WOP/AG Peter Jensen. Instalment 14
For his efforts, Dudley received a DFC for sinking the sub. and a DSO for the combat with the Ju88’s. Pierre Bamber and Bubbles Pearce were both awarded the DFM.
Dudley had now completed his tour of 800 operational flying hours and was posted to Mountbatten to a desk job in the ops room. Pierre was in hospital having shrapnel removed from his legs and was finally invalided home.
Jimmy Leigh took over the crew as captain and we were posted to Carew Sherrington for an A.P.C. - (Armament Practice Course). This lasted a week and we then returned to the squadron.
For some time, Coastal Command losses in the Bay of Biscay had been giving H.Q. concern, and when we were shot down, they stopped all patrols on the eastern part of the Bay. Then shortly after we returned to the squadron, they gave the OK for a T3 patrol to test it out – and who did they pick? Us, of course!
4th November 1943.
It was with some trepidation that we embarked on this patrol. The saying ‘third time proves it’ was on all our minds, but unspoken. Another first light takeoff on a T3 patrol! I would rather have stayed in bed.
Fortunately, there was plenty of cloud – (good old life insurance) – even as we set course from Finisterre. However, as we progressed, I began to realise that we were approaching the position of our previous battle, and not far from the location where we had sunk U-461. I was having these unpleasant thoughts when suddenly, George the navigator jumped up onto his table and had his head in the astrodome. (I was on the wireless.)
My heart missed a couple of beats. I switched on the intercom in time to hear the mid-upper say “They look like 88’s to me.”
I called the skipper and asked if he wanted a signal? “Yes,” he said, “bash out a 465 quick!”
I said: “How many?”
He replied: “Four.”
I switched on the transmitter, raised Group and bashed out “465 – 4,” with our position, got an acknowledgement from Group, then got back on the intercom to find out what was happening.
It appeared we had just flown out of cloud to find ourselves in the middle of a group of four Ju88’s. Jimmy had woken up before the Germans, and had turned back into the cloud. We never saw them again.
We all relaxed and tried to get back to normal. George started to compile a coded message for me to send to Group with details of the incident. I sat back waiting for the message and tried to calm my nerves. When the receiver came alive, I grabbed my pencil and started writing. The Morse came through, slower and clearer than usual, starting with about 10 or 12 callsigns, then a coded message. The strange thing was, our callsign was not included.
I called Jimmy. “Skip,” I said, “Group is calling every aircraft in the bay, but not us. The message is in code.”
Jimmy replied: “Get George to decode it.”
I handed it to George, who decoded it with the SYKO box. When he finished, he said: “I can’t understand it. The message reads to proceed to a position where four U boats have been reported. The position is 30 miles behind us.”
I suddenly went cold. I grabbed my log and looked at the last message – 465-4. I should have sent 487-4. (465 meant U boats, 487 meant enemy aircraft.) I just wasn’t thinking straight. When Jimmy said 465, I just sent it! What a mistake. I had to correct it before more harm could be done, so using plain language, I sent to Group: “Last message, cancel 465, substitute 487.”
There was no response from Group for four or five minutes. Then came the same slow Morse, all the previous callsigns: “Resume patrol.”
I couldn’t believe I could have done such a thing and wondered what the outcome would be. It must have gone around the base like wildfire. When we landed and moored up, a dinghy came alongside, and when we opened the aircraft door, the dinghy driver poked his head inside and said: “Who sent 465?” with a big grin on his face.
At debriefing, they told us that the Navy had been expecting a new wave of U boats to set out from the Channel ports, and when they received our signal, they said: “This is it,” and orders had gone out to the ships to get steam up, M.P.s were sent around the pubs to get matelots back to their ships – altogether a big panic.
The next few days, I had to put up with quite a bit of leg-pulling. I was called ‘465 Jensen’ and other uncomplimentary remarks. Then finally the Signals Leader came up to me and said the C.O. wanted to see me.
“What for?” I said.
“Don’t know,” he said, "probably that 465.”
With sinking heart, I went to Wing Commander Douglas’ office, knocked on the door, went in, saluted and said: “You wanted to see me, sir.”
He looked up, puzzled. “Did I?” he said.
“Yes sir.” I replied, and stood there.
He looked more puzzled. “What for?” he said.
I thought this was a bit funny, but might as well make a clean breast of it, so I said: “I assume it’s about the 465, sir.”
His face lit up and a broad grin crossed his face, to be suddenly replaced by a serious frown. “This is serious,” he said.
“Yes sir,” I said, “serious.”
He continued: “You know you scrambled the whole British fleet in the south of England.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“You know M.P.s were sent around to all the pubs, sending sailors back to their ships.” He paused, savouring the thought, “Just imagine, all those drunken sailors, rolling back to their ships.” It was just too much. His face broke into a broad grin again. With a great effort, he wiped it from his face. “You know you should have sent 487, don’t you?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
He was beginning to get the smile back on his face again, I noticed. “You won’t do it again, will you?”
“No sir,” I said.
By this time, he was having difficulty keeping a straight face. “Dismissed.”
“Thank you sir.”
As I closed the door and walked down the corridor, I heard an unsuppressed laugh somewhere behind me.
Last edited by Wiley; 1st Feb 2010 at 00:51.
Reason: Typos, new info from PJ