More of George's story..
Chapter 2 - Shot Down
And so we winged our way eastwards - eastwards to destroy the enemy's war potential, his marshalling yards and his oil refineries. In the gathering darkness I could make out the silhouettes of many other bombers forming a long stream, with their twinkling navigation lights and their dimly lit cockpits.
The first stars began to show in the northern sky as we crossed the east coast. Soon, one by one, those secure friendly navigation lights began to vanish as they were switched off and it seemed as though we were now alone in the night sky with the lights of England fading fast behind us. One did not feel the impulse to speak in an outbound bomber except for the odd perfunctory word. If one was possessed of any imagination foolish thoughts began to enter one's mind. Thoughts turned to the fast receding friendly coast, whilst eyes peered forth into the darkness of the North Sea, where beyond lay the enemy held coast.
Little was said, only the occasional comments of the navigator and the bomb-aimer discussing the accuracy of a radar fix and the cheery voice of the skipper enquiring after the comfort of the rear gunner. Apart from these few words all was silent. How very much alone a man felt at night above the North Sea. The darkness seemed all embracing and one had the feeling of being suspended in mid-air; for there was no sensation of speed.
I peeped across at the skipper, only his eyes were visible under his helmet and above his oxygen mask. He glanced alternately ahead and down to his many instruments. I began peering ahead again anxious and a little excited to see the first signs of the enemy reception. I saw nothing except the multitude of stars like bright jewels glittering in the dark sky - I felt at all times a sense of utter seclusion, imagining rather than feeling the other aircraft flying either side of us.
Occasionally we felt the comforting ''bump'' as another aircraft passed ahead of us; always a good sign. ''What was the time?" - ''What was the date?'' I uncovered my luminous watch and saw that it was 11.15 p.m. and of course the day of my return from leave the 22nd June 1943. ''Was it only this morning that I had kissed my mother - farewell?'' It must have been so - but how strange it was to be 14,000 feet over the North Sea so soon. That was a shocking journey I had had - standing in a smoke-filled corridor for several hours. Still there was a war on, someone had said. Yes there was a war on and we were roaring eastwards to add our small contribution to the Allied victory.
Nothing ahead, only darkness. Darkness and one's own thoughts are cold comfort, another hour passed, an hour that seemed like ten hours. ''Fifty miles to the coast'' - the navigator's voice came coolly over the intercom. I peered ahead again to see strong beams of light brightening the dark sky and small bursts of light showed momentarily below and above them. ''They'' are ready for us, I mused. Nearer and nearer to those searching fingers of light. Brighter and brighter the night sky became, until the whole sky was a panorama of different coloured bursts of light flak and the piercing white beams of the searchlights. There was no sense of seclusion now! - only the exhilarating thrill of being the hunted. Unhurriedly it seemed, those thin fingers of light waved below for ever searching. ''There will be a little activity as you cross the coast'' - I remembered the Wing Commander saying. ''But after that it will be fairly quiet.'"
There was no sense of impending danger as we twisted and weaved inland. As suddenly as we had entered the defended zone we found ourselves in the quiet sky above central Holland. Zero hour over the target was 1 a.m. - it was now 12.15 a.m.
The enemy had been well warned of our arrival and had put his fighters in the air between the coast and the target. This was evident from the many bursts of air to air tracer and an aircraft exploding way off to our port. There was little time to think of the fate of the poor devils, for at that moment we ourselves were subjected to an accurate burst of flak, delivered no doubt from a mobile battery – at least one we had not been forewarned about.
I had lost a little of my excitement and sat there rather in the nature of a pupil, trying to learn everything from the one experience. All was quiet again as we flew further inland. ''Hope some of those fellows managed to get out'' I thought to myself - my God - what an end, just to be snuffed out like that. It was then that it all impressed me as a huge game. I was young enough to believe that. A huge grim game with death to the vanquished! This was what I had enlisted for - just to have a crack at the Hun. Soon I would be over my first German target, dropping real bombs on real factories and real marshalling yards. That I may kill some civilians left me unmoved, for I was young and not squeamish. Whether it was morally right or wrong will always be the subject of controversy but speeding towards the target there was little time to think of it. What would it be like? The old excitement gripped me again for anticipation had got the better of me.
Another uneventful half-hour slipped by. There was a tenseness now in the crew made evident by the clipped speech of the navigator giving corrections to the course and the rather dramatic voice of the rear gunner.
And then at last I saw it. It was ahead of the aircraft about 20 miles away I estimated - the conflagration of the burning town casting a red glow seen from many miles away. That and the multitude of weaving searchlights combined to make it as bright as day. I could see the many bursts of flak forming a barrage over the target. Fighter flares added their brilliance to the scene and still it seemed like a game. ''They'' must try to keep you away and you must try to get there and of course back again. Nearer and nearer we flew and I began to pick out other aircraft converging on the target.
The Skipper thought it prudent to commence a slight weave for we were entering the outer defences. ''Everyone keep a good look out'' he said. The air was becoming turbulent with the slipstream of countless aircraft as we flew through the spent clouds of smoke left by the exploding shells. Nearer and nearer we flew until it seemed we were hovering over the target. Then we were in the thick of it. There was no excitement now - just the tenseness of determination and purpose. The air became rough with bursting shells and weaving aircraft. I could hear the quiet ''crup! crup!'' as the shells burst close. It was more brilliant than day and I could see the enemy fighters flying above ready to pounce on the unwary bomber.
Then dead ahead of us a bomber sustained a direct hit and exploded, showering our aircraft with fragments. Nearer and nearer we crawled to the bright green target indicators, burning 18,000 feet below us. Several large fires had taken hold in the industrial part of the town. It was an inferno of burning shells bursts in the sky, weaving aircraft and searchlight beams jerkily moving above a target already badly mauled. ''All set'' came the bomb-aimers voice from the nose of the aircraft. ''Right'' snapped back the skipper - ''soon be there''.
So this was it. Sitting up there, hardly seeming to move and looking out at the angry bursts of flak with their dirty red centres and the white beams of light trying to hold us to be shot at by the hovering squadrons of fighters, I became conscious of a feeling of fear which I angrily dismissed.
''Bomb doors open'' - the bomb-aimer's voice was friendly and comforting, imparting confidence in the crew. ''Bomb doors open'' repeated the pilot. ''The devils'' I thought - ''they know the direction of our approach and have plastered the whole area with a seemingly impenetrable barrage of bursting shells''. The aircraft rocked violently. ''Steady'' came the cool voice. ''Keep a good look out above'' - said the pilot. ''Left - left - left'' directed the bomb-aimer, followed by the drawn out ''s-t-e-a-d-y''. It was now too bright to look outside the aircraft. ''Blast those searchlights - why couldn't there have been a little cloud'' I said to myself! ''Steady'' came that voice again. ''Almost there''. Another minute that seemed to last an hour and then the relief of hearing ''Bombs gone - bomb doors closed''.
''They'' seemed determined that we shouldn't get away so easily and the barrage intensified. The aircraft rocked violently as we twisted and turned through the searchlights. The flak became more spasmodic and the searchlights fewer as we approached the boundary of the defences. Half the job was over - I thought as we turned for home. Little did I know - as we flew westwards with the friendly darkness embracing us. I hadn't noticed before but now I could see the full moon rising high in the night sky.
Ten minutes later it happened! The time was about 1.20 a.m. Suddenly - as suddenly as when an electric light is switched on in a room, three searchlights clamped their illuminating beams on to us. The pilot immediately executed a violent weaving manoeuvre, trying to shake off these menacing fingers - but they clung tenaciously to us, while we waited for the accompanying burst of flak. None came. No matter how swiftly we turned, those beams held us – but still no flak. Our chance came as they lost us momentarily and we did a violent turn into the apex of the beam, and were through in an instant into the darker sky. "Nice work skipper" congratulated the rear gunner.
Nothing more was said for at that instant a long burst of cannon and machine gun fire raked the starboard wing engines causing them to burst into flames. The position looked grim. The fire could not be subdued and we were spiraling earthwards. "Abandon aircraft" came the now tense voice of the pilot and we all hastened to obey. The aircraft seemed to plunge into a steeper dive and I was thrown violently into the nose. With clawing hands I managed to clip my parachute to my harness, but when I tried to get up I found I couldn't do it, for the force of gravity was pinning me to the floor of the aircraft, which was now plunging at a sickening speed earthwards. Down, down - I couldn't move - I tried but it was quite impossible. I looked up to the cockpit. The pilot was there with his parachute already clipped to his harness and vainly trying to control the sickening dive.
It was no use, I resigned myself to my fate and in an instant my mind was filled with thoughts of home, my mother, my childhood and of my old headmaster. In those fleeting moments I seemed to re-live my whole life - and then what after? Soon I would know. The roar had increased to a high pitched shriek as the whole aircraft vibrated and suddenly it shuddered terribly. Momentarily I had lost my senses and thought we had hit the ground and that I was still alive.
But no - I tried again to get up but couldn't. I waited - then thought - "Why should I wait to die - when I had only just begun to live?" "Why should I just sit there in resignation?" "Try man" - an inner voice said. "Try; try!" I puffed and strained and struggled to get my knees over the escape hatch and felt the cool blast of air blowing in from the outside. This must have revived me a little and I gathered all my strength and leaned and pushed forwards and downwards. Suddenly all was silent and I was tumbling earthwards ...