This is about the shock of disbelief and resultant bewilderment rather than an old bloke's memories.
DC3 Southend to Rochester (just across the Thames) P2-ing for bloke that had checked me out on type just days before. My first job.
He landed smoothly on the grass heading about 240. We were going like hell given that we were on the short 'runway'. He hauls it into the air, screws it hard to the left and ponks it back on again heading ~ south. The engines are purring smoothly as we zoom past our passenger who were all standing by their little wooden terminal. At some stage he told ATC that he couldn't lose height or airspeed. There was just a hint of a tremor in his voice. We are now going uphill with the engines still purring smoothly. There are trees in front of us . . . a lot of them. He hauls it into the air. I asked him if I should raise the gear. Yeh, yeh, gear up.
This man had been in the war. He was a senior pilot and TRE. He was obviously very shaken but maintained a quiet dignity as we hit some twigs at about about 50 kts. To our right was the highway, which to our very great fortune was sculpted out of the high ground. We kind of fell into it. In minuets we were lined up for another bash.
My days of assuming experienced guys would always do sensible things had come to an end very early in my career. This time I caught him pulling back on the RPM levers instead of the throttles. They're the nearest to him and longer, if one is searching for a reason for doing something very undesirable.
At no stage did he say anything, and nor did I - to anyone.