies to his crew. Dunstan, however, was later to recall that that night’s entry in his log book was the one he was most proud of. The following night he got his reward from Edwards, an invitation to dance with actress Vivian Leigh who was visiting the station.
In October Dunstan was promoted to pilot officer with just two operations to go before he would complete his tour. That afternoon the crews at Binbrook were briefed for a raid on Kassel, a city they had been to before and a target which held no particular terrors for them. Of all the Ruhr targets, this was one of the easy ones, or so they thought.
As they approached the target they saw the night-fighters at work, with first one bomber go down and then another. Searchlights were everywhere; it was one of those nights crews would later recall they could walk on the flak, it was that intense. But then disaster struck Dog-2 from an unexpected source, incendiaries dropped from another Lancaster above them. At least five struck their aircraft, one landing in the lap of the flight engineer before he managed to throw it out. The navigator and flight engineer were told to go and find the others and they dealt with four more just before Dog-2 was attacked by a night fighter. The port tail plane was shredded by cannon shells, one of which exploded close to Dunstan’s turret, fragments ripping the sleeve of his heated suit.
With Vin Hegarty directing things from his turret, Nobby Clark managed to evade a second pass by the fighter but it was to take all hi
s skill to keep Dog-2 flying. The port elevator was damaged, the rudder and elector trims were damaged as were the hydraulics and the oxygen supply to both turrets, leaving both gunners incapacitated. Dunstan was later told he spent much of the homeward journey swearing profusely over the intercom system
It took all the efforts of the pilot to keep the Lancaster flying, Clark flying most of the way back to England with his feet on the instrument panel to give him the leverage to keep the stick back and the nose up.
Back over England they descended to 8,000 feet, which allowed both gunners to recover their senses. The wireless operator, Eric Clemens, went back through the fuselage to chop a way through to the rear turret to allow Dunstan to crawl out to take up his crash position before Dog-2 made a perfect wheels-up landing in a field close to the neighbouring bomber airfield at Kelstern. The following morning the crew returned to the crash site to say a fond farewell to Dog-2, the Lancaster that had taken them on 29 bombing operations. The aircraft was second only in 460 Squadron longevity to the legendary G-George, which now resides in Australia’s national war museum.
Arthur Jefferies (marked with a cross) pictured with five of his 550 Squadron crew a few days before he died on the Nuremburg raid. (Author’s collection)
The crew completed their 30th and final operation over Dusseldorf on the night of November 3-4, 1943. After being screened from operations Dunstan was awarded his DSO and went back to Lindholme as an instructor before returning to Australia as something of a national hero. He was to be reunited with 460 Squadron’s G-George when he was invited to fly in the veteran Lancaster on a war bond promotional tour around the country at the end of the year.
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