AFTER SOME time Bev indicated a reduction in height and we dropped into the cloud gradually lowering through it in tight formation. We broke cloud about 1000ft and were met by a mass of flak, for they were waiting for us. Bev went onto his back and disappeared beneath me and I was almost blown upside down as a large hole appeared in my starboard wing close to my cannons. I pulled up into the cloud, with the flak all around me providing a most disconcerting scene, and flew south-west for some time, quite sure that I was the only one left. Again I broke cloud to try and locate my position and saw an airstrip with a windsock but no sign of any aircraft or transport. I thought it might have been recently captured by the Allies and could be in south-eastern Holland.
My engine was giving trouble, running rougher than ever and the temperature was alarming. I thought I should try to put it down and approached the airfield. I felt I must be in southern Holland by now and I did a cautious circuit, but as I was on the downwind leg I became apprehensive. Something didn't look right and when I opened up and started to climb away I was again subjected to some very unpleasant flak, mighty close. I was still in enemy country, so I remained in the cloud continuing SW but was starting to doubt the compass and everything else. Finally the motor started to miss and smelled dangerously hot, with oil pressure right down and vibrations coming through the stick and rudder pedals.
The cloud had lowered even more and I was just skimming along its base looking at the dark landscape beneath. I saw a village and flew towards it, deciding that if I were in the British-American zone, transport would be there and if Allied, it would be easily identified. I passed over the village very low and thank God, I saw big white stars on the tops of several trucks, with a large ploughed field suitable for a belly landing.
As I turned and lined up for the approach I was amazed to see recall rockets piercing the mist in the distance, obviously from an airfield. My chances of survival would be better there, with a 'fire truck and meat wagon.' I made for it, nursing that faithful old kite through the gathering gloom. As the strip came into sight I couldn't believe it was Volkel, the strip I had left to go on this show! I approached without any circuit, dropped my wheels, got the green lights, dropped the flaps, and found no flaps. That didn't matter at Volkel, with the length of runway on this ex-Luftwaffe airfield I had plenty of room. I glided over the perimeter track and touched down on the airfield I had despaired of ever seeing again. Home, safe, alive, no more flak until tomorrow, I could hardly believe it.
In the mess I was congratulated, even by our Kiwi Group Captain Pat Jameson, on my great navigational feat in that weather, with no radio and a badly damaged aircraft. I said nothing but wondered how in hell I had get home, for I had had no idea where I was. Was some unknown instinct guiding me the 70 miles from that flak-torn little town? Was it perhaps the soul of Billy Williams in the cockpit with me? Did we come home together?
Bev Hall had survived to arrive back long before me with an aircraft as battered as mine. Five days later we were together, just the two of us, high in that cold and merciless German sky when he was shot down and killed by a Focke-Wulf 190.