Joey Jacobson's War

by Peter J. Usher

  The next night, Bomber Command sent forty-seven aircraft to Münster, a railway centre northeast of the Ruhr. This was the first raid of the year on an inland target, and it achieved modest success. 106 squadron did not take part. Operations were scrubbed for the next few days on account of weather, but on the 26th, a larger raid was mounted on Hanover, another inland target. Again the weather was less than ideal and fewer than half of the crews bombed the target.

  Just before ten o’clock on the morning of the 28th, the Operations Room at Coningsby was advised of a major effort by 5 Group for the night. It would be the largest attack on an inland target since the Huls raid at the end of December. The target was initially specified as Hanover again, but in late afternoon was changed to Münster.

  Ultimately, twenty-nine Hampdens were detailed for the operation, along with fifty-five Wellingtons from 1 and 3 Groups. The primary target was the main railway station, but if crews could not identify it, they were instructed to bomb the town. Each aircraft was loaded with one one-thousand-pound bomb and two five-hundred-pound bombs. The Münster operation was not intended as a fire-raising raid and no crews carried incendiaries. Time over target was specified as 2000 to 2030. Ten 106 Squadron crews, including Joe’s, were detailed for operations that night.

  Observers went to briefing at 1400. Within the hour Bomber Command asked all crews going over Holland to take particular note of weather conditions, snow, and ice, and to send in a report as soon as they landed.3 The ten aircraft took off in fading light and into the clouds, a minute or so apart, starting at 1754. Their track would take them directly over the North Sea to the northwest tip of Holland, then with a slight turn southeastward, to Münster, with a prescribed time over target of just over two hours later. Selfe, Jacobson, Hodgkinson, and Harding, flying AT122, were fourth up at 1757.

  Two of the ten aircraft returned to base within the hour, one with wireless failure and the other with engine problems. Another returned early, having encountered severe icing en route and jettisoned its bombs at sea. At the same time, Coningsby received a message from AT121 over the Dutch coast that it was returning at half-speed owing failure of its port engine. Half an hour later, a fourth aircraft returned, having been unable to locate the target in ten-tenths cloud. Its crew bombed Ostende on the Belgian coast as a last resort target before returning. Two aircraft returned before midnight, having bombed from eighteen thousand feet on estimated time of arrival. The target was not visible, but both aircraft encountered heavy flak over what they believed to be Münster. Four aircraft failed to return, and were reported as missing at 0230 on the 29th.

  X3058 ditched off the East Anglia coast on its return. All four crew managed to get into the dinghy, but when rescue came late the next afternoon, all but the pilot had succumbed to cold. The air observer was another Canadian, Sgt. Alexander Granton Patrick, who had been posted to 106 Squadron ten days before.4 Joe had barely met him. AT121, which was last heard from over Holland, suffered engine failure and crashed into a house in the Langestraat at Den Helder. Two of the crew were killed and two taken prisoner. Nothing was heard of P4398 and AT122. The squadron diary recorded of the Münster raid:

  so far as the squadron was concerned, the raid had disastrous results, no fewer than four aircraft failing to return. Never before have so many aircraft been lost in one raid. The weather was almost certainly the cause of these losses, as it was intensely cold with snow storms and severe icing.5

  Of the approximately eighty-four aircraft dispatched to Münster, fewer than half reached the target. None actually saw it, and so they bombed flak concentrations through cloud on estimated time of arrival. Northwest Europe was blanketed in cloud that night – not ordinary winter cloud but towering cumulonimbus with severe turbulence and icing conditions, which no aircraft was capable of surmounting. Most of the aircraft that turned back did so because of those conditions, and most of those that did get to Münster encountered icing. 106 Squadron had indeed borne the brunt of the losses that night, although one Wellington aircraft from 214 Squadron was also lost without trace.

  The night of January 28 turned out to be yet another in a string of futile raids on German targets since the Berlin raid in November. If ever the weather conditions were unfavourable and aircraft exposed to extreme hazard – the very conditions under which the Air Council had in November advised against operations – it was on the night of 28 January. The loss rate of 6 percent cannot have been entirely unforeseen.

  Was the Münster operation an attack unduly pressed in the circumstances? Where is the line between aggressive action and unnecessary risk? How important was that operation in the scheme of things at the time? The November directive had cautioned against taking excessive risks in bad weather, although it did not preclude experimenting with new tactics or techniques while regrouping for a more effective offensive the next spring. Yet there does not seem to be any evidence that Münster that night presented a target worth incurring heavy casualties. Was there some other objective or experiment in mind on the 28th, as headquarters’ specific instructions about observing weather and ground conditions might suggest?

  Bomber Command could not cease operations altogether; at the very least, it had to demonstrate its determination to strike regardless of adversity. The Command pushed the operational limits in its desperation that winter – the daylight attacks on Brest, the daylight sneakers, and night operations in terrible conditions – in order to engage the enemy as best it could. Over two hundred crews were lost in the offensive between mid-November and the end of January. Perhaps the best that may be said of those months is that, although little damage was inflicted on Germany at the time, the Command was learning how to do so in the future.

  Something had gone very wrong on board AT122 between the Dutch coast and Münster on the evening of the 28th. Certainly the aircraft passed through a weather front over the Netherlands an hour or so after takeoff. It must have experienced severe icing en route, as did so many other aircraft on the Münster raid that night. The weight of ice would have slowed the aircraft and made it more difficult to control, and increased its rate of fuel consumption. Critical aircraft instruments, including the airspeed indicator, may also have been impaired. It was a difficult situation for even an experienced pilot, and Selfe did not yet have that experience. These conditions likely delayed the aircraft’s progress enough that it would have arrived late over the target. Still, AT122 was aloft at eight o’clock, so it had managed to pass through the initial zone of freezing conditions. But these likely recurred en route.

  By then AT122 was approaching the Kammhuber line at the eastern tip of Holland, about fifteen minutes’ flying time from Münster. The Luftwaffe’s night-fighters were grounded because of the weather, but the anti-aircraft guns to the east had free rein, and flak was reported by other crews to be heavy and accurate despite the cloud cover. A direct hit by flak that could have punctured a fuel line or tank, perhaps even damaged an engine, would certainly have compounded the situation AT122 was already experiencing. But the aircraft almost certainly never got as far as Münster’s anti-aircraft batteries. With the prospect of severe headwinds on the return journey, the crew was already confronted with a fuel problem that reduced their remaining available flying time. And as Joe had already noted, Selfe was still learning how to economize on fuel. If they had concluded that there was not enough fuel to return to England, then their choice was to ditch in the North Sea or attempt a forced landing in the Netherlands. Prospects for survival in an emergency dinghy in the North Sea in January were dim.

  It was a terrible choice, but as captain it was Joe’s to make. His urge to press on regardless, when flying with Gerry Roberts, had likely given way to caution while flying with Robin Selfe. A forced landing in the Netherlands, if successful, offered at least a better chance of survival, and perhaps even the possibility of evasion and eventual return to England.6 In preparation, Joe took the precaution of releasing their bomb load. To this day, at least two bomb craters,
about two metres deep and five metres across, are evident in the wooded area northeast of Lievelde. Although the site is now overgrown, at least two and possibly three craters at the edge of a small wooded area are visible in air photographs taken in 1945. AT122 carried three bombs: one one-thousand-pounder and two five-hundred-pounders. The crater locations indicate that the bombs fell in a line running more or less north-south, with the closest crater just under two kilometres directly north of the crash site. It seems from the nature of impact that at least some of the bombs were armed.

  The aircraft was by this time difficult to control, but not out of control. Joe had abandoned his position in the nose and was kneeling just behind Selfe as they searched for an opportune place to land. With the moon approximately three-quarters full, they could distinguish between forest and field at low altitude, even if it was snowing. Now close to the ground, they could see a flat field with no apparent obstructions. It appeared to be the best choice in what was now a desperate situation. Although one can be instructed in forced landings, one cannot practise them. There was only one chance to get it right. Selfe gave it his best attempt, but the circumstances defeated him.

  The aircraft approached from the southeast on its final descent, clipping the tops of the trees before crash-landing near the northern edge of the field. It was still oriented in the general direction of its approach, and so must have completed a near U-turn after releasing its bomb load. This is consistent with recollections of the aircraft being heard to pass nearby more than once, but in any event the time between bomb release and final descent cannot have been more than a few minutes. Those final minutes, again according to local accounts, occurred after curfew (eight o’clock in the evening), and probably very shortly after. A little over two hours had elapsed since takeoff.

  AT122 had come down east of Lichtenvoorde, in Holland, somewhat less than twenty miles south-southwest of its prescribed track, and about forty miles short of Münster. They had probably lost some time on the way, climbing or descending to escape icing and turbulence, but their time over Lichtenvoorde would still have had them within schedule to reach their target within the prescribed time period. Those aircraft that did reach Münster managed to do so between 2000 and 2030. So Jacobson and crew almost certainly couldn’t have reached Münster, or even thought they might have. If they had, they would have released their bombs over visible flak concentrations, as did most other crews.

  Photographs taken afterwards, although grainy, reveal that the aircraft had sustained severe damage when it hit the ground. (See pages 342 and 343.) The tail boom broke loose from the main fuselage on impact and is lying on the ground. Lying to the left of the aircraft is what appears to be a section of the fuselage, possibly the part behind the rear gunner’s cage (it may be the same piece of the fuselage that is piled in front of the workers dismantling the aircraft). Possibly the pilot’s canopy area is missing. The port engine dug into the ground, the propeller blades are bent, and the port wing appears to have broken off. All this is consistent with police descriptions of the aircraft as “totally destroyed,” and with other witness recollections of the aircraft lying in several pieces. The aircraft may have gone into an unrecoverable sideslip on final approach, as Hampdens were known to do. Or it may have stalled when it clipped the treetops, coming down at a steep enough angle to cause the tail boom and the end of the fuselage to separate on impact and fall back on either side of the aircraft. There is no indication that it skidded on the snow after the initial impact.

  In the event of a Hampden’s forced landing, the air observer was to evacuate his forward cockpit and sit behind the pilot, as Joe had already done. The wireless operator and gunner were to move forward and brace themselves with their backs against the main spar, facing backward. In at least one witness account, the crew was found “two by two,” indicating that they had indeed assumed forced landing position.

  None of the accounts indicate that anyone was wearing his parachute, ready to bail out. Nor is there any indication that anyone attempted to bail out, although under the circumstances it seems unlikely that he could have. In icing conditions, the latches on Hampdens stick and render escape hatches inoperable. Joe had written on more than one occasion about the observer’s poor prospects for emergency escape from a Hampden. Perhaps by the time the need to bail out was inevitable, it was no longer possible.

  None of the crew except the pilot would have been strapped in. There were several large and heavy unsecured items inside the aircraft, including ammunition drums, and the batteries were positioned behind the crew in their assumed positions. Any of these items coming loose on impact would have pitched forward into the men. The impact was almost certainly great enough to have caused severe internal, skeletal, and spinal injuries, and at least one of the crew suffered a fatal head wound. If death was not instant, it must have come soon. The doctor who examined the scene the next morning asserted, decades after the event, that he might have been able to save some of the men if he had arrived on the scene earlier. But as they were dressed in their heavy flying suits when he inspected the aircraft the next morning, he might not have been able to observe the full extent of their injuries. Several veterans of 106 Squadron later came to believe that the aircraft had come down in a blizzard, and that the crew had frozen to death, possibly trying to wait it out before emerging. The basis for this speculation is unclear but it seems improbable. Aircrews were under instructions to set fire to their aircraft and destroy it if they came down in enemy territory. Presumably if they had been able to get out and do that, they would have.

  Over seventy years after the event, it seems unlikely that more can be said about the fate of AT122 and its crew. Exactly why the fatal crash occurred can never be known. But F/Sgt. Joe Jacobson’s part in holding Bomber Command’s place on the front line that winter was over. He had held on to the end, unflinching, never wavering in his conviction of the war’s rightness and purpose, or in his faith in the future.

  Part Five

  Failed to Return

  I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

  — Abraham Lincoln, letter to a grieving mother, 1864

  War is the greatest of all agents of change. It speeds up all processes, wipes out minor distractions, brings realities to the surface.

  — George Orwell, The Lion and the Unicorn, 1941

  The cable that every family dreaded, but so many received. (Canadian Jewish Archives)

  Thirty

  Requiem

  The cable arrived in Montreal on Friday morning, followed by a letter from Joe’s squadron leader at Coningsby:

  He was Navigator of an aircraft which left here on the night of the twenty-eighth of January to bomb a target in Munster, and I regret that he did not return. Although fair at the start, the weather became most unfavourable, and several other aircraft of the Squadron were forced to turn back owing to the thick cloud and severe icing conditions. No messages were received from the aircraft, and I am afraid there is nothing to indicate the cause of its loss. It is possible, however, that it made a forced landing, and that the crew, although prisoners of war, are safe. …

  Your son had served in this Squadron for several months and had won for himself a reputation as a brilliant navigator. He had taken part in twenty-three raids over enemy territory, performing his difficult and dangerous duties always with skill and courage. He was very popular here, and we all appreciate the motives which brought him from Canada to help this country in her hour of need. I hope that it will be some small consolation to you that he has served us loyally and successfully. … (30 January 1942)

  Percy and May received the news while spending a long weekend in St. Agathe in the Laurentians.

  Friday we received word that [Joe] was missing during regular flying operations. … at 8 30 AM I was called to th
e telephone. Long distance from Montreal. Early morning calls usually denote disaster. Edith read the cable to me over the phone. It was a message that I had almost expected for the past two and half years. I never read in the paper or heard over the radio particulars of an RAF raid over Germany with the usual summing up of so many of our planes failed to return, without that fear in my heart. May tells me now she felt the same way. The shock did not find us altogether vulnerable. May stood up to the news like a major. Our first thought was to get home as quickly as possible. Then the question … what for? We telephoned Edith and Janet and they joined us … they stayed just the weekend. We remained until the Thursday. Thus May avoided the hundreds of telephone calls. When we came home there were many letters. However, we decided that this is no time for personal grief. The whole world is steeped in misery. Who are we to complain? Perhaps this attitude at the present time is all the easier because we have a firm conviction that Joe is alive and possibly a prisoner in Germany. This is bad enough to think about but as long as he is still with us … the main feeling I have at this time is absolute lifelessness, not all the time. Life’s routine persists in both home and office. May, the first day she was at home went to her office. … I thank goodness had a pile of work to do. People of course have been most kind but we have been careful to make them understand that we want no sympathy, no pity. Possibly we overdo our gaiety when people are with us. There may be weeks of waiting before we know definitely about Joe. These weeks will be hard but I have a most remarkable wife, her courage and morale are superb. This attitude of ours about Joe still being alive is full of danger … we know it … but while there is uncertainty we are going to shut our eyes to the possibility of final tragedy. In a letter received from Joe written January 9th he mentions a friend that is missing and gave the opinion that the chances of his being a prisoner or saved are remote. Even this has not swerved us from our purpose not to consider Joe lost to us until someone advises us that he is actually dead. We will never give up hope of his being alive, while there is the slightest chance of this being so. May broke down only once to my knowledge as far as myself is concerned there hasn’t been a tear. I know I have not yet faced the situation. The thing goes too deep. I dare not. Edith and Janet’s morale is excellent. What they feel privately we know not but they are always gay when they are with us. I need a specific war activity, one that would absorb all my energies, these are times when I almost loathe my business. No husband and wife could be closer to one another than May, I know Edith and Janet have a deep affection for me … but I would give all I possess to have a talk with Joe. He would understand. I have many men friends, very good friends but no one who could rid me of this sense of being alone at times, to be honest this is only at times. Both May and myself in our younger days have suffered so much from emotional outbursts in our respective families that I am afraid we have gone to the other extreme, we hold ourselves in too tight. This may be dangerous. One thing is sure that May is one woman in ten thousand, ten hundred thousand, she is really so fine that I am ashamed of my own weaknesses. (PJD 8 February 1942)