Happy New Year
I find it apt that I am telling this tale today because it is mostly about New Years Eve 1942 and Les Hogan, my Observer , and I were making a lone daylight raid on the marshalling yards at Monceau in Belgium. It was late afternoon when we got there flying at our usual fifty feet and it was very murky with a very low cloud base. I remember that we suddenly found ourselves flying between two huge slag heaps. There was one at each wingtip and we had not even seen them coming ! We dropped our four five hundred pounders on the mass of railway lines beneath us and there was a sudden bang and the windscreen disappeared. I had felt a thump on my chest and I saw that I was covered in blood. Les had cried out and I saw that he was covered in blood as well. I also noticed that there were feathers everywhere and realised that we had hit a large bird. We always wore our goggles above our eyes and we were very glad of them as the wind was howling into the cockpit and it was freezing cold.
Once again we were speeding back over the North Sea but this time we had our two engines but had to restrict our speed because of the windstream in the cockpit. Suddenly, Les let out a yell "I've been hit in the arse " he cried. We searched the sea and sky but could see nothing. Then it dawned on him what had happened. Les had let out the trailing aerial to get contact with base. We were still at fifty feet and the end of the aerial had touched the water and wound out the aerial fully. The handle had whizzed around in the cockpit and had hit him where he said it had. We had a laugh but he had an almighty bruise on his behind.
This time we made it to base but no amount of showering, lathering and scrubbing could get rid of the dead bird smell so Dora and I had to forego the traditional Sgt.'s mess dance and spend it in the Naafi instead
Although the Mosquito was such a wonderful aircraft I still had the urge to fly the really big ones with my eyes set firmly on the future. Bomber Command now had "Butch" Harris as C.O. and the long awaited offensive on the industrial cities of Germany was beginning. I ignored the sound advice of veterans "Never volunteer for anything" and asked to be transferred to heavy Bombers. After a very short period of flying the tricycled undercarriaged Boston and Mitchell I was posted to the 4 Group Heavy Conversion Unit at the famous Civil war battle site of Marston Moor in Yorkshire. Before arriving there I was fortunate enough to get a trip in a captured German Junkers 88. I found it a surprisingly good machine with a performance very close to the Mosquito. Although it had RAF roundels we still had an escort of three spitfires to protect us from some trigger happy RAF fighter pilot.
Four Group were equipped with the four engined Handley Page Halifax. I had secretly hoped to be posted to the more glamorous Lancaster but I soon found the "Halibag" to be a tough,strongly built aeroplane capable of taking terrible punishment. It is true that it did not have the load carrying capacity of the Lancaster and, until the R.R.Merlins were replaced by the Bristol Hercules 16 aircooled engines of the Mark 3,was not capable of reaching a cruising altitude of more than eighteen thousand feet which left it vulnerable to fighters an heavy flak. Nevertheless it was a rugged and, once the rudders of the early marks had been modified to get rid of the lethal rudder stall, a very manoeuverable aeroplane. There was not the luxury of servo controls so throwing a Halifax around the sky took a great deal of physical strength. Nor did we have two pilots. A second pilot was a luxury that Bomber command could not afford so a good aircraft commander, and the pilot was always the Captain irrespective of rank , woul train his Flight Engineer or Bomb Aimer to fly well enough to get the 'plane back to England where the crew, at least, could bale out.
At Marston Moor we were crewed up and so met the men who would be sharing the dangers looming ahead of us. My crew was Howard Phillips, the navigator from Wales, Jackie Collins, the Bomb aimer from Epsom, Surrey, Bill Fox , the Flight Engineer from Yorkshire, Roy Burch, the mid-upper gunner from Calgary, Canada and the "Tail end Charlie" rear gunner, Tommy Walker, a Geordie from Ashington. Roy was the eldest at 28 and I had just celebrated my 21st. birthday
Dora and I had become engaged earlier in the year and we decided to get married, in Blackpool, at the end of the course when we would have some leave before proceeding to one of the 4 Group Squadrons.
Paddy Graham ,my W/op,was my best man and Roy Burch was there too. Dora's inseperable companion from the WAAF , Jackie, was the bridesmaid. I say inseperable because she always came with us when we went out anywhere,much to my disgust ! Not that there was anywhere to go. We walked or cycled everywhere. There was the good old NAAFI in the evening or the Camp Cinema (The gym normally) showing through the smoke laden room films such as "Target for Tonight", "The Wicked Lady".
The Air raid siren would inevitably go before the film finished and I never did see the end of "Night train to Munich", Everyone smoked like a chimney and I once stopped the show when I stubbed out my cigarette on what I thought was the back of the seat in front of me, only to find that I was stubbing it out on a poor little WAAF's neck. Her screams effectively stopped the film.
A very Happy and (dare I say it.?.) prosperous New Year to all of you. REG ..le
Last edited by regle; 2nd Jan 2009 at 14:24.