Joey Jacobson's War

by Peter J. Usher

  Until June 1941, Hampden squadrons were equipped with only sixteen aircraft, and on any particular night, 106 Squadron contributed six to a dozen crews to Bomber Command operations, mostly on naval and industrial targets in northwestern Germany. Between February and the end of July, the squadron lost fourteen crews on operations, but managed to come through the first three weeks of the new air offensive unscathed until another crew was lost the day Joe and Roger arrived. But things would soon get worse.

  Until May, Hampden crews made their way to those targets using second pilots as navigators. The first specially trained air observers, mostly from Canada, began arriving that month, and within a few weeks they had entirely displaced second pilots from the “office.”

  The first two Canadian air observers arrived at 106 Squadron in May, and ten more were posted there in June and July. By August, three of the twelve had already become operational casualties, and three had been transferred to other squadrons. So Joe and Roger, along with Jack McIntyre, who had arrived the week prior, immediately became part of a Canadian fraternity of air observers who staffed a third of the squadron’s regular crews. Only one Canadian pilot had been posted to 106, and no wireless operators. The Canadian observers were quick to make their mark, especially those who had arrived with a commission, which very few British-trained air observers had yet been awarded. Several were picked out for special training on daylight operations, including Jim Erly, who had graduated at the top of his class at Rivers in December, and was soon flying as his wing commander’s observer. Erly was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his part in pressing the attack on the battlecruiser Gneisenau at Brest without breaking formation under intense enemy fire during a rare daylight raid in late July. He and two other Canadian air observers would be selected for another daylight operation the next month. And some of the earlier arrivals were already well into their first tour of operations: Rae Dunn had completed eighteen sorties, Doug McIver ten.

  The rivalry between the Dominion and British boys, now more friendly, continued. By moving on to an operational squadron, however, Joe had graduated from a world divided between instructors and pupils to one divided between officers and men. Even when they crewed together on a long and dangerous operation, after touchdown officers and NCOs made their way to separate messes and quarters to eat and sleep. But whether they were sergeants or junior officers, practically all aircrew were recent recruits fresh out of training.

  They would soon enough figure out the established patterns of hierarchy and seniority. Despite the RAF’s image as a meritocratic service unburdened by hoary traditions, the social distinctions between officers and NCOs, and between aircrew and ground crew, were deeply entrenched. The career pilots – upper-class men who had taken officer training at the air force academy at Cranwell before the war – were by then senior officers. Their place in the ranks was being taken by the influx of civilians to the RAF Volunteer Reserve, the short-service volunteers in only for the duration of the war. Some of them had been attracted from England’s public schools, but as the need grew, many others were drawn from the middle class, and supplemented by the newly arrived Canadians. Ground crew, many of them skilled tradesmen of long service but with no prospect of commission, were mainly of lower-middle-class origin. Not all of them took kindly to being leapfrogged by the new arrivals. To the extent that the RAF still regarded a public school background as an essential indicator of both leadership and flying skills, working-class lads were scarce on bomber stations, and even rarer in flying crews.

  August 5 began with a gale warning, but turned fair. Late that morning, RAF Coningsby was directed by telex from 5 Group Headquarters to prepare for an attack that night on the main railway station at Ludwigshaven. Joe was crewed with pilot Gerry Roberts, who was on his second sortie as a first pilot, having served as a second pilot in the observer position on seven operations in the spring. The two WO/AGs had been on squadron for nearly a month. One of them, Duncan Hodgkinson, who had already begun operations in July, would fly with Joe and Gerry regularly for the next four months.

  Ground crews brought out the bombs and loaded up each aircraft during the afternoon, while observers were briefed on the night’s objectives and weather forecasts. Right after briefing, Joe charted his aircraft’s course so as to arrive over Ludwigshaven between 0115 and 0200. It was still the practice in 1941 for each aircraft to make its separate way to the target area so as to arrive within a prescribed time period long enough for it to obtain a visual fix on the target and line up on the aiming point. If crews could not identify the primary aiming point, they were supposed to find some other likely target, or as a last resort, bomb flak concentrations visible through cloud, but they were not to return their bombs. It was, in effect, every crew for itself, do your best lads, and good luck.

  Ludwigshaven lay deep in German territory, over a hundred miles further up the Rhine from the usual targets in the Ruhr. It was too far from Lincolnshire to be safely reached under cover of darkness in the short nights of midsummer, so this was Bomber Command’s first big raid on the area since early May, amounting to ninety-eight aircraft. An entirely “freshman” crew would not have been assigned such a distant target, but Joe was the only new boy in this crew, and in good hands.

  As the shadows of evening lengthened, the four men emptied their pockets of anything – bus or cinema tickets, letters, or photos – that might disclose their flight’s origin. Then they donned their flying boots, sheepskins, helmets, goggles, and parachute harnesses, and gathered up their rations of coffee and chocolate. Then they were driven out to Hampden AE193, moored at the perimeter of the grass runway. Roberts as pilot climbed on to the port wing root and then into the cockpit. Joe, carrying his sack of navigation instruments, followed Roberts and sat behind him until airborne. The WO/AGs entered through a side door below the wing and took up their positions above and below at the rear of the aircraft. Jones, going first, took with him a wicker basket containing two pigeons, which he placed just forward of the upper turret. It would be his responsibility in an emergency to attach the tiny canisters to their legs, containing the location of the aircraft’s distress the observer had written on rice paper, and release the pigeons through his open window, with the birds facing forward and downward to begin their flight home.

  Hampden AE193 took off well after ten o’clock – just before sunset as the days were still long, and Double Summer Time was in effect. Joe crawled through the narrow passageway beneath the pilot’s seat to the plotting table in his “office” in the Perspex nosecone, and spread out his maps and instruments. The wireless operator listened to his set in silence, as any transmission, even on the ground before takeoff, could reveal the timing and direction of attack. Nonetheless, soon after becoming airborne, they were detected by German radar stations along the Dutch coast. So they were already in danger, even if they no longer presented a visible silhouette against the fading twilight in the northwest. Joe checked his position as they crossed the Dutch coast at twelve thousand feet. From there he navigated by dead reckoning, periodically recording his track and altitude in his navigator’s log and recalculating his course to the target on his chart. When openings in the cloud cover appeared, he tried to verify his dead reckoning by searching the moonlit but otherwise darkened landscape for visual fixes on landmarks that he could identify from his maps. Once deep into Germany, Joe tried to verify the direction and velocity of the wind through his drift sight so that he could adjust his bombsight accordingly.

  A few minutes before he expected to reach Ludwigshaven, Joe stowed his divider, ruler, and protractor, folded up his table, and turned off his shaded lamp to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The target area, a distinctive junction on the Rhine with Ludwigshaven on the left bank and Mannheim on the right, was not hard to find. But with mostly overcast skies, Joe couldn’t see the railway station, so he decided to bomb the secondary target of Mannheim across the river. Kneeling over his bombsight, now swung into position over the
Perspex oval at the front of the aircraft, Joe began lining up his target from about three miles away. Now pilot and observer needed the utmost coordination while trying to ignore the searchlights and anti-aircraft fire coming up from below. Joe needed Gerry to fly straight and level in order to stabilize his bombsight, while Gerry needed Joe to direct his course on the final run in. With the bomb bay doors now open, and at the moment Joe thought he had his target lined up, he pressed the bomb-release button. As the load of 500- and 250-pound high-explosive bombs, along with two cans of “deckers” (a form of incendiary bomb) fell away, the aircraft rose upward. Then Joe gave Gerry the course back to Coningsby, and settled in for the return trip. They arrived back at Coningsby safely, in low cloud, about two hours before sunrise, seven hours and ten minutes after taking off. Fourteen other 106 Squadron crews returned around the same time. Each was debriefed by intelligence officers about what they saw and did, over wartime coffee improved with rum. Joe’s crew reported they had been unable to observe the results of their bombing.

  By dawn, all crews were falling into bed, relieved to have survived, even if sleep did not come easily after the tension of the night’s work. The operations room at Coningsby had notified the Air Ministry that one squadron aircraft had failed to return. Joe recorded this sortie in the operational diary he began the next day:

  Made my first trip at night over Mannheim – 450 miles – My pilot was Sgt Roberts – trip uneventful – weather bad – flew at 12000' most of way – did not bomb target – but target district – got caught in searchlights once – we had little aak aak trouble.1 Arrived home after seven hours – safe and sound, tired but glad to hurdle the first trip successfully. We lost one plane – Jimmy MacIlraith, Les Knowles, Joe the Gen Man – saw lots of fires – we had about 200 planes around Frankfurt & Mannheim – only saw one fighter. The target was well plastered.

  (JJOD 5 August 1941)

  More sorties followed in quick succession. On the 7th, the squadron was detailed to bomb the Krupp steel works at Essen. The weather was promising, but Joe’s aircraft had to turn back as the intercom “packed up.” The next night, the squadron visited Deutsche Werke’s submarine yards at Kiel on the Baltic coast. Again the weather was good and the squadron record book claimed success. Joe set course mainly over the sea, avoiding landfall until close to Kiel. Helping him and Gerry Roberts along were two wireless operators who were decorated squadron veterans. They

  met little opposition – weaved in over the target – dropped the bombs & turned smartly back, leaving a terrific barrage of aak where we should have been it was mostly light aak aak and made a beautiful color display – the trip home was uneventful – we were chased around our drome by a JU88 & fired on by our own aak aak who were cockeyed – fortunately Mackenzie & Hammatt are a couple of veterans & lots of fun – there is no panic with them & they carry on a humorous running commentary at all times – Roberts is an excellent pilot. … Navigation on these trips is pretty well a matter of estimation & map reading around the target – the pilot has to be able to handle the plane & get out of the searchlight cones which are numerous & accurate. A lot of judgment has to be used when attacking the target. No sense barging in to a hail of fire – can often wait until they pick on somebody else, then nip in.

  Our squadron is getting real good – there are four top notch men who are responsible –

  1. Wing Co. Allen D.S.O., D.F.C. He is young, leads the daylights himself

  2. Sqdn Ldrs – Nelms, Boylan, Tudor – all go on raids – all top notch – Boylan & Tudor – the most popular – all young.

  (JJOD 7 August 1941)

  Boylan and Hammatt had taken Roger Rousseau with them the night before, and Joe was deeply impressed by how the veterans helped initiate the “freshmen” on their first sorties.

  Amazing life on ops … every day might be your last so a quiet stroll – a peaceful chat – a good book or a roary eyed binge is all the more significant – all the more appreciated. (JJD 7 August 1941)

  Lived thru one of the momentous weeks of my life – realized a cherished ambition – made two bombing trips over Germany – am well away – I can now realize just what stuff our type of civilization produces – we joke & kid around on trips as we do on a pleasure ride & we try for the target. (JJD 9 August 1941)

  On the 12th, Joe was briefed to attack the railway yards at Hanover, deep in Germany, which he described in his operational diary the following day:

  The weather was bad and all our planes were not sent – only four got off – the weather over the sea was rough – 10/10 CU [cumulus] at 10,000' – cleared over the Dutch coastline & again over the Zuider Sea – those were the only places I saw ground – we flew at 13,000' and often skirted around CB [cumulonimbus] clouds that towered to 15,000'. The black, powerful towering clouds were both beautiful and awe inspiring – we found Hanover by the searchlights – we dropped our bombs around the middle of the town – and were surrounded on all sides by searchlights and aak altho none put the bead on us. The trip back was the same as going out – 10/10 clouds – broken only at both coastlines and the added joy of good old English rain back at base – all our four craft returned safely.

  After a few easy trips you get the feeling that the whole thing is a cinch – a piece of cake – but a nice few minutes in searchlights or flak – or with fighters on your tail or damaged engines, etc. I imagine that feeling of confidence is soon dispelled. But so far the trips have been grand. My ambition at present is to get thru 200 hours and get cracking as a pilot. (JJOD 13 August 1941)

  The raid had been aborted shortly after takeoff, but four crews, including theirs, did not get the recall message and so proceeded on to Hanover. Nearly fifty years later, Joe’s pilot had not forgotten the weather conditions en route. The reason the raid was cancelled, he recalled, was a very active cold front over Holland. With only a couple of hundred hours’ flying time, he had had no experience flying in those conditions. It was a frightening affair, as they encountered thunderstorms over Holland, accompanied by both icing and St. Elmo’s fire, “blue fire, around prop tips and cockpit glass, ice slinging off props,” and the aircraft being “being flung up in the air several hundred feet and down again.”2

  Four days later the squadron sent twenty aircraft to bomb the railway marshalling yards at Dusseldorf. Joe’s aircraft, carrying two 500-pound bombs, two 250-pound bombs, and canisters of incendiaries, was also equipped with a camera.

  The weather – nothing to brag about – the trip plenty tough – there is a thirty to sixty mile long searchlight belt – and five to ten miles deep that has to be crossed – there is no flak in this belt but there are fighters which probably accounted for a good percentage of the thirteen planes lost. We lost two – Johnny Cook – and Acres – poor show – [nearly got it ourselves a couple of times].3

  We could not identify the target but certainly got a pasting from the aak defences.

  I have been blissfully ignorant of the fire we have drawn because most of it has been a little late and on and right beneath our tail – the rear gunner Hodgkinson and Robby the pilot have calm intimate discussions as to the proximity of the flak whilst Robby keeps on weaving and climbing or diving – it is all very calm and dispassionate.

  We weaved thru the searchlight area in masterly style but about a dozen planes did not. They got shot down. It takes about 15 minutes to get thru. I lean over the navigator’s table – eat my rations of chocolate and biscuits with coffee and wonder how soon they will pick us up. It entrances me to see powerful searchlights sweeping 15,000' high – sweep the skies trying to pick you up for their fighter & aak – we had a close shave at the airdrome when we missed one of our planes by 5 feet while circling the beacon waiting to land.

  The whole trip was a test of nerves. Once the plane leaves the ground you become a different person until the wheels touch again. All the little problems and joys of life cease to be thought of your whole being is concentrated on flying – on the weather – [height] –
air speed – navigation, map reading – Jerries, flak, searchlights and anything else of interest. You are wide awake, alert and active – you react clearly – most people are calm, level-headed – your nerves only trouble you on the ground when you think of the close shaves – near misses – real danger. (JJOD 16 August 1941)

  106 Squadron’s twenty Hampdens, the largest number yet detailed on a single raid by the squadron, constituted nearly one-third of Bomber Command’s aircraft dispatched to Dusseldorf that night. Although the weather was generally good, the target was obscured by ground haze. Joe’s crew reported to intelligence that they reached the city and bombed it, but had not observed any bomb bursts owing to flak.

  Joe had been on five sorties in twelve days. He reported reaching and bombing the target area on each occasion (save the aborted sortie), but only once could he clearly see the target itself, and where his bombs actually landed. Twice the aiming point was obscured by cloud, and on the other occasion the anti-aircraft fire was so heavy he could neither see the target itself nor where his bombs dropped. Only the Kiel sortie seemed to have been an unqualified success.

  Joe was exhilarated and amazed at having completed his first few sorties. He was now confident that he could do the job for which he had been trained, and inspired by the leadership qualities he saw in his squadron commanders. His senses heightened in the midst of action, Joe saw a terrible and awesome beauty in the dangerous cloud formations, the probing searchlights, and the rising curtain of exploding anti-aircraft shells. After his first few sorties, Joe summarized “life on an operational squadron”:

  Briefing is exciting at first – routine later on – unless something special is up I guess – When the plane leaves the ground you are in a different world – the whole crew becomes suddenly intimate – your mind and body functions perfectly – you have to be ready and expect everything and anything – except getting pranged I guess –