Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
A night to remember -part 3
THE Mess is very quiet, everybody subdued and deep in their own thoughts, most of the armchairs are occupied with lounging figures pretending to read well-thumbed copies of Flight and Picture Post or yesterday's papers, but finding great difficulties in concentration. Two or three chaps are at the small tables around the edge of the room, writing letters, sometimes gazing into space seeking inspiration. What can you write about other than what fills your mind, tonight’s operation and the chances of survival, but that must not be mentioned..
There's a copy of Tee-Em and an empty armchair which I soon make use of and get lost in the antics of Pilot Officer Prune, the feather-brained pilot who puts up every flying 'black' in the book.
Then suddenly I'm drawn back to the real world by my navigator sinking into the next armchair with his friendly Canadian greeting 'Hi'. "Hello Alex, have you been sleeping"? Aw no" he tells me, he's just taken a walk down to the farm to see if there were any jobs to do, but Mr. Martin was out in the fields, probably driving the tractor that I heard earlier, but I guess it filled in a bit of the time for him in these long empty anxious hours before an operation.
The minutes drag by until it's time for the six o'clock news on the BBC Home Service. The radio is switched on and the precise well rounded voice of the announcer tells us of the successes of the armies as they push their way into France, and that last night a strong force of Lancasters and Halifaxes attacked targets in the Ruhr, doing extensive damage to oil refineries and marshalling yards. I wonder where we shall be going in just a few hours’ time?
Soon it's time for the eggs and bacon. The faces begin to look less worried for everybody knows that it's the other chaps that don't come back, not you. Anyway the food is comforting and the atmosphere is full of high spirits, even though a little false.
"B flight bus is outside!" shouts somebody from the dining room door. A hundred or more chair legs scrape the floor and a crowd make for the door to grab their hats in the scrum in the hall. It's amazing how most people manage to get their own hats when they all look alike. Outside the sergeants are streaming out of their Mess across the road and gathering together in groups with their officer crew members and a lively chatter of speculation develops as they board the buses to take them down to briefing. Not long now to find out what the target is!
THE Mess is very quiet, everybody subdued and deep in their own thoughts, most of the armchairs are occupied with lounging figures pretending to read well-thumbed copies of Flight and Picture Post or yesterday's papers, but finding great difficulties in concentration. Two or three chaps are at the small tables around the edge of the room, writing letters, sometimes gazing into space seeking inspiration. What can you write about other than what fills your mind, tonight’s operation and the chances of survival, but that must not be mentioned..
There's a copy of Tee-Em and an empty armchair which I soon make use of and get lost in the antics of Pilot Officer Prune, the feather-brained pilot who puts up every flying 'black' in the book.
Then suddenly I'm drawn back to the real world by my navigator sinking into the next armchair with his friendly Canadian greeting 'Hi'. "Hello Alex, have you been sleeping"? Aw no" he tells me, he's just taken a walk down to the farm to see if there were any jobs to do, but Mr. Martin was out in the fields, probably driving the tractor that I heard earlier, but I guess it filled in a bit of the time for him in these long empty anxious hours before an operation.
The minutes drag by until it's time for the six o'clock news on the BBC Home Service. The radio is switched on and the precise well rounded voice of the announcer tells us of the successes of the armies as they push their way into France, and that last night a strong force of Lancasters and Halifaxes attacked targets in the Ruhr, doing extensive damage to oil refineries and marshalling yards. I wonder where we shall be going in just a few hours’ time?
Soon it's time for the eggs and bacon. The faces begin to look less worried for everybody knows that it's the other chaps that don't come back, not you. Anyway the food is comforting and the atmosphere is full of high spirits, even though a little false.
"B flight bus is outside!" shouts somebody from the dining room door. A hundred or more chair legs scrape the floor and a crowd make for the door to grab their hats in the scrum in the hall. It's amazing how most people manage to get their own hats when they all look alike. Outside the sergeants are streaming out of their Mess across the road and gathering together in groups with their officer crew members and a lively chatter of speculation develops as they board the buses to take them down to briefing. Not long now to find out what the target is!
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A Night to Remember -part 4
AS WE file into the briefing room all eyes go to the big map on the wall to see where the red ribbon goes to. Where is it? Frankfurt? Mainz? The loud general chatter and the scraping of chairs as the crews get themselves grouped together at the tables is suddenly silenced by the arrival of the AOC, the station commander G/Capt King, and the squadron commander W/Com. de la Everest.
Everybody stands until brought to ease by the squadron commander who steps up to the briefing platform. "Tonight's target is Russelsheim, between Mainz and Frankfurt" as he indicates the spot on the map, using a long pointer. "It's the Opel motor works that we have to flatten gentlemen, in order to reduce Hitler's already shortening war supplies even further.
"There will be 450 aircraft on the raid and as usual this squadron will be timed to be spaced evenly through the bomber stream. Start engines at 21.00 hrs for take-off at 21.30 hrs. Climb on track for Skegness where you will join the main stream at your allotted times. Climb on track again to be at this point on the Dutch coast at 18,000 ft, then on to the next turning point here (again the stick taps the chart) when you should be at your bombing height of 21,000 ft"........and so on.
Then follows the Met man with news of fair weather, then the navigation leader emphasising the importance of staying on track and in the stream and on time to the half minute, then the Intelligence officer with warnings of heavily defended areas to avoid, "the run into the target will be from the north-west between Mainz and Frankfurt so hold your track to avoid these areas". Then the bombing leader and the flight engineering leader and the gunnery leader, all with their instructions and words of warning. Set your watches, and finally a word of encouragement from the AOC, "hit the target hard and good luck chaps".
There's a look of determination on some of the faces now. We know the job and how to do it. This is what we have been trained for and we feel confident. The general chatter gets louder as we all file out of the briefing room to walk to the locker room to get kitted up for the trip. For most of the crew it's just flying boots, a sweater and silk scarf, Mae West and a parachute. Let's hope that we don't have to use them.
The gunners and special operators have to put on heavier, warmer gear because it's colder in their part of the aircraft, down to minus 30C or less at altitude, and there’s no heating back there. The Special and his radio equipment have a curtained-off compartment just in front of the mid-upper turret.
Pockets are emptied of letters, bus tickets, cinema tickets and anything that could be of use to enemy intelligence in the event of being shot down. I notice Smithy, our rear gunner, slip his lucky wishbone into his top pocket before he struggles into his thick, yellow, electrically heated suit and he catches my eye with a shy grin on his face. I hope it works! I mean, the wishbone. All kitted up and ready to go we file out to the crew buses to take us out to the aircraft.
The buses trundle around the perimeter track full of noise and ribald remarks. Nerves are stretched to breaking point now. It's funny how you feel chilly and a little shivery at this point regardless of the temperature, but it will be all right when we get on board the aircraft. We drop off the crews at their respective aircraft with loud shouts of "farewell" and "good luck" and "see you in the morning". Then the shout of "Nan Squared" means that we have arrived at our dispersal.
AS WE file into the briefing room all eyes go to the big map on the wall to see where the red ribbon goes to. Where is it? Frankfurt? Mainz? The loud general chatter and the scraping of chairs as the crews get themselves grouped together at the tables is suddenly silenced by the arrival of the AOC, the station commander G/Capt King, and the squadron commander W/Com. de la Everest.
Everybody stands until brought to ease by the squadron commander who steps up to the briefing platform. "Tonight's target is Russelsheim, between Mainz and Frankfurt" as he indicates the spot on the map, using a long pointer. "It's the Opel motor works that we have to flatten gentlemen, in order to reduce Hitler's already shortening war supplies even further.
"There will be 450 aircraft on the raid and as usual this squadron will be timed to be spaced evenly through the bomber stream. Start engines at 21.00 hrs for take-off at 21.30 hrs. Climb on track for Skegness where you will join the main stream at your allotted times. Climb on track again to be at this point on the Dutch coast at 18,000 ft, then on to the next turning point here (again the stick taps the chart) when you should be at your bombing height of 21,000 ft"........and so on.
Then follows the Met man with news of fair weather, then the navigation leader emphasising the importance of staying on track and in the stream and on time to the half minute, then the Intelligence officer with warnings of heavily defended areas to avoid, "the run into the target will be from the north-west between Mainz and Frankfurt so hold your track to avoid these areas". Then the bombing leader and the flight engineering leader and the gunnery leader, all with their instructions and words of warning. Set your watches, and finally a word of encouragement from the AOC, "hit the target hard and good luck chaps".
There's a look of determination on some of the faces now. We know the job and how to do it. This is what we have been trained for and we feel confident. The general chatter gets louder as we all file out of the briefing room to walk to the locker room to get kitted up for the trip. For most of the crew it's just flying boots, a sweater and silk scarf, Mae West and a parachute. Let's hope that we don't have to use them.
The gunners and special operators have to put on heavier, warmer gear because it's colder in their part of the aircraft, down to minus 30C or less at altitude, and there’s no heating back there. The Special and his radio equipment have a curtained-off compartment just in front of the mid-upper turret.
Pockets are emptied of letters, bus tickets, cinema tickets and anything that could be of use to enemy intelligence in the event of being shot down. I notice Smithy, our rear gunner, slip his lucky wishbone into his top pocket before he struggles into his thick, yellow, electrically heated suit and he catches my eye with a shy grin on his face. I hope it works! I mean, the wishbone. All kitted up and ready to go we file out to the crew buses to take us out to the aircraft.
The buses trundle around the perimeter track full of noise and ribald remarks. Nerves are stretched to breaking point now. It's funny how you feel chilly and a little shivery at this point regardless of the temperature, but it will be all right when we get on board the aircraft. We drop off the crews at their respective aircraft with loud shouts of "farewell" and "good luck" and "see you in the morning". Then the shout of "Nan Squared" means that we have arrived at our dispersal.
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A Night to Remember -part 5
IN THE cool half light of the evening, the aircraft stands there, big, black and menacing against a turquoise sky. The ground crew greet us with words of assurance as to the airworthiness of the aircraft and Stan, our flight engineer, and I go around the aircraft doing the external checks. Pitot head covers removed, all cowlings, inspection panels and leading edges secured. Check tyres for creep. We climb aboard to our respective positions, checking escape hatches, etc. Inside the aircraft there's that familiar smell of cellulose, oil and 100 octane fuel. Checking more equipment in the fuselage as we climb the steep slope forward and struggling over the main spar, our minds are beginning to get to grips with the task ahead.
Settling into the pilot’s seat on the parachute, buckling it on and doing up the seat belt, my hands are shaking a bit and none of the buckles seem to go together easily. The seat seems a bit hard and a bit too low. I adjust it and that seems to be more comfortable. Helmet on, plug into the intercom and connect the oxygen, check the instrument panel, switch on radio and check the intercom.
It’s now 2050 hrs, ten minutes to start up and all the crew are now in their positions with their equipment checked. Switch on intercom, "pilot to rear gunner OK?" "Rear gunner OK skip", "pilot to mid upper OK?", "Mid upper OK", "pilot to special OK?, "Special OK", "pilot to wireless operator OK?", "OK skip", and so on checking on each of the other seven crew members in turn. "OK engineer it's 2058 hrs and we're ready to start up". "OK skip, ground/flight switch to ground, trolley acc is plugged in, engine controls set, fuel OK".
"Right, start up number one". The big prop turns slowly with a whining noise, it kicks, and with a cloud of exhaust smoke it bursts into life with that deep throated roar. Number two, three, and four follow. All engines running now, all gauges OK. Ground/flight switch to FLIGHT, set engines to 1,200 rpm to warm up. Temperatures and pressures building, check hydraulics. Gunners check the movements of their turrets, wireless operator and Special check their radios, navigator checks the Gee navigation aid, compass, instruments, maps.
All the crew are working like clockwork now, going though the actions that they have been well trained to do. With the work in hand, you can feel the confidence building and the butterflies are being flushed out. Set each engine to 1,500 rpm and check magnetos, open up all four engines in turn to zero boost and check the superchargers, check constant speed units.
Open up each engine in turn to takeoff power and check boost, rpm and magnetos. The whole aircraft shakes and trembles like a huge animal coming to life. All OK, throttle back to 1,200 rpm and ready to go. "Pilot to rear gunner, all OK?" "Rear gunner OK skip", "pilot mid upper OK?", "OK skipper" and so on checking on all the crew in turn once again, a procedure that will be carried out over and over again during the trip. “Right chaps, we are ready to taxi”.
It's now 2120 hrs, the light is beginning to fade and other Lancasters are starting to roll along the perimeter track, big and black with their navigation lights on, towards the takeoff point. Thumbs up to the ground crew and wave the chocks away and we get a good luck wave back as we open up the throttles and trundle forward onto the perimeter track to take our place in the queue for takeoff.
IN THE cool half light of the evening, the aircraft stands there, big, black and menacing against a turquoise sky. The ground crew greet us with words of assurance as to the airworthiness of the aircraft and Stan, our flight engineer, and I go around the aircraft doing the external checks. Pitot head covers removed, all cowlings, inspection panels and leading edges secured. Check tyres for creep. We climb aboard to our respective positions, checking escape hatches, etc. Inside the aircraft there's that familiar smell of cellulose, oil and 100 octane fuel. Checking more equipment in the fuselage as we climb the steep slope forward and struggling over the main spar, our minds are beginning to get to grips with the task ahead.
Settling into the pilot’s seat on the parachute, buckling it on and doing up the seat belt, my hands are shaking a bit and none of the buckles seem to go together easily. The seat seems a bit hard and a bit too low. I adjust it and that seems to be more comfortable. Helmet on, plug into the intercom and connect the oxygen, check the instrument panel, switch on radio and check the intercom.
It’s now 2050 hrs, ten minutes to start up and all the crew are now in their positions with their equipment checked. Switch on intercom, "pilot to rear gunner OK?" "Rear gunner OK skip", "pilot to mid upper OK?", "Mid upper OK", "pilot to special OK?, "Special OK", "pilot to wireless operator OK?", "OK skip", and so on checking on each of the other seven crew members in turn. "OK engineer it's 2058 hrs and we're ready to start up". "OK skip, ground/flight switch to ground, trolley acc is plugged in, engine controls set, fuel OK".
"Right, start up number one". The big prop turns slowly with a whining noise, it kicks, and with a cloud of exhaust smoke it bursts into life with that deep throated roar. Number two, three, and four follow. All engines running now, all gauges OK. Ground/flight switch to FLIGHT, set engines to 1,200 rpm to warm up. Temperatures and pressures building, check hydraulics. Gunners check the movements of their turrets, wireless operator and Special check their radios, navigator checks the Gee navigation aid, compass, instruments, maps.
All the crew are working like clockwork now, going though the actions that they have been well trained to do. With the work in hand, you can feel the confidence building and the butterflies are being flushed out. Set each engine to 1,500 rpm and check magnetos, open up all four engines in turn to zero boost and check the superchargers, check constant speed units.
Open up each engine in turn to takeoff power and check boost, rpm and magnetos. The whole aircraft shakes and trembles like a huge animal coming to life. All OK, throttle back to 1,200 rpm and ready to go. "Pilot to rear gunner, all OK?" "Rear gunner OK skip", "pilot mid upper OK?", "OK skipper" and so on checking on all the crew in turn once again, a procedure that will be carried out over and over again during the trip. “Right chaps, we are ready to taxi”.
It's now 2120 hrs, the light is beginning to fade and other Lancasters are starting to roll along the perimeter track, big and black with their navigation lights on, towards the takeoff point. Thumbs up to the ground crew and wave the chocks away and we get a good luck wave back as we open up the throttles and trundle forward onto the perimeter track to take our place in the queue for takeoff.
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A Night to Remember -part 6
Night after night, in all weathers, station personnel waved farewell to their crews as they stand over the FIDO fog dispersal pipeline alongside the runway. Their bicycles are leaning on the trolley-acc kept handy for an emergency engine start. Note the Wellington boots which were standard wear for Ludford’s ground crews as they paddled through the sticky Lincolnshire clay. No wonder the newly-built airfield was swiftly christened RAF Mudford.
THE usual group of well-wishers are gathered by the signals hut at the end of the runway. All ranks, officers, airmen and WAAFs, all with friends and loved ones taking off into the evening sky, perhaps never to be seen again. An experience that could be shattering in any normal times, but they have all learnt to steel themselves and put on a cheerful smile and a wave to give us confidence, and they repeat this performance night after night.
Pre-takeoff checks done, we roll heavily forward to the hold position straighten and line up with the runway, brakes on. The cockpit is flooded with a green light from the Aldis lamp as the signals hut gives us the OK to takeoff. “OK chaps, here we go!”
Brakes off, left hand on the control column, feet on the rudder pedals as the four big throttle levers in my right hand are eased forward leading with the left engines to counteract the swing, keep her straight with the runway, the deep-throated roar envelops us. A bit of right rudder, that‘s it. Ease the stick forward, get the tail up, that’s it! The rudder is beginning to respond now, keep her straight, that’s it! Throttles go forward, “Full power!”
The flight engineer takes over the throttles and holds them fully forward, “full power skip”. Both hands on the control column now, keep her straight, the aircraft is throbbing, the roar from the four engines is deafening. Airspeed is building, 60, 80, 90mph is called out by the flight engineer. The runway roars past but the massive weight of 2000 gallons of fuel and six tons of bombs makes itself felt through the controls and the end of the runway gets nearer and nearer. If one engine fails now we shall run off the end and the whole lot will blow up and leave a nasty big hole in the ground.
“One hundred, 110, 115, 120 mph” calls the flight engineer, gently ease back on the control column and all the rumbling and shaking stops and we are airborne, just in time to see the end of the runway slide away underneath. “Airborne 21.34 hrs navigator” -- “ 21.34 hrs skip”.
Phew! Our L-Love would have made a better job of it than that! A touch on the brakes to stop the wheels spinning and “Undercarriage up.” “Undercarriage up” responds the flight engineer as he lifts the safety bolt and raises the lever beside my seat. The heavy aircraft begins to slowly gain speed and height. Three hundred feet and the familiar trees and village houses slip away underneath, the upturned faces of village friends wishing us a safe return.
“Flaps up to 10 degrees” and she gains a bit more speed, “OK flaps all the way up”, “Flaps right up skip”. Trim nose up, at last she seems to be flying as the airspeed builds to our climbing speed of 175 mph. One thousand feet, reduce power to 2850, +9. “2850, +9 skip” and we slowly turn onto our heading 135 for Skegness. “Pilot to navigator on 135 compass”, “OK skip, ETA Skegness at 41”
Night after night, in all weathers, station personnel waved farewell to their crews as they stand over the FIDO fog dispersal pipeline alongside the runway. Their bicycles are leaning on the trolley-acc kept handy for an emergency engine start. Note the Wellington boots which were standard wear for Ludford’s ground crews as they paddled through the sticky Lincolnshire clay. No wonder the newly-built airfield was swiftly christened RAF Mudford.
THE usual group of well-wishers are gathered by the signals hut at the end of the runway. All ranks, officers, airmen and WAAFs, all with friends and loved ones taking off into the evening sky, perhaps never to be seen again. An experience that could be shattering in any normal times, but they have all learnt to steel themselves and put on a cheerful smile and a wave to give us confidence, and they repeat this performance night after night.
Pre-takeoff checks done, we roll heavily forward to the hold position straighten and line up with the runway, brakes on. The cockpit is flooded with a green light from the Aldis lamp as the signals hut gives us the OK to takeoff. “OK chaps, here we go!”
Brakes off, left hand on the control column, feet on the rudder pedals as the four big throttle levers in my right hand are eased forward leading with the left engines to counteract the swing, keep her straight with the runway, the deep-throated roar envelops us. A bit of right rudder, that‘s it. Ease the stick forward, get the tail up, that’s it! The rudder is beginning to respond now, keep her straight, that’s it! Throttles go forward, “Full power!”
The flight engineer takes over the throttles and holds them fully forward, “full power skip”. Both hands on the control column now, keep her straight, the aircraft is throbbing, the roar from the four engines is deafening. Airspeed is building, 60, 80, 90mph is called out by the flight engineer. The runway roars past but the massive weight of 2000 gallons of fuel and six tons of bombs makes itself felt through the controls and the end of the runway gets nearer and nearer. If one engine fails now we shall run off the end and the whole lot will blow up and leave a nasty big hole in the ground.
“One hundred, 110, 115, 120 mph” calls the flight engineer, gently ease back on the control column and all the rumbling and shaking stops and we are airborne, just in time to see the end of the runway slide away underneath. “Airborne 21.34 hrs navigator” -- “ 21.34 hrs skip”.
Phew! Our L-Love would have made a better job of it than that! A touch on the brakes to stop the wheels spinning and “Undercarriage up.” “Undercarriage up” responds the flight engineer as he lifts the safety bolt and raises the lever beside my seat. The heavy aircraft begins to slowly gain speed and height. Three hundred feet and the familiar trees and village houses slip away underneath, the upturned faces of village friends wishing us a safe return.
“Flaps up to 10 degrees” and she gains a bit more speed, “OK flaps all the way up”, “Flaps right up skip”. Trim nose up, at last she seems to be flying as the airspeed builds to our climbing speed of 175 mph. One thousand feet, reduce power to 2850, +9. “2850, +9 skip” and we slowly turn onto our heading 135 for Skegness. “Pilot to navigator on 135 compass”, “OK skip, ETA Skegness at 41”
Last edited by Geriaviator; 8th Jan 2024 at 14:37.
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A Nght to Remember -part 7
THE higher we climb the brighter it gets and now the low setting sun glistens on our Perspex and that of the swarm of Lancasters that are gathering around us and all going our way. The sky ahead is a deep indigo with the oncoming night and the coastline is just visible in the grey mist below.
Another crew check and everybody is OK except Smithy the rear gunner who can’t see a thing with the setting sun in his eyes, I tell him not to look at it in case it spoils his night vision. We shall need all the good eyes we can muster to look out for enemy fighters and to avoid collisions with friendly aircraft in the dark. “Navigator to pilot, we’re running about a minute ahead”, “OK nav we’ll slow up a bit, make it 160 mph”
“Pilot to navigator, she’s climbing about 300 feet a minute which should put us about 18,000 ft at the Dutch coast”, “OK pilot I’ll just check”. “Bombaimer to pilot, Skegness coming up now, dead ahead”, “OK, bombaimer tell us when we are right over it”, “OK skipper.” Onward we drone and slowly the night settles in, the sun has gone now and the instruments take on that familiar green fluorescent glow. “Bombaimer to pilot, we’re right over Skegness now”, “Right bombaimer, that’s Skegness at 44 navigator” “OK skipper that’s fine, turn onto 128 compass”, “128 compass it is, navigator”.
The sky grows steadily darker. “Pilot to gunners, keep your eyes peeled for friendly aircraft and enemy fighters, the stream is beginning to bunch up now and it will soon be completely dark”, “ Rear gunner, OK skip”, “Midupper OK skipper”. With a steady drone we climb into the darkness as the outside world fades away with the cold, now invisible, sea two and a half miles below. It’s warm in this part of the aircraft and one could begin to feel that the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just this cocoon of metal with the instruments glowing comfortably on the instrument panel. With this false sense of protection and with the steady drone of the engines one could easily be lulled off to sleep.
“Lancaster, starboard bow, same level skip”, “OK bombaimer I see him” The call quickly shakes me out of my cosy feeling and I make some adjustments to avoid him. It’s not healthy to creep up behind another aircraft, a twitchy rear gunner is likely to think you are an enemy fighter and give you the benefit of his four Brownings and it would seem such a waste to be shot down by a friendly aircraft.
“Navigator to pilot, ETA Dutch coast at 34”, “Pilot to navigator Roger, Dutch coast at 34, I’m holding 128 compass, airspeed 160”, “Nav to pilot the Gee’s good and we’re bang on track”, “ Pilot to engineer, engines look OK, how’s the fuel consumption?” “Engineer to pilot, it looks OK so far skip”. Onward and upwards we drone though the dark, chill space of night, checking this and that and searching the blackness outside for the slightest smudge of blacker black, which might be another aircraft on a collision course.
THE higher we climb the brighter it gets and now the low setting sun glistens on our Perspex and that of the swarm of Lancasters that are gathering around us and all going our way. The sky ahead is a deep indigo with the oncoming night and the coastline is just visible in the grey mist below.
Another crew check and everybody is OK except Smithy the rear gunner who can’t see a thing with the setting sun in his eyes, I tell him not to look at it in case it spoils his night vision. We shall need all the good eyes we can muster to look out for enemy fighters and to avoid collisions with friendly aircraft in the dark. “Navigator to pilot, we’re running about a minute ahead”, “OK nav we’ll slow up a bit, make it 160 mph”
“Pilot to navigator, she’s climbing about 300 feet a minute which should put us about 18,000 ft at the Dutch coast”, “OK pilot I’ll just check”. “Bombaimer to pilot, Skegness coming up now, dead ahead”, “OK, bombaimer tell us when we are right over it”, “OK skipper.” Onward we drone and slowly the night settles in, the sun has gone now and the instruments take on that familiar green fluorescent glow. “Bombaimer to pilot, we’re right over Skegness now”, “Right bombaimer, that’s Skegness at 44 navigator” “OK skipper that’s fine, turn onto 128 compass”, “128 compass it is, navigator”.
The sky grows steadily darker. “Pilot to gunners, keep your eyes peeled for friendly aircraft and enemy fighters, the stream is beginning to bunch up now and it will soon be completely dark”, “ Rear gunner, OK skip”, “Midupper OK skipper”. With a steady drone we climb into the darkness as the outside world fades away with the cold, now invisible, sea two and a half miles below. It’s warm in this part of the aircraft and one could begin to feel that the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just this cocoon of metal with the instruments glowing comfortably on the instrument panel. With this false sense of protection and with the steady drone of the engines one could easily be lulled off to sleep.
“Lancaster, starboard bow, same level skip”, “OK bombaimer I see him” The call quickly shakes me out of my cosy feeling and I make some adjustments to avoid him. It’s not healthy to creep up behind another aircraft, a twitchy rear gunner is likely to think you are an enemy fighter and give you the benefit of his four Brownings and it would seem such a waste to be shot down by a friendly aircraft.
“Navigator to pilot, ETA Dutch coast at 34”, “Pilot to navigator Roger, Dutch coast at 34, I’m holding 128 compass, airspeed 160”, “Nav to pilot the Gee’s good and we’re bang on track”, “ Pilot to engineer, engines look OK, how’s the fuel consumption?” “Engineer to pilot, it looks OK so far skip”. Onward and upwards we drone though the dark, chill space of night, checking this and that and searching the blackness outside for the slightest smudge of blacker black, which might be another aircraft on a collision course.
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A Night to Remember -part 8
ONWARD and upward the steady drone goes on, with the regular scan of the instruments and the night outside punctuated at regular intervals by the crew check. Everybody is fully occupied with their own job and their own deep inner thoughts. The Special back in the fuselage is busy with his cathode-ray tube, searching the frequencies for directions to German night fighters from their controllers so that he can jam them with one of his three transmitters.
“Searchlights and flak ahead on the port bow skipper!” “OK bombaimer, it looks like somebody has wandered off to port of track and is getting a reception from Rotterdam. Are we on track navigator?” “Navigator to pilot, the Gee says we’re bang on and the signal’s pretty good so far.” “Good show navigator”. ”Pilot to bombaimer, see if you can get a fix on the Dutch coast, it should be just about visible and we should be there in three minutes” “OK skip”. “Pilot to gunners, keep your eyes open chaps, it looks as though they know we’re coming now”. Midupper, OK skip. Rear gunner, OK skipper. “Pilot to Special, any activity in your department yet?” “ Hello skipper, Special here, no, it all seems quite quiet at the moment, no doubt it will liven up soon.” “OK Special, keep us informed.”
My eyes sweep the green glowing instruments, again and again, then into the inky black sky, all OK, just saw another sparkle of exploding anti-aircraft fire ahead. It looks quite pretty from here, but it won’t when we get nearer.
“Bombaimer to skipper, I can just see the Dutch coast coming up now, I’ll give you a fix when we cross ..... now! 34 and a half on the tip of Overflakkee and I’m glad that it’s not living up to its name at the moment” “So am I bombaimer, it all looks very quiet, that could mean that there are Jerry night fighters about, keep your eyes open gunners”. “Pilot to navigator, did you get that?” “OK skip, we’re on track and 30 seconds late. Turn onto one zero two compass, ETA turning point is on the hour”. “Roger navigator, one zero two compass and on the hour”.
Over occupied territory now and right over a whole nest of night-fighter airfields, but so far all seems to be quiet, time for another crew check, all OK. I slowly become conscious of a beat developing in the steady drone of the engines as they become slightly unsynchronised, a quick check of the engine instruments shows that the starboard inner has dropped a few revs. The flight engineer leans forward, he has spotted it too, he checks the boost and temperature gauges and gives me a thumbs-up sign and a shrug of the shoulders. “Could be a little icing in the carb skip” “OK I’ll adjust the throttles, but keep your eyes on it”. With a slight adjustment of the pitch levers the engines revert to their steady drone. “Engineer to pilot, fuel consumption is fine, just changing to number 2 tanks” - “OK engineer.”
The monotonous drone is broken by a crackle on the intercom as somebody switches on their microphone. “Navigator to pilot, we’re about 3 miles to port of track, alter course to one one zero compass for the turning point.” “Pilot to navigator, one one zero compass it is, we’re levelling out at 21,000” “OK skipper 21,000, the wind seems to be a bit more southerly up here”. “Midupper to pilot, Lancaster on the starboard beam about 300 feet above us” “OK Midupper, keep you eyes on him, we will probably converge on him with this new heading” -- “OK skip”
ONWARD and upward the steady drone goes on, with the regular scan of the instruments and the night outside punctuated at regular intervals by the crew check. Everybody is fully occupied with their own job and their own deep inner thoughts. The Special back in the fuselage is busy with his cathode-ray tube, searching the frequencies for directions to German night fighters from their controllers so that he can jam them with one of his three transmitters.
“Searchlights and flak ahead on the port bow skipper!” “OK bombaimer, it looks like somebody has wandered off to port of track and is getting a reception from Rotterdam. Are we on track navigator?” “Navigator to pilot, the Gee says we’re bang on and the signal’s pretty good so far.” “Good show navigator”. ”Pilot to bombaimer, see if you can get a fix on the Dutch coast, it should be just about visible and we should be there in three minutes” “OK skip”. “Pilot to gunners, keep your eyes open chaps, it looks as though they know we’re coming now”. Midupper, OK skip. Rear gunner, OK skipper. “Pilot to Special, any activity in your department yet?” “ Hello skipper, Special here, no, it all seems quite quiet at the moment, no doubt it will liven up soon.” “OK Special, keep us informed.”
My eyes sweep the green glowing instruments, again and again, then into the inky black sky, all OK, just saw another sparkle of exploding anti-aircraft fire ahead. It looks quite pretty from here, but it won’t when we get nearer.
“Bombaimer to skipper, I can just see the Dutch coast coming up now, I’ll give you a fix when we cross ..... now! 34 and a half on the tip of Overflakkee and I’m glad that it’s not living up to its name at the moment” “So am I bombaimer, it all looks very quiet, that could mean that there are Jerry night fighters about, keep your eyes open gunners”. “Pilot to navigator, did you get that?” “OK skip, we’re on track and 30 seconds late. Turn onto one zero two compass, ETA turning point is on the hour”. “Roger navigator, one zero two compass and on the hour”.
Over occupied territory now and right over a whole nest of night-fighter airfields, but so far all seems to be quiet, time for another crew check, all OK. I slowly become conscious of a beat developing in the steady drone of the engines as they become slightly unsynchronised, a quick check of the engine instruments shows that the starboard inner has dropped a few revs. The flight engineer leans forward, he has spotted it too, he checks the boost and temperature gauges and gives me a thumbs-up sign and a shrug of the shoulders. “Could be a little icing in the carb skip” “OK I’ll adjust the throttles, but keep your eyes on it”. With a slight adjustment of the pitch levers the engines revert to their steady drone. “Engineer to pilot, fuel consumption is fine, just changing to number 2 tanks” - “OK engineer.”
The monotonous drone is broken by a crackle on the intercom as somebody switches on their microphone. “Navigator to pilot, we’re about 3 miles to port of track, alter course to one one zero compass for the turning point.” “Pilot to navigator, one one zero compass it is, we’re levelling out at 21,000” “OK skipper 21,000, the wind seems to be a bit more southerly up here”. “Midupper to pilot, Lancaster on the starboard beam about 300 feet above us” “OK Midupper, keep you eyes on him, we will probably converge on him with this new heading” -- “OK skip”
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Ron Homes
Hi Geri, Chugalug and all - A very happy new year!
I've only just noticed that my favourite thread is active again and with the story of someone I had the pleasure of meeting a few times, Ron Homes.
About 2000 my wife and I were in one of our small local towns, Shaftesbury in Dorset. We walked past Bell Street Gallery and noticed there was an art exhibition there. My wife is a keen and good amateur artist and had exhibited there herself on several occasions. Slight drift - one person who bought one of her paintings was Sir Peter Harding former CAS and CDS who also lived locally - drift over. The artist exhibiting was Ron Homes - most of his work was of local scenes/subjects, but I noticed that there were several aviation paintings, which of course I was drawn to. One in particular caught my eye, a Dakota landing in what appeared to be a jungle strip. I said to Anne I bet that was Burma. Anyway off we went home. My birthday was coming up and Anne thought that painting would make a good present for me. She rang the gallery to be told the exhibition was over but was given the artist's home number. She rang and Ron said he still had that painting and gave her his address in Shaftesbury so that we could call and buy the painting. He was an extremely pleasant guy, showed us his aviation work including ' A night to remember'. I'll stop my tale here for the moment as I don't want to spoil the rest of Geri's story for everyone.
I look forward to reading the remainder of 'Night to remember'.
I've only just noticed that my favourite thread is active again and with the story of someone I had the pleasure of meeting a few times, Ron Homes.
About 2000 my wife and I were in one of our small local towns, Shaftesbury in Dorset. We walked past Bell Street Gallery and noticed there was an art exhibition there. My wife is a keen and good amateur artist and had exhibited there herself on several occasions. Slight drift - one person who bought one of her paintings was Sir Peter Harding former CAS and CDS who also lived locally - drift over. The artist exhibiting was Ron Homes - most of his work was of local scenes/subjects, but I noticed that there were several aviation paintings, which of course I was drawn to. One in particular caught my eye, a Dakota landing in what appeared to be a jungle strip. I said to Anne I bet that was Burma. Anyway off we went home. My birthday was coming up and Anne thought that painting would make a good present for me. She rang the gallery to be told the exhibition was over but was given the artist's home number. She rang and Ron said he still had that painting and gave her his address in Shaftesbury so that we could call and buy the painting. He was an extremely pleasant guy, showed us his aviation work including ' A night to remember'. I'll stop my tale here for the moment as I don't want to spoil the rest of Geri's story for everyone.
I look forward to reading the remainder of 'Night to remember'.
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If it weren't for Geriaviator I, and I suspect most of us, would have been unaware of Ron Homes, let alone his uncanny ability to tell a story. The detail is minute. What a pity he slipped through the net when this unique thread was at its zenith, but fortunately we had another storyteller of equal ability to remember and recount that all important detail. The similarities in style are striking, almost as though their education had the premise that they should be able to recount precisely and engagingly what they had experienced some 70 years previously. Thankfully he was driven to do the same as Danny, to get it recorded before it was too late.
Thanks, Geriaviator, for posting a Night to Remember here, where it can be best appreciated!
Thanks, Geriaviator, for posting a Night to Remember here, where it can be best appreciated!
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Yes Chug, I was swept away by the writing style and the detail which gets better and better, even my wife was spellbound as she had enough flying knowledge to walk away from our Arrow should I have been incapacitated in our European and African wanderings. I wonder was Ronald in Burma at the same time as Danny42C? Brian, I'm amazed and so pleased that you were able to meet the man himself. I have sent you a pm. Now back to 101 Squadron!
The Electronic War
AS RONALD and his crew cross the North Sea on the first leg of their long journey, here is a very brief account of their vital duties in the skies over occupied Europe.
What we now know as electronic countermeasures had their beginnings in 1940 when the Luftwaffe used its ingenious Knickebein radio beam system to pinpoint and destroy Coventry. It was swiftly identified and jammed by British scientists, just as successive British systems would be neutralised by the Germans.
As Bomber Command lost more and more aircraft to night fighters, powerful radio transmitters in England were used to interfere with fighter control. The familiar jamming tone which blocked out voice transmissions was developed into speech instructions such as “fly north and await instructions” when the bomber stream was to the south, or false warnings of fog which caused night fighters to return to base. As these warnings became recognised as fake, some German crews ignored them and were lost when the fog proved to be genuine.
In early 1943 a powerful transmitter codenamed Airborne Cigar was fitted to the Lancasters of 101 Special Duties Sqn, and proved so successful that the squadron aircraft were spaced all along the bomber stream to disrupt fighter activity. There were 42 Lancasters on the squadron, so numerals were added following the identification letter: hence Ronald’s SR-N2 which was designated Nan Squared.
The work of 101 Sqn was considered so vital to the bomber offensive that its Ludford airfield was chosen as one of only 15 among Bomber Command’s scores of bases to be fitted with FIDO fog dispersal apparatus. This involved spraying petrol from a line of pipes along each side of the runway which when ignited created a tunnel through the dense fog about 300 ft wide and 200 to 300 ft high. Pictured is a 101 Sqn Lancaster landing in dense fog which had forced the closure of airfields all over England.
The operation was top secret but one operator recalled after the war: “We sat alone in a small compartment on one side of the fuselage. All I could see was the mid-upper gunner’s feet a few feet away. I had a three-inch cathode ray tube which showed the Germans’ fighter frequencies as a line across the base, and German signals appeared as blips on this line.”
When the operator, who spoke fluent German, identified a fighter controller’s transmission he switched on one of the Lancaster’s three transmitters and blocked it. The Luftwaffe controller would then change frequency but it took only seconds to tune and block the new frequency as well. The Special could introduce a variety of jamming tones, speech, or the Merlin’s mighty roar from a microphone mounted in an engine compartment. Meanwhile, the bombaimer in the nose was throwing out metallic strips of Window to reflect the radar pulses and render the fighter and ground control radars almost useless.
An obvious move was for the fighter to home onto the jamming signals, but the RAF had thought of this and switched on their transmitters only long enough to disrupt the controller’s transmissions. The Germans knew about ABC just as soon as the first aircraft was shot down and its equipment analysed, as they did for other devices such as H2S radar, IFF friend-or-foe transmitters, and Monica tail warning radar, all of which were used for homing, but they never fully overcame it and its successors.
Among the developments was a huge transmitter codenamed Jostle, carried by B17 Fortresses and Liberators which had the space and extra generating power to take it over Europe. At one stage the jamming was so successful that the Luftwaffe was reduced to using the Army’s powerful Anne-Marie broadcasting station to disguise messages as music of different types, such as playing waltzes to indicate the raiders were over Cologne, marches meaning over Berlin, classical music for Duisberg and so on. The British then jammed Anne-Marie as well.
As the day bombing offensive intensified, the Americans used British know-how to jam the radar-predicted flak which took a heavy toll especially when the bombers held a steady course on their bombing runs. (One of the major manufacturing centres for such radar equipment and proximity fuses was a city called Dresden).
One of 101 Sqn’s major operations was on D-Day, when the squadron put up 24 Lancasters in a line north of the invasion area to jam all fighter communications while the invasion fleet was crossing. Not one fighter was encountered over the landing areas but one Lancaster was lost, probably to flak.
However, the Luftwaffe found a partial solution to Window and jamming in Wilde Sau (Wild Boar). On clear nights both day and night fighters were given a free hand to enter the densely packed bomber stream, taking a grim toll until the growing force of Mosquito night fighters was able to cover every night-fighter airfield on the deadly route to Germany.
For a full description of the electronic war, may I recommend Instruments of Darkness by Alfred Price.
What we now know as electronic countermeasures had their beginnings in 1940 when the Luftwaffe used its ingenious Knickebein radio beam system to pinpoint and destroy Coventry. It was swiftly identified and jammed by British scientists, just as successive British systems would be neutralised by the Germans.
As Bomber Command lost more and more aircraft to night fighters, powerful radio transmitters in England were used to interfere with fighter control. The familiar jamming tone which blocked out voice transmissions was developed into speech instructions such as “fly north and await instructions” when the bomber stream was to the south, or false warnings of fog which caused night fighters to return to base. As these warnings became recognised as fake, some German crews ignored them and were lost when the fog proved to be genuine.
In early 1943 a powerful transmitter codenamed Airborne Cigar was fitted to the Lancasters of 101 Special Duties Sqn, and proved so successful that the squadron aircraft were spaced all along the bomber stream to disrupt fighter activity. There were 42 Lancasters on the squadron, so numerals were added following the identification letter: hence Ronald’s SR-N2 which was designated Nan Squared.
The work of 101 Sqn was considered so vital to the bomber offensive that its Ludford airfield was chosen as one of only 15 among Bomber Command’s scores of bases to be fitted with FIDO fog dispersal apparatus. This involved spraying petrol from a line of pipes along each side of the runway which when ignited created a tunnel through the dense fog about 300 ft wide and 200 to 300 ft high. Pictured is a 101 Sqn Lancaster landing in dense fog which had forced the closure of airfields all over England.
The operation was top secret but one operator recalled after the war: “We sat alone in a small compartment on one side of the fuselage. All I could see was the mid-upper gunner’s feet a few feet away. I had a three-inch cathode ray tube which showed the Germans’ fighter frequencies as a line across the base, and German signals appeared as blips on this line.”
When the operator, who spoke fluent German, identified a fighter controller’s transmission he switched on one of the Lancaster’s three transmitters and blocked it. The Luftwaffe controller would then change frequency but it took only seconds to tune and block the new frequency as well. The Special could introduce a variety of jamming tones, speech, or the Merlin’s mighty roar from a microphone mounted in an engine compartment. Meanwhile, the bombaimer in the nose was throwing out metallic strips of Window to reflect the radar pulses and render the fighter and ground control radars almost useless.
An obvious move was for the fighter to home onto the jamming signals, but the RAF had thought of this and switched on their transmitters only long enough to disrupt the controller’s transmissions. The Germans knew about ABC just as soon as the first aircraft was shot down and its equipment analysed, as they did for other devices such as H2S radar, IFF friend-or-foe transmitters, and Monica tail warning radar, all of which were used for homing, but they never fully overcame it and its successors.
Among the developments was a huge transmitter codenamed Jostle, carried by B17 Fortresses and Liberators which had the space and extra generating power to take it over Europe. At one stage the jamming was so successful that the Luftwaffe was reduced to using the Army’s powerful Anne-Marie broadcasting station to disguise messages as music of different types, such as playing waltzes to indicate the raiders were over Cologne, marches meaning over Berlin, classical music for Duisberg and so on. The British then jammed Anne-Marie as well.
As the day bombing offensive intensified, the Americans used British know-how to jam the radar-predicted flak which took a heavy toll especially when the bombers held a steady course on their bombing runs. (One of the major manufacturing centres for such radar equipment and proximity fuses was a city called Dresden).
One of 101 Sqn’s major operations was on D-Day, when the squadron put up 24 Lancasters in a line north of the invasion area to jam all fighter communications while the invasion fleet was crossing. Not one fighter was encountered over the landing areas but one Lancaster was lost, probably to flak.
However, the Luftwaffe found a partial solution to Window and jamming in Wilde Sau (Wild Boar). On clear nights both day and night fighters were given a free hand to enter the densely packed bomber stream, taking a grim toll until the growing force of Mosquito night fighters was able to cover every night-fighter airfield on the deadly route to Germany.
For a full description of the electronic war, may I recommend Instruments of Darkness by Alfred Price.
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Geri
Thank you for your messages.
i don't think I'll be giving too much away by the following.
Ron was living in Shaftesbury when we met - he is not listed in BT Directory Enquiries now. Further ferreting around reveals that Bell St. Gallery has been renamed Ron Homes Gallery which suggests that is in memory of him. I believe he completed a full tour of ops on 101 followed by a posting to 238 Sqn flying the Dak. Jefford's RAF Sqns ( I've met him too at the RAF Historical Society's Hercules event at Filton in 2019 ) has 238 reforming at Merryfield ( near Taunton ) on 1.12.44 then deploying in Feb '45 to Raipur, then Comilla then to Parafield in Oz before disbanding on 27.12.45. I guess they routed via Hong Kong as I have a painting by Ron of a Sunderland overflying shipping vessels in the harbour.
I think Ron worked in industrial design after demob'. He hadn't flown for years until a chum took him up in a light aircraft from Compton Abbas - he and his Lancaster crew stayed in touch for the rest of their lives.
Finally an amusing story - Anne and I called in to see an exhibition of work by another artist and we spotted Ron looking around the other end of the studio. We said to Nick the artist, do you know Ron? He's an artist too. Yes he replied 'He is my ex-Father-in-Law'!
i don't think I'll be giving too much away by the following.
Ron was living in Shaftesbury when we met - he is not listed in BT Directory Enquiries now. Further ferreting around reveals that Bell St. Gallery has been renamed Ron Homes Gallery which suggests that is in memory of him. I believe he completed a full tour of ops on 101 followed by a posting to 238 Sqn flying the Dak. Jefford's RAF Sqns ( I've met him too at the RAF Historical Society's Hercules event at Filton in 2019 ) has 238 reforming at Merryfield ( near Taunton ) on 1.12.44 then deploying in Feb '45 to Raipur, then Comilla then to Parafield in Oz before disbanding on 27.12.45. I guess they routed via Hong Kong as I have a painting by Ron of a Sunderland overflying shipping vessels in the harbour.
I think Ron worked in industrial design after demob'. He hadn't flown for years until a chum took him up in a light aircraft from Compton Abbas - he and his Lancaster crew stayed in touch for the rest of their lives.
Finally an amusing story - Anne and I called in to see an exhibition of work by another artist and we spotted Ron looking around the other end of the studio. We said to Nick the artist, do you know Ron? He's an artist too. Yes he replied 'He is my ex-Father-in-Law'!
A Nght to Remember -part 9. By RONALD HOMES, pilot, 101 Special Duties Sqn RAF
STARING into the black night sky to hold onto a black smudge while you’re searching the blackness for other black smudges which could turn out to be a lot more sinister is very tiring, but if we can spot them first we stand a chance of living. My eyes are getting tired now and I have to fight off the drowsiness that threatens to engulf me. Onwards into the blackness relieved only by the red glow from the exhaust of the port inner engine. It always seem to be uncomfortably bright on these very dark nights.
“Pilot to navigator, we must be getting close to the turning point now.” “ Navigator to pilot, yes skipper, only another minute to run, then onto one three six compass, ETA for next turning point is 38. “Roger navigator, turning now onto one three six compass, ETA at 38, airspeed 190.
Suddenly a bright orange ball of fire lights up the sky about a quarter of a mile on the port beam when a Lancaster and its full fuel and bomb load disintegrates. “Some poor sods have bought it skip”, “Pilot to midupper, if that's you, OK we can see it.” “Pilot to crew, there was no sign of flak chaps, so that means fighters. Keep your eyes skinned, navigator make a note of that on your log.” “ OK skipper.”
Onward we drone with the aircraft swinging slightly from side to side as the gunners swing their turrets in their endless searching into the blackness. Eyes staring into the dark sky, and what’s that? A faint patch of light on the port beam. What the……? Of course it’s the moon just coming up and behind a patch of cloud. Not a full one tonight, thank God!
“Pilot to rear gunner, OK?” “ OK skip, the moon’s just showing up on the port beam”, “Good show, I’m glad you’ve spotted it, keep a good look out to starboard, we might be silhouetted against that light patch. Midupper?” “OK skipper”
“Pilot to crew, everybody still awake?” “Special OK, skip, there’s quite a bit of fighter activity on the frequencies.” “OK Special. Wireless, you OK?” “OK skip, we just got the broadcast wind and I’ve passed it to the nav.” “Navigator’s OK skip, turn onto 138 compass, we’re slightly to port of track, the wind has gone round a bit to the west. ETA is still good at 38 for the turning point”. “Roger navigator, pilot to bombaimer, are you OK?” “Bombaimer to pilot OK, I’m still chucking out this bloody Window!” “OK keep up the good work!” “Ha, Ha!”
STARING into the black night sky to hold onto a black smudge while you’re searching the blackness for other black smudges which could turn out to be a lot more sinister is very tiring, but if we can spot them first we stand a chance of living. My eyes are getting tired now and I have to fight off the drowsiness that threatens to engulf me. Onwards into the blackness relieved only by the red glow from the exhaust of the port inner engine. It always seem to be uncomfortably bright on these very dark nights.
“Pilot to navigator, we must be getting close to the turning point now.” “ Navigator to pilot, yes skipper, only another minute to run, then onto one three six compass, ETA for next turning point is 38. “Roger navigator, turning now onto one three six compass, ETA at 38, airspeed 190.
Suddenly a bright orange ball of fire lights up the sky about a quarter of a mile on the port beam when a Lancaster and its full fuel and bomb load disintegrates. “Some poor sods have bought it skip”, “Pilot to midupper, if that's you, OK we can see it.” “Pilot to crew, there was no sign of flak chaps, so that means fighters. Keep your eyes skinned, navigator make a note of that on your log.” “ OK skipper.”
Onward we drone with the aircraft swinging slightly from side to side as the gunners swing their turrets in their endless searching into the blackness. Eyes staring into the dark sky, and what’s that? A faint patch of light on the port beam. What the……? Of course it’s the moon just coming up and behind a patch of cloud. Not a full one tonight, thank God!
“Pilot to rear gunner, OK?” “ OK skip, the moon’s just showing up on the port beam”, “Good show, I’m glad you’ve spotted it, keep a good look out to starboard, we might be silhouetted against that light patch. Midupper?” “OK skipper”
“Pilot to crew, everybody still awake?” “Special OK, skip, there’s quite a bit of fighter activity on the frequencies.” “OK Special. Wireless, you OK?” “OK skip, we just got the broadcast wind and I’ve passed it to the nav.” “Navigator’s OK skip, turn onto 138 compass, we’re slightly to port of track, the wind has gone round a bit to the west. ETA is still good at 38 for the turning point”. “Roger navigator, pilot to bombaimer, are you OK?” “Bombaimer to pilot OK, I’m still chucking out this bloody Window!” “OK keep up the good work!” “Ha, Ha!”
Last edited by Geriaviator; 9th Jan 2024 at 13:17.
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Geri
I've found that Ron died on 29/7/2015 and was still painting almost up until his demise aged 92. 238 Sqn's base at Comilla was on the then Indian ( now Bangladesh ) border with Burma. Would Danny have left Burma by then?
Take care, Brian Wildey
Take care, Brian Wildey
Bravo Brian, I shall link all this info in the epilogue to follow Ron's wonderful story. We do know that Danny left Burma in 1944, from his e-book In with a Vengeance: All six Vengeance squadrons were ordered to cease operations in June '44, and we would shortly leave the Arakan, never to return. Danny then returned to India where he commanded the gas spray trials, returning to Blighty in 1946.
Just spent an hour on this -- finding the date was easy but as usual Danny's tales lead to another, then another! I think everyone has read his book but for those that haven't, send me a PM with your email address. The RAF Benevolent Fund will be delighted if this gets off the ground again!
Just spent an hour on this -- finding the date was easy but as usual Danny's tales lead to another, then another! I think everyone has read his book but for those that haven't, send me a PM with your email address. The RAF Benevolent Fund will be delighted if this gets off the ground again!
Last edited by Geriaviator; 10th Jan 2024 at 13:39.
A Night to Remember -- part 10. Eight minutes to target, and green markers are going down
ONWARD into the night we drone, check the heading, the airspeed, the altimeter, we’ve gained a couple of hundred feet, trim nose down a bit. Must be getting a little lighter as we burn off some fuel. The green glow of the instruments seem so bright now that they seem to be burning into my eyes, it must be past my bed time. How nice it would be to be in bed now, all warm and safe instead of four miles up in the dark over Germany with the Luftwaffe intent on killing you.
“Rear gunner to pilot, there’s flak and searchlights about five miles on the starboard quarter.” “Pilot to rear gunner, roger, somebody’s wandered over Cologne I expect”. “It might be a diversionary raid” says the engineer who is standing next to me, scanning all his engine instruments and writing up his log with the aid of his glow-worm of a torch. “Yes, engineer, let’s hope it works, we’re only about 20 minutes to the target now, engines look happy?” “Yes skip”. “Navigator to pilot, we’re running a couple of minutes early, can you cut the speed back to 175?” “Pilot to navigator, wilco”.
Bring back the throttles a bit, trim up the nose, and the airspeed creeps back to 175, a slight adjustment to the pitch levers and the four big engines resume their regular drone. “Navigator to pilot, it’s 14 minutes to the turning point then 10.5 minutes to run into the target.” “Pilot to navigator, roger, things will start hotting up soon chaps, everybody keep your eyes skinned” “OK skipper”. “Special to pilot, there’s a lot more fighter activity now skipper.” “Ok Special, did you hear that chaps? Keep your eyes open, gunners.” “Bombaimer to pilot, it’s all looking very quiet and dark ahead skipper.” “OK bombaimer, I expect they will be switching on the bright lights for you soon.”
“Navigator to pilot, turning point in one minute, then onto 171 compass”. “Roger navigator, 171 compass it is”. Only 10 minutes to the target now. You can feel the tension growing, five pairs of eyes constantly searching the blackness for a darker patch that may be an enemy fighter or at best another Lancaster on a collision course. It may come from above, or below, fighters usually attack from behind and below, but only the gunners have a chance to see them, so I swing the aircraft slightly from side to side to give them a chance to spot them under our tail.
Eight minutes to the target now and some green TIs (target indicators) start to go down, way out in front and on our starboard bow. That’s right, it must be our target because we have a 20 degree turn to starboard for a short run-up of ten miles to target. “Pilot to bombaimer, you had better get your gear set up.” “Bombaimer to pilot, all set skipper, they’re beginning to switch on the lights now.” “Yes, searchlights and a bit of flak going up now”.
Suddenly over to port there is a concentrated load of flak finishing with a bright orange ball of fire as another Lancaster is hit. “Another one’s got the chop skipper” somebody shouts over the intercom. “Pilot to mid-upper, if that’s you, OK I saw it. Pilot to navigator, log that one, over Frankfurt I guess.” “OK skipper.”
ONWARD into the night we drone, check the heading, the airspeed, the altimeter, we’ve gained a couple of hundred feet, trim nose down a bit. Must be getting a little lighter as we burn off some fuel. The green glow of the instruments seem so bright now that they seem to be burning into my eyes, it must be past my bed time. How nice it would be to be in bed now, all warm and safe instead of four miles up in the dark over Germany with the Luftwaffe intent on killing you.
“Rear gunner to pilot, there’s flak and searchlights about five miles on the starboard quarter.” “Pilot to rear gunner, roger, somebody’s wandered over Cologne I expect”. “It might be a diversionary raid” says the engineer who is standing next to me, scanning all his engine instruments and writing up his log with the aid of his glow-worm of a torch. “Yes, engineer, let’s hope it works, we’re only about 20 minutes to the target now, engines look happy?” “Yes skip”. “Navigator to pilot, we’re running a couple of minutes early, can you cut the speed back to 175?” “Pilot to navigator, wilco”.
Bring back the throttles a bit, trim up the nose, and the airspeed creeps back to 175, a slight adjustment to the pitch levers and the four big engines resume their regular drone. “Navigator to pilot, it’s 14 minutes to the turning point then 10.5 minutes to run into the target.” “Pilot to navigator, roger, things will start hotting up soon chaps, everybody keep your eyes skinned” “OK skipper”. “Special to pilot, there’s a lot more fighter activity now skipper.” “Ok Special, did you hear that chaps? Keep your eyes open, gunners.” “Bombaimer to pilot, it’s all looking very quiet and dark ahead skipper.” “OK bombaimer, I expect they will be switching on the bright lights for you soon.”
“Navigator to pilot, turning point in one minute, then onto 171 compass”. “Roger navigator, 171 compass it is”. Only 10 minutes to the target now. You can feel the tension growing, five pairs of eyes constantly searching the blackness for a darker patch that may be an enemy fighter or at best another Lancaster on a collision course. It may come from above, or below, fighters usually attack from behind and below, but only the gunners have a chance to see them, so I swing the aircraft slightly from side to side to give them a chance to spot them under our tail.
Eight minutes to the target now and some green TIs (target indicators) start to go down, way out in front and on our starboard bow. That’s right, it must be our target because we have a 20 degree turn to starboard for a short run-up of ten miles to target. “Pilot to bombaimer, you had better get your gear set up.” “Bombaimer to pilot, all set skipper, they’re beginning to switch on the lights now.” “Yes, searchlights and a bit of flak going up now”.
Suddenly over to port there is a concentrated load of flak finishing with a bright orange ball of fire as another Lancaster is hit. “Another one’s got the chop skipper” somebody shouts over the intercom. “Pilot to mid-upper, if that’s you, OK I saw it. Pilot to navigator, log that one, over Frankfurt I guess.” “OK skipper.”
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A Night to Remember -- part 11 Bombs gone, now let’s head for home
BOMBS are beginning to go down over the target now, and I tune into the frequency for the Master Bomber. His voice is just audible over the static saying that the marking is good. Fires are beginning to light the night sky over the target and more flak is coming up ahead. Five minutes to run. “Pilot to navigator, turning onto the bombing run now, speed 175” “Nav, OK skipper.” “Pilot to bombaimer, all set?” “Bombaimer OK skip, bombs selected.” “Pilot to crew, OK chaps here we go, keep your eyes open, but with this amount of flak coming up I don’t suppose there’s any fighters about.”
The Master Bomber’s voice is clearer now saying “Bomb the red and green TIs, the marking is good”, as we slowly, oh so slowly advance towards that huge dome of fire. Exploding anti-aircraft shells sparkle in clusters like iron fillings dropped in a flame, just at our level but still a little ahead. The fires below begin to reflect a glow on the underside of the aircraft and other Lancasters come into view like little black toys silhouetted over the fires of the target.
“Bombaimer to pilot, starting the run up now, we’re a bit to port, right-right” “Roger bombaimer, over to you.” “Roger, bombdoors open skipper” My left hand drops to the lever and selects the bombdoors open: “Roger, bombdoors open.” A slight change of trim as the two massive doors under the aircraft fall open, fluttering in the slipstream and a tremble comes up through the controls. Everything has to be very steady now, keep the heading and airspeed correct. Airspeed steady at 175, heading 071 degrees, steady, steady. A sudden change will upset the bombsight and we will miss the target.
“Right right” says the bombaimer, slight pressure on the starboard rudder pedal and the direction indicator swings slowly through two degrees. “Steady” responds the bombaimer. I hold it at 073 degrees, brilliant flashes in the target area as bombs burst sending out concentric ripples in the fires below. The tension mounts, everybody seem to be holding their breath...CRUMP..CRUMP.. two shells burst near enough to be heard above the roar of the engines and the aircraft jumps.
Steady, check airspeed, check the heading, OK. “Left-left” calls the bombaimer, “Steady-steady”, as the red and green TIs slowly creep up the wire on his bombsight. Flashes from exploding shells seem to be all around us now, the bombaimer’s instructions become more frequent, “right….steady……left-left……steady……steady….s.t.e.a.d.y….. s..t..e..a..d..y - BOMBS GONE!!! ” Donk….Donk….Donk…. go the bombs as they are released from their hooks and the aircraft rears up as its massive six ton load drops away.
Trim nose down to keep the airspeed steady, check the heading, keep her steady now for a long, oh so long two minutes, while the flak bursts seem to be getting closer and closer, until the photoflash goes off and the camera takes a picture of where our bombs would strike. Then “Bomb doors closed” from the bombaimer, my left hand pulls up the lever and my right hand pushes the control column forward to build up speed while the engineer pushes the throttles forward.
BOMBS are beginning to go down over the target now, and I tune into the frequency for the Master Bomber. His voice is just audible over the static saying that the marking is good. Fires are beginning to light the night sky over the target and more flak is coming up ahead. Five minutes to run. “Pilot to navigator, turning onto the bombing run now, speed 175” “Nav, OK skipper.” “Pilot to bombaimer, all set?” “Bombaimer OK skip, bombs selected.” “Pilot to crew, OK chaps here we go, keep your eyes open, but with this amount of flak coming up I don’t suppose there’s any fighters about.”
The Master Bomber’s voice is clearer now saying “Bomb the red and green TIs, the marking is good”, as we slowly, oh so slowly advance towards that huge dome of fire. Exploding anti-aircraft shells sparkle in clusters like iron fillings dropped in a flame, just at our level but still a little ahead. The fires below begin to reflect a glow on the underside of the aircraft and other Lancasters come into view like little black toys silhouetted over the fires of the target.
“Bombaimer to pilot, starting the run up now, we’re a bit to port, right-right” “Roger bombaimer, over to you.” “Roger, bombdoors open skipper” My left hand drops to the lever and selects the bombdoors open: “Roger, bombdoors open.” A slight change of trim as the two massive doors under the aircraft fall open, fluttering in the slipstream and a tremble comes up through the controls. Everything has to be very steady now, keep the heading and airspeed correct. Airspeed steady at 175, heading 071 degrees, steady, steady. A sudden change will upset the bombsight and we will miss the target.
“Right right” says the bombaimer, slight pressure on the starboard rudder pedal and the direction indicator swings slowly through two degrees. “Steady” responds the bombaimer. I hold it at 073 degrees, brilliant flashes in the target area as bombs burst sending out concentric ripples in the fires below. The tension mounts, everybody seem to be holding their breath...CRUMP..CRUMP.. two shells burst near enough to be heard above the roar of the engines and the aircraft jumps.
Steady, check airspeed, check the heading, OK. “Left-left” calls the bombaimer, “Steady-steady”, as the red and green TIs slowly creep up the wire on his bombsight. Flashes from exploding shells seem to be all around us now, the bombaimer’s instructions become more frequent, “right….steady……left-left……steady……steady….s.t.e.a.d.y….. s..t..e..a..d..y - BOMBS GONE!!! ” Donk….Donk….Donk…. go the bombs as they are released from their hooks and the aircraft rears up as its massive six ton load drops away.
Trim nose down to keep the airspeed steady, check the heading, keep her steady now for a long, oh so long two minutes, while the flak bursts seem to be getting closer and closer, until the photoflash goes off and the camera takes a picture of where our bombs would strike. Then “Bomb doors closed” from the bombaimer, my left hand pulls up the lever and my right hand pushes the control column forward to build up speed while the engineer pushes the throttles forward.
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The final trial, holding the bombing-run track for a further 2 minutes after bomb release for the all important photoflash record of your bombing accuracy, only then can the bomb doors be closed and the speed increased! The enemy know your height and can fuse their antiaircraft shells accordingly. Is abandoning this vulnerable procedure justified if you are caught and coned by the searchlights? No doubt we will learn more in upcoming Geriaviator posts. The writing is superb, right up there with the likes of Ernest K Gann, in painting this verbal Son et Lumiere scene of a Night to Remember in the wartime skies of the Third Reich.
A Night to Remember part 12 ............ Away from the target, all’s well -- until the fighter strikes
YOU CAN sense the massive release of tension in the crew as the engines’ roar takes on a higher note and the airspeed builds up to get away from the target area and out of the flak as fast as possible. Check the crew, “pilot to crew, everybody OK? Rear gunner?” “Rear gunner OK skip” “Mid-upper?” “Mid upper OK skipper” and so on. “Right chaps, everybody’s OK , let’s go home”
“Navigator to pilot, turn onto 297 compass” “Roger navigator 297 compass, airspeed 195” “Roger skip, airspeed 195, I’ll give you the time to the next turning point in a minute” “Roger, navigator”. There’s comfort in the steady drone of the engines now and quite an elated feeling at having survived another target and we’re on our way home.
Suddenly the mid-upper shouts “FIGHTER!” I slam on full left rudder, control column forward and hard to port, his guns begin to chatter and instantly the plane is shaken by a series of dull thumps. What a strange noise… WE’VE BEEN HIT! A brilliant yellow-orange light fills the cockpit. “ Starboard outer’s on fire skipper” shouts the engineer. “There’s a bloody great flame going past the tailplane” shouts the mid-upper. “OK chaps, settle down. Pilot to engineer, feather the starboard outer and push the fire extinguisher”. “OK skip ... Fire’s still burning skip” -- “****!”
Thoughts rush through my mind as I continue to throw the aircraft about in a corkscrew to avoid the fighters. We must be a choice target now, lit up in the night sky like a flaming comet and if we don’t get this fire out we have had it! “Engineer to pilot, it looks like a fuel fire, if we turn off the fuel to the starboard side we might be able to starve it but it will mean feathering the starboard inner as well.” “ OK engineer try that!”
“Pilot to crew, anybody hurt?” “Rear gunner, OK skip but my turret’s U/S.” “Mid-upper’s OK but so is mine.” “OK gunners, keep your eyes skinned for that bloody fighter and just give me directions to avoid it” “OK skipper”. “Special OK,” “Navigator OK,” “Wireless OK skip,” “Bombaimer OK, skipper.” “Good show chaps ...
“What the hell is happening engineer? “Starboard inner’s feathered skipper!” “So has the bloody port inner, I’ve only got one engine left!”
YOU CAN sense the massive release of tension in the crew as the engines’ roar takes on a higher note and the airspeed builds up to get away from the target area and out of the flak as fast as possible. Check the crew, “pilot to crew, everybody OK? Rear gunner?” “Rear gunner OK skip” “Mid-upper?” “Mid upper OK skipper” and so on. “Right chaps, everybody’s OK , let’s go home”
“Navigator to pilot, turn onto 297 compass” “Roger navigator 297 compass, airspeed 195” “Roger skip, airspeed 195, I’ll give you the time to the next turning point in a minute” “Roger, navigator”. There’s comfort in the steady drone of the engines now and quite an elated feeling at having survived another target and we’re on our way home.
Suddenly the mid-upper shouts “FIGHTER!” I slam on full left rudder, control column forward and hard to port, his guns begin to chatter and instantly the plane is shaken by a series of dull thumps. What a strange noise… WE’VE BEEN HIT! A brilliant yellow-orange light fills the cockpit. “ Starboard outer’s on fire skipper” shouts the engineer. “There’s a bloody great flame going past the tailplane” shouts the mid-upper. “OK chaps, settle down. Pilot to engineer, feather the starboard outer and push the fire extinguisher”. “OK skip ... Fire’s still burning skip” -- “****!”
Thoughts rush through my mind as I continue to throw the aircraft about in a corkscrew to avoid the fighters. We must be a choice target now, lit up in the night sky like a flaming comet and if we don’t get this fire out we have had it! “Engineer to pilot, it looks like a fuel fire, if we turn off the fuel to the starboard side we might be able to starve it but it will mean feathering the starboard inner as well.” “ OK engineer try that!”
“Pilot to crew, anybody hurt?” “Rear gunner, OK skip but my turret’s U/S.” “Mid-upper’s OK but so is mine.” “OK gunners, keep your eyes skinned for that bloody fighter and just give me directions to avoid it” “OK skipper”. “Special OK,” “Navigator OK,” “Wireless OK skip,” “Bombaimer OK, skipper.” “Good show chaps ...
“What the hell is happening engineer? “Starboard inner’s feathered skipper!” “So has the bloody port inner, I’ve only got one engine left!”
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Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: Often in Jersey, but mainly in the past.
Age: 79
Posts: 7,810
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OMG!! Not going well. However, the author survived to tell the tale, so I await the next instalment with bated breath!