Centaurus
24th Sep 2020, 11:31
Those of us in our dotage may remember former RAAF Group Captain "Paddy" Heffernan. At one stage after leaving the RAAF he was the manager of the Royal Victorian Aero club.
I knew him in the RAAF where we shared the flying of Mustang A68-113 on air to air target towing duties at Townsville in 1953. He was one of the nicest senior RAAF officers I ever worked with. Paddy walked with a limp, the legacy of a mid-air collision at night over England while flying a Vickers Wellington bomber on a night navex.
During a clean through of old correspondence I found his following report of the collision which killed all the members of his crew and the crew of the other aircraft. Paddy was the sole survivor.
"During a night cross-country another Wellington and I collided and believe it or not both the other pilot and I were wearing seat type brollies for the first time.
I rammed his port wing and when I collected myself found that most of the nose of my aircraft had gone, the intercom was not functioning and when I felt round behind me to tell the navigator to get out I couldn't find him, so presumed that, having seen me out to it, had taken it upon himself to go.
Fortunately we were at 19,000 feet, but when I came to, all I could see was the altimeter unwinding at great speed. I tried to pull out but the yoke on which the 2nd pilot operated was jammed forward. So I opened the pilots hatch and tried to stand up but found my right leg was broken, so hooked my finger in the loop of my flying boot and as soon as I emerged, was laid back along the fuselage by the air speed. Somehow or other I managed to kick my way out and rolled onto the port wing. As I was using my right hand to hold my leg, I got my left thumb under the parachute handle and heaved it out, the brolly opening straightaway.
I must have been pretty close to the ground as I only did a couple of swings when I hit the deck heavily and laid myself out again. By this time it was 2215, a very dark night and as cold as charity, being November.
Eventually I sorted myself out and found that as well as my right leg, my right arm was also broken and my right side ached like hell. I had landed in a paddock that had been newly dusted with a blood and bone mixture which stank. About 100 yards away I could see a gate so turned onto my hands and knees to crawl to it, but passed out again.
Thre was nothing else I could do, so wrapped myself up in the brolly and periodically dozed off. None of my wounds seemed to hurt so round about daylight, 0730 I sat up to watch if anything passed the gate. About 0800 I saw a man on a bike pedal past so I let out a yell. He stopped and wandered over to see what was what. I told him that I was bitched battered and beat and would need an ambulance. When he came back he was armed with a bottle of Red Label and a thermos of black tea and I can tell you that whisky and tea in the ratio of 4 to 1 is a damn good reviver. Some 15 minutes later the ambulance arrived and I was carted off to Ely RAF Hospital; where I spent the next 14 months.
There is another page to Paddy's report but I have lost it. That was in 1943 or thereabouts. I then met Paddy in mid 1953 when he was Senior RAAF Officer at RAAF North East Area Command based at Townsville. That was where he flew the Lincoln bombers, the unit Dakota and the unit Mustang. Because one leg was shorter than the other he had some difficulty climbing the long ladder to the Lincoln nose entrance and also climbimg on to the wing of the Mustang. How he managed to operate the rudders on any aircraft with one gammy leg I shall never know. As a young Sergeant Pilot of 21 I had to ask his permission to fly the Mustang if he did not want to fly it that day. He always gave the OK with a warning he would break my neck if I broke his Mustang.
I knew him in the RAAF where we shared the flying of Mustang A68-113 on air to air target towing duties at Townsville in 1953. He was one of the nicest senior RAAF officers I ever worked with. Paddy walked with a limp, the legacy of a mid-air collision at night over England while flying a Vickers Wellington bomber on a night navex.
During a clean through of old correspondence I found his following report of the collision which killed all the members of his crew and the crew of the other aircraft. Paddy was the sole survivor.
"During a night cross-country another Wellington and I collided and believe it or not both the other pilot and I were wearing seat type brollies for the first time.
I rammed his port wing and when I collected myself found that most of the nose of my aircraft had gone, the intercom was not functioning and when I felt round behind me to tell the navigator to get out I couldn't find him, so presumed that, having seen me out to it, had taken it upon himself to go.
Fortunately we were at 19,000 feet, but when I came to, all I could see was the altimeter unwinding at great speed. I tried to pull out but the yoke on which the 2nd pilot operated was jammed forward. So I opened the pilots hatch and tried to stand up but found my right leg was broken, so hooked my finger in the loop of my flying boot and as soon as I emerged, was laid back along the fuselage by the air speed. Somehow or other I managed to kick my way out and rolled onto the port wing. As I was using my right hand to hold my leg, I got my left thumb under the parachute handle and heaved it out, the brolly opening straightaway.
I must have been pretty close to the ground as I only did a couple of swings when I hit the deck heavily and laid myself out again. By this time it was 2215, a very dark night and as cold as charity, being November.
Eventually I sorted myself out and found that as well as my right leg, my right arm was also broken and my right side ached like hell. I had landed in a paddock that had been newly dusted with a blood and bone mixture which stank. About 100 yards away I could see a gate so turned onto my hands and knees to crawl to it, but passed out again.
Thre was nothing else I could do, so wrapped myself up in the brolly and periodically dozed off. None of my wounds seemed to hurt so round about daylight, 0730 I sat up to watch if anything passed the gate. About 0800 I saw a man on a bike pedal past so I let out a yell. He stopped and wandered over to see what was what. I told him that I was bitched battered and beat and would need an ambulance. When he came back he was armed with a bottle of Red Label and a thermos of black tea and I can tell you that whisky and tea in the ratio of 4 to 1 is a damn good reviver. Some 15 minutes later the ambulance arrived and I was carted off to Ely RAF Hospital; where I spent the next 14 months.
There is another page to Paddy's report but I have lost it. That was in 1943 or thereabouts. I then met Paddy in mid 1953 when he was Senior RAAF Officer at RAAF North East Area Command based at Townsville. That was where he flew the Lincoln bombers, the unit Dakota and the unit Mustang. Because one leg was shorter than the other he had some difficulty climbing the long ladder to the Lincoln nose entrance and also climbimg on to the wing of the Mustang. How he managed to operate the rudders on any aircraft with one gammy leg I shall never know. As a young Sergeant Pilot of 21 I had to ask his permission to fly the Mustang if he did not want to fly it that day. He always gave the OK with a warning he would break my neck if I broke his Mustang.