More from Typhoon pilot Peter Brett
Peter has just been posted back for his second tour to 183 squadron, now based in Holland in January 1945. His story continues...
In September 1998 I revisited the area of Holland where I was operating in 1945 following a kind offer from a Dutch friend of our family Mr Arthur Jansen-Rouschop living in Horst. I was received very warmly by all the Dutch people that I met, and given great help in tracing the places and events of 1945. I would especially like to thank Mr.Walter.J.van den Hout of the Gilze-Rijen research team and Sergeant 1st class L.M.F. Klerks the custodian of the 'Tradition Chamber' of the Gilze-Rijen Air Base of the Royal Netherlands Air Force.
On 5th January 1945 I was taken in an Avro Anson, a rather ancient twin engine communications aircraft, to Gilze-Rijen in Holland to rejoin 183 squadron. Gilze-Rijen is about half way between Breda and Tilburg and was, I have since found out, one of the first airfields in Holland. I believe it had two runways at the time and several buildings, mostly badly damaged, and therefore the accommodation for aircraft was somewhat limited. The dispersal areas were situated on both sides of a minor road. This meant that quite often one had to wait to taxi from dispersal to the runway whilst the traffic on the road was halted to allow us to proceed.
On my arrival however the airfield was almost deserted except for a skeleton maintenance staff and 183 squadron adjutant. The officers’ mess was in what had been the local German headquarters and was a clean modern building. Unfortunately there was only a single mess sergeant in occupation who had the combined duties of cook, barman, batman and general staff.
The reason for this was that the complete wing had been hastily transferred to Chievre in order to assist in combating the German Ardennes counterattack. Everything had been shunted off to Chievre including most of the bar stocks and consequently the adj and I spent the evening imbibing the only alcohol available which was neat gin. As a result of this we became quite maudlin and finished the evening bemoaning our solitary lot as if we were the only survivors of the wing!
However, next morning, with a gin hangover, I was given a hair-raising drive in a jeep down to Chievre. On arrival I found that the squadrons were virtually grounded by the awful weather, snow, rain and high winds, which had proved too bad to enable targets to be identified, apart from the hazards of flying anyway in such bad conditions.
As a result of these bad conditions we tragically lost our Wing Leader. Wing Commander Wally Dring DSO, DFC, 'Stringer' to all of us, had been my Squadron Commander before being promoted to Wing Commander of 123 Wing. He had been up on a weather recce and, on return, had landed on the runway which had been snowbound and then cleared. The foul conditions meant that the freezing rain had left patches of ice on the runway.
He did a good landing but then started to apply the brakes. One wheel must have been on ice for the aircraft swung violently, shot off the runway into the snow piled up along each side, and flipped over on to its back. At this point it must still have been travelling at over 80 mph. When the crash crew arrived at the scene they found 'Stringer' dead. The crash had broken his neck. This must have been very shortly before we returned to Gilze on January 19th because he was buried at Tilburg with full military honours and I was one of the pallbearers.
With the help of the curator of the Netherlands Air Force museum at Gilze-Rijen, the station now being a regular Netherlands Air Force station, I tried to trace his grave. However, although the curator had a complete list of local war graves, his was not among them. I can only conclude that his family had had the body removed and reburied, back in the UK.
I flew a Typhoon back from Chievre to Gilze and, after the funeral, the wing restarted operations. On the morning of 23rd January I carried out my first operation of my second tour. This was a rocket attack and cannon strafe of billets at Doornenburg. The target was an isolated set of buildings set in a completely snow-covered landscape.( I have now established that this was Doornenburg Castle)
I was leading the second four and we dived steeply on the target. As I opened up with my cannon I actually, for the first and only time, saw the bullets! Against the white snow background they suddenly appeared for a fleeting moment as a swarm of black dots converging on the target. There was very little flak and we all hit the target on the second dive with rockets.. Another operation in the afternoon saw us going for the docks and warehouses at Millingen. It seems that our rockets were inaccurate but the cannon strafe was O.K.
Next day I was No.3 on a four plane armed recce but had to return after 20 minutes due to engine trouble. The weather then clamped right down and we were unable to fly again until the 3rd February when I led a four as fighter cover to an eight led by an Australian Alan Cocks. Alan's eight attacked a train but my four had nothing to do since no enemy fighters appeared. It is worthy of note here that never in all my operational flying up to then had I been attacked by enemy aircraft! In fact I had only ever seen one piloted enemy aircraft flying and that was the Focke-Wolfe Condor which was taking off as we attacked the airfield at Brest on Christmas Eve 1943.
Three days off and then an armed reconnaissance around Emden and Oldenburg. Evidently the four of us attacked some transport and a bridge but I have no particular memories of this. February the 9th saw me acting as 'spare bod' on an attack against Arnhem Telephone exchange, which just meant 15 minutes extra flying time. This was in the morning, and in the afternoon four of us took off for a 'Cab rank' sortie. This was where we patrolled a preset baseline and were called up by a forward observation point to take out specified targets.
It was rather hazy which made it difficult for the leader to spot the ground features which the controller specified. This time however the target given to us was a long straight road near Kessel. We were asked to strafe this road, probably to keep the German troops busy whilst our infantry advanced. Once again I was flying with Alan Cocks, this time as his number two. Although I was by now considered an experienced combat pilot it was purely a question of chance and availability which determined your position in any operation and although I had led formations several times it so happened that I was flying in number two position this time, fortunately for Alan!
We did two dives along the road firing our cannons only. As we pulled out of the second run I noticed a fine stream of white vapour coming from Alan's radiator cowling. I called up 'Blue leader, Blue two, you have been hit. Gain height". He pulled up and I followed just behind and below him. At about 5000 feet I suddenly saw flames beginning to appear from the underside of the cowling. I pulled to one side and called " Blue Leader, you are on fire. Bail out. Bail out". Alan jettisoned his hood and then the aircraft dived violently and Alan shot out of the cockpit. He was immediately blown back behind me and I told 'Blue Three' to keep an eye on him whilst I watched for where the aircraft would crash.
Blue Three later reported that Alan had landed safely, as far as he could tell, but very much the wrong side of the lines. The aircraft crashed well to our side but was of course a total write-off.
It was to be over forty years before I heard the full story from Alan himself. In 1987 I attended a reunion in Normandy of members of the 'Typhoon and Tempest Association' and Alan had come over on holiday from Australia especially to attend the reunion. We were indulging in some beer and nostalgia in the bar of the hotel when Alan described his bail-out. He said "As we pulled up the guy behind me said I had been hit" He was somewhat astonished when I said "Yes, that was me!”
He then continued: "At about 5000 feet the engine temperature gauge was 'off the clock' and so I started to prepare to bail out. I had released my harness and oxygen line and was just about to pull the radio plug when I heard the call for me to bale out. I pulled the radio plug, jettisoned the hood, and kicked forward on the control column. The next thing I knew I was sitting out in the fresh air and starting to fall. I forgot all the lessons about counting five etcetera and yanked at the ripcord. Luckily everything worked O.K. and I began floating gently down.
It seemed to take for ever before it registered that the ground was approaching and by this time it was obvious that the wind was not in my favour and I was going to land well inside the enemy lines. It seemed that I was headed for a very level green field so I did not attempt to guide myself at all. Unfortunately the 'level green field' proved to be an area of boggy ground and I finished up being dragged by my chute through some very black and smelly mud. I managed to get rid of the harness and stand up, almost knee deep in mud. Before I could decide what to do I found myself surrounded, at a respectful distance, by German troops who had the sense to remain on dry ground and signal me to come out. I squelched my way out of the bog and they marched me off to what I found out was the local Police Station which had been taken over as the local army headquarters.
Here I was confronted by a German Major, who was immaculate in a superbly tailored uniform with riding breeches and gleaming jackboots. He looked at me askance and said in only slightly accented English 'You are very dirty, we must arrange for you to be washed' and then handed me a pristine white handkerchief. I wiped my face and hands which effectively ruined his handkerchief, and then I was taken down the corridor and put in a cell."
Alan then told us of his further adventures. He did finally get a bath and was moved several times but never made it to P.O.W. camp because of the rapid advances of the Allied troops. He was eventually liberated by the Americans but due to the administrative chaos reigning at the time he never rejoined the squadron and was shipped off back to Aussie, not to meet any of us again for forty two years.