Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
A Night to Remember --part 13 .......... Losing height, Ron struggles to hold the Lancaster on one engine
THE engineer looks puzzled and runs his eyes over the controls and instruments and I think I catch a glimpse of a shrug of his shoulders. Is it getting darker?... I think it is ... “The fire’s going out skip.” “Thank God for that, engineer, I think I can stop corkscrewing now, pilot to gunners, shout as soon as you spot a fighter, and tell me which direction to corkscrew!” “Rear OK skip” “Mid-upper OK”.
We’ve lost a lot of height over that and we are now down to 10,000 ft and all on our own, well below the bomber stream and won’t be able to maintain that on just one engine. My left leg is aching with the pressure required to keep the aircraft straight against the uneven thrust of the one outboard engine. I become conscious of the sweat on my back and a dryness in my mouth and a growing determination to get this lot back. Please God, I don’t want to end up in a prison camp.
“Pilot to engineer, as soon as the fire has cooled down we will have a go at starting the starboard inner, meanwhile let’s see if we can get this port inner wound up, we’re losing too much height like this.” “OK skipper”. “Pilot to navigator let me have a new heading for home as soon as you can, we are down to 10,000 ft now so there will probably be a different wind, you will have to take a guess on where we are now”. “Navigator to pilot, hold onto 297 compass while I work something out”. “Roger navigator”. “Engineer to pilot, starting up port inner now”. “Roger engineer”.
The big propeller by my left hand window slowly begins to turn as it becomes unfeathered, a couple of blue flashes from the exhaust and she winds up to 1,200 revs to warm up before opening up to cruising power. Everything appears OK and I get the thumbs up from the engineer. Another hurdle over.
“Engineer to pilot, we seem to be losing a lot of fuel from number one starboard tank, I think it must have been holed. I’m switching all engines to that tank.” “OK engineer, have we lost much?” “Three or four hundred gallons I’d guess”. Christ! we’d better start leaning out or we shall never get back, I don’t fancy a swim in the North Sea after all this.”
“OK skipper, I think we can have a go at starting up the starboard Inner.” “OK turn on the fuel to that side but if the fire starts up again shut it down straight away.” “Roger”. Everybody has their fingers crossed as the propeller out of the right hand window begins to turn and the engine slowly comes to life and as it comes up to cruising power a blessed relief is given to my left leg as the thrust becomes more even and I can trim it out. Another blessed relief is enjoyed by all when the starboard outer remains dark.
THE engineer looks puzzled and runs his eyes over the controls and instruments and I think I catch a glimpse of a shrug of his shoulders. Is it getting darker?... I think it is ... “The fire’s going out skip.” “Thank God for that, engineer, I think I can stop corkscrewing now, pilot to gunners, shout as soon as you spot a fighter, and tell me which direction to corkscrew!” “Rear OK skip” “Mid-upper OK”.
We’ve lost a lot of height over that and we are now down to 10,000 ft and all on our own, well below the bomber stream and won’t be able to maintain that on just one engine. My left leg is aching with the pressure required to keep the aircraft straight against the uneven thrust of the one outboard engine. I become conscious of the sweat on my back and a dryness in my mouth and a growing determination to get this lot back. Please God, I don’t want to end up in a prison camp.
“Pilot to engineer, as soon as the fire has cooled down we will have a go at starting the starboard inner, meanwhile let’s see if we can get this port inner wound up, we’re losing too much height like this.” “OK skipper”. “Pilot to navigator let me have a new heading for home as soon as you can, we are down to 10,000 ft now so there will probably be a different wind, you will have to take a guess on where we are now”. “Navigator to pilot, hold onto 297 compass while I work something out”. “Roger navigator”. “Engineer to pilot, starting up port inner now”. “Roger engineer”.
The big propeller by my left hand window slowly begins to turn as it becomes unfeathered, a couple of blue flashes from the exhaust and she winds up to 1,200 revs to warm up before opening up to cruising power. Everything appears OK and I get the thumbs up from the engineer. Another hurdle over.
“Engineer to pilot, we seem to be losing a lot of fuel from number one starboard tank, I think it must have been holed. I’m switching all engines to that tank.” “OK engineer, have we lost much?” “Three or four hundred gallons I’d guess”. Christ! we’d better start leaning out or we shall never get back, I don’t fancy a swim in the North Sea after all this.”
“OK skipper, I think we can have a go at starting up the starboard Inner.” “OK turn on the fuel to that side but if the fire starts up again shut it down straight away.” “Roger”. Everybody has their fingers crossed as the propeller out of the right hand window begins to turn and the engine slowly comes to life and as it comes up to cruising power a blessed relief is given to my left leg as the thrust becomes more even and I can trim it out. Another blessed relief is enjoyed by all when the starboard outer remains dark.
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… and … breathe! Thanks for keeping us posted, Sir!
A Night to Remember -- part 14
One hour 30 min fuel remaining, but it’s one hour 50 to base
“PILOT to crew, OK chaps we’ve now got three engines again which should get us home alright if we are careful with the fuel. We are 10,000 ft, well below the bomber stream and we can’t afford the fuel to climb up and anyway we’re not really sure where we are. All the guns are out of action and it looks as though we have lost all our hydraulics, so keep your eyes skinned for fighters.
“Rear gunner to pilot, my eyes are smarting and I’m soaked in bloody petrol”. “Pilot to rear gunner, I think that some of the fuel we lost has been sucked into your turret, hang in there as long as you can”. “OK skipper”. “Navigator to pilot, I can’t get a fix on anything and I’m not sure exactly where we are so hang onto 297 until we can get a fix”. “Pilot to navigator Roger, 297 it is”. “Pilot to engineer, let’s reduce the power to zero boost and 2000 revs, that should give us about 160 at this height”.
The engine notes become softer and return to the steady drone as the engineer adjusts the pitch controls to synchronize the remaining three engines. All appears quiet and very black outside as the airspeed settles to 160. “Navigator to pilot, at this speed, it should be just over the hour to the coast”. “ Roger navigator, it’s going to be a bloody long hour. Pilot to crew, did you hear that chaps, keep your eyes open and your fingers crossed.”
Onward we drone, long minute after minute through the darkness with everybody deep in their own thoughts, nerves stretched to breaking point. The engineer over my right shoulder is busy with his glow-worm of a torch and his fuel log working out the consumption, the navigator busy trying to get his Gee set to work and give us a fix to find out where we are and the gunners manually winding their turrets from side to side to search the inky black sky for any signs of enemy fighters. “Pilot to Special, are your sets still working?” “Special, yes skipper but there’s not much going on locally, we seem to be on our own.” OK Special, let’s hope it stays that way”.
“Pilot to bombaimer can you see the ground?” “Nothing worth while skipper, I’ve been trying to get a fix on something but so far, no good”. “OK bombaimer, keep looking”. On and on we fly though the night on the heading of 297, heading for the coast of mainland Europe, but which part? Any minute we could fly into a heavily defended area, be coned in searchlights and be the sole target for all the flak, heavy and light, at this level.
“Engineer to pilot, we’ve used up all the fuel in number one starboard tank now and switched to number one port. We seem to have enough fuel for just over an hour and a half at these settings” “Roger engineer, navigator, would you like to take a guess at our ETA for base?” “Navigator to pilot, my guess is about one hour fifty.” “Roger navigator, that seems a bit tight”.
One and a half hours of fuel and one hour fifty to base, it looks as though we should go for an alternative. Without hydraulics, no flaps, possibly no brakes and a chance of a dodgy undercarriage an emergency field seems to be our best hope.
One hour 30 min fuel remaining, but it’s one hour 50 to base
“PILOT to crew, OK chaps we’ve now got three engines again which should get us home alright if we are careful with the fuel. We are 10,000 ft, well below the bomber stream and we can’t afford the fuel to climb up and anyway we’re not really sure where we are. All the guns are out of action and it looks as though we have lost all our hydraulics, so keep your eyes skinned for fighters.
“Rear gunner to pilot, my eyes are smarting and I’m soaked in bloody petrol”. “Pilot to rear gunner, I think that some of the fuel we lost has been sucked into your turret, hang in there as long as you can”. “OK skipper”. “Navigator to pilot, I can’t get a fix on anything and I’m not sure exactly where we are so hang onto 297 until we can get a fix”. “Pilot to navigator Roger, 297 it is”. “Pilot to engineer, let’s reduce the power to zero boost and 2000 revs, that should give us about 160 at this height”.
The engine notes become softer and return to the steady drone as the engineer adjusts the pitch controls to synchronize the remaining three engines. All appears quiet and very black outside as the airspeed settles to 160. “Navigator to pilot, at this speed, it should be just over the hour to the coast”. “ Roger navigator, it’s going to be a bloody long hour. Pilot to crew, did you hear that chaps, keep your eyes open and your fingers crossed.”
Onward we drone, long minute after minute through the darkness with everybody deep in their own thoughts, nerves stretched to breaking point. The engineer over my right shoulder is busy with his glow-worm of a torch and his fuel log working out the consumption, the navigator busy trying to get his Gee set to work and give us a fix to find out where we are and the gunners manually winding their turrets from side to side to search the inky black sky for any signs of enemy fighters. “Pilot to Special, are your sets still working?” “Special, yes skipper but there’s not much going on locally, we seem to be on our own.” OK Special, let’s hope it stays that way”.
“Pilot to bombaimer can you see the ground?” “Nothing worth while skipper, I’ve been trying to get a fix on something but so far, no good”. “OK bombaimer, keep looking”. On and on we fly though the night on the heading of 297, heading for the coast of mainland Europe, but which part? Any minute we could fly into a heavily defended area, be coned in searchlights and be the sole target for all the flak, heavy and light, at this level.
“Engineer to pilot, we’ve used up all the fuel in number one starboard tank now and switched to number one port. We seem to have enough fuel for just over an hour and a half at these settings” “Roger engineer, navigator, would you like to take a guess at our ETA for base?” “Navigator to pilot, my guess is about one hour fifty.” “Roger navigator, that seems a bit tight”.
One and a half hours of fuel and one hour fifty to base, it looks as though we should go for an alternative. Without hydraulics, no flaps, possibly no brakes and a chance of a dodgy undercarriage an emergency field seems to be our best hope.
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Last edited by MPN11; 15th Jan 2024 at 07:44. Reason: Idiot ... wrong airfield!
A NIGHT TO REMEMBER -- Part 15
A pinpoint at last ... but it's an island fortress bristling with Flak artillery
Elevator and wing shredded by gunfire, one engine feathered, hydraulics unserviceable, C for Charlie made a flapless belly-landing at Ludford and carried away some of the FIDO fog dispersal piping along the side of the runway. Note the seven-foot whip aerials for the three ABC jamming transmitters.
“PILOT to navigator, if we can get a fix on the coast we had better set a course for Woodbridge, we might need their two mile runway”. “OK skipper we should be getting near the coast in about ten minutes.” ”Pilot to bombaimer keep your eyes on the ground for some kind of fix.” “OK skip”. “Engineer to pilot, there’s some flak way over to starboard.” “Roger, might be the main stream”.
Minutes drag by with all eyes searching the darkness for some point of recognition. How long can our luck hold out? Where the hell is that coastline? It must be coming up soon! Can we slip out over the sea without being attacked by a fighter or run into defended area? “Pilot to engineer, what’s the fuel state?” “OK skipper, should get us to Woodbridge”. Where’s that coast line? I’m getting anxious now, check the heading for the hundredth time -- yes OK on 297 compass. Perhaps we’ve got a stronger headwind at this level.
A crackle on the intercom, somebody switches on their mike. “Bombaimer to pilot, I can see some water down to starboard” “Good show bombaimer can you identify anything?” “No skipper, it’s wide….. not just a river…… hold on there’s another bit of coast coming up…. it’s an island…..it’s big……Christ it’s Walcheron! We’re going to go right over it”. At least we know where we are. [Editor’s note: Walcheron island was key to the Scheldt estuary and the port of Antwerp. As such it was heavily fortified and manned by 12,000 German troops and artillery.]
Suddenly a hundred searchlights pierce the night sky, forming what looks like an impenetrable fence of light. Now they start to move and sway about and three or four move in our direction. One sweeps across towards us and a heave on the controls into a diving turn to starboard and it sweeps past our port wing, hard over to port as another comes in from that direction…. missed us, a steep climbing turn to the right and, damn!
One catches us, like a moth in a flame, the whole cockpit is lit up with a brilliant blue-white light. Immediately five or six others join in and we are coned, a sitting target for all the guns on the island but no guns fire! Not one! That could only mean that there are fighters in the vicinity and the searchlights are holding us as a sitting target for them. I’ve got to get out of these lights.
Another heave on the controls into a vicious diving steep turn to port down, down, then over to the right with the airspeed screaming and the altimeter going through 8000 feet then hard over to the left again and a pull back on the control column into a climbing turn to the right and suddenly it’s dark again and we’re out of their clutches. Thank God that starboard wing, which must have been weakened by the fire, held on. The lights continue sweeping and searching as we weave our way through them anticipating their next move, diving and turning to avoid being caught again.
A pinpoint at last ... but it's an island fortress bristling with Flak artillery
Elevator and wing shredded by gunfire, one engine feathered, hydraulics unserviceable, C for Charlie made a flapless belly-landing at Ludford and carried away some of the FIDO fog dispersal piping along the side of the runway. Note the seven-foot whip aerials for the three ABC jamming transmitters.
“PILOT to navigator, if we can get a fix on the coast we had better set a course for Woodbridge, we might need their two mile runway”. “OK skipper we should be getting near the coast in about ten minutes.” ”Pilot to bombaimer keep your eyes on the ground for some kind of fix.” “OK skip”. “Engineer to pilot, there’s some flak way over to starboard.” “Roger, might be the main stream”.
Minutes drag by with all eyes searching the darkness for some point of recognition. How long can our luck hold out? Where the hell is that coastline? It must be coming up soon! Can we slip out over the sea without being attacked by a fighter or run into defended area? “Pilot to engineer, what’s the fuel state?” “OK skipper, should get us to Woodbridge”. Where’s that coast line? I’m getting anxious now, check the heading for the hundredth time -- yes OK on 297 compass. Perhaps we’ve got a stronger headwind at this level.
A crackle on the intercom, somebody switches on their mike. “Bombaimer to pilot, I can see some water down to starboard” “Good show bombaimer can you identify anything?” “No skipper, it’s wide….. not just a river…… hold on there’s another bit of coast coming up…. it’s an island…..it’s big……Christ it’s Walcheron! We’re going to go right over it”. At least we know where we are. [Editor’s note: Walcheron island was key to the Scheldt estuary and the port of Antwerp. As such it was heavily fortified and manned by 12,000 German troops and artillery.]
Suddenly a hundred searchlights pierce the night sky, forming what looks like an impenetrable fence of light. Now they start to move and sway about and three or four move in our direction. One sweeps across towards us and a heave on the controls into a diving turn to starboard and it sweeps past our port wing, hard over to port as another comes in from that direction…. missed us, a steep climbing turn to the right and, damn!
One catches us, like a moth in a flame, the whole cockpit is lit up with a brilliant blue-white light. Immediately five or six others join in and we are coned, a sitting target for all the guns on the island but no guns fire! Not one! That could only mean that there are fighters in the vicinity and the searchlights are holding us as a sitting target for them. I’ve got to get out of these lights.
Another heave on the controls into a vicious diving steep turn to port down, down, then over to the right with the airspeed screaming and the altimeter going through 8000 feet then hard over to the left again and a pull back on the control column into a climbing turn to the right and suddenly it’s dark again and we’re out of their clutches. Thank God that starboard wing, which must have been weakened by the fire, held on. The lights continue sweeping and searching as we weave our way through them anticipating their next move, diving and turning to avoid being caught again.
Last edited by Geriaviator; 15th Jan 2024 at 14:22.
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A Night to Remember -- part 16 . . . . . . . . Clear of the flak, and at last a bearing for home
Editor’s warning: Today’s sensitive souls on satnavs may not wish to read this account which contains WW2 radio codewords which saved many lives. The initial call DARKEY indicated emergency and asked for searchlights to be pointed towards the nearest airfield. It could be followed by other codewords as in this case. It was a quick way of communicating vital information and I don't consider it's my place to change Ron Homes's detailed and stirring account. QDM has survived today and was originally Morse code requesting a course to reach the airfield.
I CAN see the edge of the island now just down on the port side. Nearly through and out to sea. Now what? All the searchlights have laid down their beams pointing straight out to sea along our route out. “Pilot to gunners, look at the lights, they’re showing the fighters which way we are going, keep you eyes skinned for them” “Reargunner OK skip, Midupper OK skip” We’re now down to five thousand feet and keeping up a gentle corkscrew.
“Pilot to navigator, after that bit of excitement, have you got that heading?” “Navigator to pilot, compass course for Woodbridge is 280, and 44 minutes to run. “Roger navigator, 280 compass and 44 minutes.” “Pilot to engineer, how’s the fuel?” “Engineer to pilot, we’ve got about 170 gallons left, enough for about 68 minutes.” OK, that gives us a little in reserve, but not much.
“Pilot to crew, everybody OK? How’s the eyes reargunner? “OK skipper, a bit sore” “Glad you were able to stick it out, not long now, but don’t relax too much, they will still be after us, Midupper OK?” “OK skipper” “Bombaimer OK? Good bit of map reading there”. “Bombaimer OK skip” “Pilot to wireless operator, call up Woodbridge and ask for an emergency landing, our ETA will be 0246 hrs”. “Wireless to pilot, Roger ETA 0246 hrs”.
Onward through the night, the engines keeping up their continuous drone, enough to induce sleep after all that excitement but we must keep wide awake, for we are not home yet. It would be a shame to be shot down on the last leg and the thought of all that cold black sea underneath us sends a chill down my back and a longing for a warm bed. “Wireless to pilot, we’re cleared to Woodbridge, call on R/T when we get closer.” “Roger, fifteen minutes to run now”.
Switch R/T over to Woodbridge frequency for emergency homing and call “DARKEY from RELATE Nan Squared request QDM one two three four five, over” “RELATE Nan Squared QDM two seven zero, two seven zero over” “Nan Squared, two seven zero, Roger out.” A slight turn to port on to 270 and ease off power to reduce height to 2000 ft. Ahead all is dark until, a glimmer of light, flashing, yes, dar dar dar dar dar dit dit, yes OZ, the beacon at Woodbridge.
“Woodbridge from RELATE Nan Squared your beacon in sight, landing instructions please.” “Nan Squared you’re cleared for a straight in approach Runway 27 QFE 1012 wind 260, 15 to 20 knots, what is your damage, over.” “Woodbridge from Nan Squared, three engines, no hydraulics, undercarriage suspect, your runway in sight over.” “Roger Nan Squared call finals.” Reduce power, down to 1000ft.
“Right engineer, landing checks, undercarriage selected down, operate the emergency compressed air system”. “Undercarriage down but we’ve only got one green light skipper”. “OK engineer, the port’s OK, look out of your window and see if the starboard leg looks OK”. He searches with a torch and it appears to be down but we can’t be sure it’s locked.
Editor’s warning: Today’s sensitive souls on satnavs may not wish to read this account which contains WW2 radio codewords which saved many lives. The initial call DARKEY indicated emergency and asked for searchlights to be pointed towards the nearest airfield. It could be followed by other codewords as in this case. It was a quick way of communicating vital information and I don't consider it's my place to change Ron Homes's detailed and stirring account. QDM has survived today and was originally Morse code requesting a course to reach the airfield.
I CAN see the edge of the island now just down on the port side. Nearly through and out to sea. Now what? All the searchlights have laid down their beams pointing straight out to sea along our route out. “Pilot to gunners, look at the lights, they’re showing the fighters which way we are going, keep you eyes skinned for them” “Reargunner OK skip, Midupper OK skip” We’re now down to five thousand feet and keeping up a gentle corkscrew.
“Pilot to navigator, after that bit of excitement, have you got that heading?” “Navigator to pilot, compass course for Woodbridge is 280, and 44 minutes to run. “Roger navigator, 280 compass and 44 minutes.” “Pilot to engineer, how’s the fuel?” “Engineer to pilot, we’ve got about 170 gallons left, enough for about 68 minutes.” OK, that gives us a little in reserve, but not much.
“Pilot to crew, everybody OK? How’s the eyes reargunner? “OK skipper, a bit sore” “Glad you were able to stick it out, not long now, but don’t relax too much, they will still be after us, Midupper OK?” “OK skipper” “Bombaimer OK? Good bit of map reading there”. “Bombaimer OK skip” “Pilot to wireless operator, call up Woodbridge and ask for an emergency landing, our ETA will be 0246 hrs”. “Wireless to pilot, Roger ETA 0246 hrs”.
Onward through the night, the engines keeping up their continuous drone, enough to induce sleep after all that excitement but we must keep wide awake, for we are not home yet. It would be a shame to be shot down on the last leg and the thought of all that cold black sea underneath us sends a chill down my back and a longing for a warm bed. “Wireless to pilot, we’re cleared to Woodbridge, call on R/T when we get closer.” “Roger, fifteen minutes to run now”.
Switch R/T over to Woodbridge frequency for emergency homing and call “DARKEY from RELATE Nan Squared request QDM one two three four five, over” “RELATE Nan Squared QDM two seven zero, two seven zero over” “Nan Squared, two seven zero, Roger out.” A slight turn to port on to 270 and ease off power to reduce height to 2000 ft. Ahead all is dark until, a glimmer of light, flashing, yes, dar dar dar dar dar dit dit, yes OZ, the beacon at Woodbridge.
“Woodbridge from RELATE Nan Squared your beacon in sight, landing instructions please.” “Nan Squared you’re cleared for a straight in approach Runway 27 QFE 1012 wind 260, 15 to 20 knots, what is your damage, over.” “Woodbridge from Nan Squared, three engines, no hydraulics, undercarriage suspect, your runway in sight over.” “Roger Nan Squared call finals.” Reduce power, down to 1000ft.
“Right engineer, landing checks, undercarriage selected down, operate the emergency compressed air system”. “Undercarriage down but we’ve only got one green light skipper”. “OK engineer, the port’s OK, look out of your window and see if the starboard leg looks OK”. He searches with a torch and it appears to be down but we can’t be sure it’s locked.
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A Night to Remember --- part 17
“WOODBRIDGE from Nan Squared we only have one green, starboard leg is down but we don’t know if it’s locked, over”. “Roger Nan Squared can you do a circuit and be number two for landing, we have another aircraft in distress.” “Nan Squared, wilco”. Blast! I guess they don’t want us doing a wheels up landing and blocking the runway. Ease over to starboard to fly up-wind with the runway lights looking very inviting down on the port side.
“Pilot to crew, hang on chaps we’re doing a circuit, we may finish up with a wheels up landing so get to your crash positions and brace yourselves when I say. OK reargunner?” “Wilco skipper” “Midupper OK, skip” “Special OK skipper” “Wireless OK skipper” “Navigator OK skipper” “Bombaimer coming up, skip” as he climbs from his position in the nose to his crash position with back against the mainspar behind me.
Just past the end of the runway and a gentle turn to port holding 1000 ft and onto the down-wind leg and now for the landing checks. Undercarriage is down, trim set, mixture rich, pitch to 2850 rpm, flaps we haven’t got, fuel booster pumps on. “ OK engineer?” and I get the thumbs up. “Woodbridge from Nan Squared down wind” “Nan Squared call finals” “Nan Squared wilco.” This is it, will that starboard undercarriage stay down? Round we go again to the left in a gentle turn with the perimeter lights sliding away underneath, reduce power to start a gradual descent at 150 mph, I can sense everybody holding their breath.
“Engineer, I will land slightly port wing low to keep the weight on the port wheel as long as I can. As soon as I feel the starboard leg collapsing I will shout undercarriage UP, OK? “OK skip, I’m holding the lever”. The runway lights slowly come round into line as though the land below is twisting and we are standing still. “Nan Squared, finals.” “Nan Squared, clear to land”.
Glide path indicator showing green, now changing red, getting too low so increase power ... that’s it, airspeed 130, back in the green, runway suddenly begins to approach rapidly, end of runway coming up, pilot to crew BRACE BRACE!
Back gently on the control column, left wing low, ease off power, back, back, power off……with a slight squeal the port wheel touches the ground… rumbling along, faster than usual, the starboard wing gently sinks and as the wheel touches, we hold our breath and it holds! Keep her straight and control column hard back as the speed slowly drops off.
“Nan Squared, clear left if you can.” “Nan Squared, roger”. With the aid of the inboard engines we steer gently to follow the van to the parking area where we come to a very gentle halt, close down the engines as the ground staff quickly chock the wheels.
“WOODBRIDGE from Nan Squared we only have one green, starboard leg is down but we don’t know if it’s locked, over”. “Roger Nan Squared can you do a circuit and be number two for landing, we have another aircraft in distress.” “Nan Squared, wilco”. Blast! I guess they don’t want us doing a wheels up landing and blocking the runway. Ease over to starboard to fly up-wind with the runway lights looking very inviting down on the port side.
“Pilot to crew, hang on chaps we’re doing a circuit, we may finish up with a wheels up landing so get to your crash positions and brace yourselves when I say. OK reargunner?” “Wilco skipper” “Midupper OK, skip” “Special OK skipper” “Wireless OK skipper” “Navigator OK skipper” “Bombaimer coming up, skip” as he climbs from his position in the nose to his crash position with back against the mainspar behind me.
Just past the end of the runway and a gentle turn to port holding 1000 ft and onto the down-wind leg and now for the landing checks. Undercarriage is down, trim set, mixture rich, pitch to 2850 rpm, flaps we haven’t got, fuel booster pumps on. “ OK engineer?” and I get the thumbs up. “Woodbridge from Nan Squared down wind” “Nan Squared call finals” “Nan Squared wilco.” This is it, will that starboard undercarriage stay down? Round we go again to the left in a gentle turn with the perimeter lights sliding away underneath, reduce power to start a gradual descent at 150 mph, I can sense everybody holding their breath.
“Engineer, I will land slightly port wing low to keep the weight on the port wheel as long as I can. As soon as I feel the starboard leg collapsing I will shout undercarriage UP, OK? “OK skip, I’m holding the lever”. The runway lights slowly come round into line as though the land below is twisting and we are standing still. “Nan Squared, finals.” “Nan Squared, clear to land”.
Glide path indicator showing green, now changing red, getting too low so increase power ... that’s it, airspeed 130, back in the green, runway suddenly begins to approach rapidly, end of runway coming up, pilot to crew BRACE BRACE!
Back gently on the control column, left wing low, ease off power, back, back, power off……with a slight squeal the port wheel touches the ground… rumbling along, faster than usual, the starboard wing gently sinks and as the wheel touches, we hold our breath and it holds! Keep her straight and control column hard back as the speed slowly drops off.
“Nan Squared, clear left if you can.” “Nan Squared, roger”. With the aid of the inboard engines we steer gently to follow the van to the parking area where we come to a very gentle halt, close down the engines as the ground staff quickly chock the wheels.
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I'm sure that I'm not the only one wondering how and why the inner engines were both lost yet feathered and could later be restarted. If only Ron was here to explain, or perhaps he still does. Watch for the next episode in this amazing story.
And thanks also to topgas for Rusty Waugham's obit. Another who slipped through our net with a story of shear survival to tell who nonetheless clocked up his century despite his unpromising state of health on joining the RAF! I loved the Dudelsack nickname given to 101's Lancs, with their 3 tall whip antennae, two up and one down. A tribute to the Luftwaffe, "you see, we Germans also have a sense of humour!". Yet the 101 casualty rate is shocking. How did they go out night after night, literally broadcasting their presence to German night fighters? Volunteers to a man and, luckily for us, all of that remarkable WWII generation that rightly involves so much awe.
And thanks also to topgas for Rusty Waugham's obit. Another who slipped through our net with a story of shear survival to tell who nonetheless clocked up his century despite his unpromising state of health on joining the RAF! I loved the Dudelsack nickname given to 101's Lancs, with their 3 tall whip antennae, two up and one down. A tribute to the Luftwaffe, "you see, we Germans also have a sense of humour!". Yet the 101 casualty rate is shocking. How did they go out night after night, literally broadcasting their presence to German night fighters? Volunteers to a man and, luckily for us, all of that remarkable WWII generation that rightly involves so much awe.
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Yes Chug, I'm sure we all wondered about the engine loss too. I think it may have been that multi-engine bogey, feathering the wrong engine. If I remember from my boyhood lessons the Lancaster starter buttons and mag switches were in a row at the top right of the full-width panel, in front of the engineer who stood alongside the pilot, with a similar row of four big red feathering buttons below them and the Graviner extinguishers below that. In the chaos of those terrifying minutes it would have been easy to push the wrong one even for such a well-drilled crew.
As you say it's an amazing story which has had more than 37,000 views since starting on December 29, just like old times. I have also found more info about Ron Homes, not least the well-earned DFC which he said nothing about, and will post this material after the last post of his story which will appear tomorrow. Regards to everyone.
As you say it's an amazing story which has had more than 37,000 views since starting on December 29, just like old times. I have also found more info about Ron Homes, not least the well-earned DFC which he said nothing about, and will post this material after the last post of his story which will appear tomorrow. Regards to everyone.
Geri
Thank you very much for bringing Ron's story to us. Although I knew the bare bones of the tale, Ron having told Anne and me when we went to his house to buy the Dak' painting, I couldn't wait for the next instalment.
Where we used to live on the Somerset/Wiltshire/North Dorset border we had a handful of ex-WW2 pilots - Gerry Fray who took the before and after photos of the dams raid from his unarmed Spitfire, Mike Vlasto who was the first pilot to lift wounded Chindits out of the Burmese jungle ( see 31 Sqn 'First in the Indian Skies' ), Dick Maydwell who initially was an Army Officer on secondment to the RAF, and fought with 53 Sqn in 1940 ( see JW411's book on 53 Sqn ), Peter Lillywhite who flew both Spits and Hurricanes after the B of B and Douglas Wilson. I used to bump into Douglas in our local - he had been an airman in the 30s and was one of the few each year that were selected to be NCO pilots. He was a Fairly Battle pilot in France during the 'Phoney War' and was back in Blighty on AL when the Germans attacked France. This almost certainly saved his life. Later he flew with men such as Foxley-Norris ( old Foxey as Douglas called him ) on Max Aitken's Beaufighter wing. Of course by then he was commissioned. He remained in the RAF after the war and retired as a Grp Capt in 71. I think his last posting was OC the JATCRU in Singapore. He may even have flown Sabres on exchange with the USAF during the Korean War. I repeatedly asked him to write his story - his reply always " I can't be bothered with that Old Boy'. He was real 'old school', even omitting to tell his wife that he had terminal cancer!
Where we used to live on the Somerset/Wiltshire/North Dorset border we had a handful of ex-WW2 pilots - Gerry Fray who took the before and after photos of the dams raid from his unarmed Spitfire, Mike Vlasto who was the first pilot to lift wounded Chindits out of the Burmese jungle ( see 31 Sqn 'First in the Indian Skies' ), Dick Maydwell who initially was an Army Officer on secondment to the RAF, and fought with 53 Sqn in 1940 ( see JW411's book on 53 Sqn ), Peter Lillywhite who flew both Spits and Hurricanes after the B of B and Douglas Wilson. I used to bump into Douglas in our local - he had been an airman in the 30s and was one of the few each year that were selected to be NCO pilots. He was a Fairly Battle pilot in France during the 'Phoney War' and was back in Blighty on AL when the Germans attacked France. This almost certainly saved his life. Later he flew with men such as Foxley-Norris ( old Foxey as Douglas called him ) on Max Aitken's Beaufighter wing. Of course by then he was commissioned. He remained in the RAF after the war and retired as a Grp Capt in 71. I think his last posting was OC the JATCRU in Singapore. He may even have flown Sabres on exchange with the USAF during the Korean War. I repeatedly asked him to write his story - his reply always " I can't be bothered with that Old Boy'. He was real 'old school', even omitting to tell his wife that he had terminal cancer!
Here is the Lancaster Instrument Panel as reconstructed by his son in this story about the man who restored R5868 S for Sugar at RAFM Hendon:-
Veteran spent seven years and £250,000 building life size Lancaster Bomber replica | Daily Mail Online
As Geriaviator describes, the feathering buttons and fire extinguisher switches are at the lower RHS of the panel immediately in front of the standing FE. All in black though, in this pic at least. Hope you can just make them out.
The Engine Restarts
This from Brian Abraham in 2009:
On the Military thread "Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW11" page 20, post 397. ED. This happened on a Halifax.
During the day of an Operation we would take our aircraft up on an air test to give all the equipment on board a thorough workout. On one occasion I asked Bill, my Yorkshire Flight Engineer, to feather one of the engines so that I could practice some three engine flying. A rotating propellor, without power, causes enormous drag on the aircraft, so the blades of the propellor of the "dead" engine are turned electrically, so that the leading edge is presented to the airstream, This is called "feathering" as in rowing, when the blades of the oar are turned in similar fashion so that they do not cause drag in the water. We always carried out air tests at an altitude of 5,000ft. or more and it was just as well as when Bill pressed the button of the Port outer engine (The engines are numbered from 1 to 4 looking from the tail to the nose, so the Port outer was No.1). and "Bingo" ...all four engines promptly feathered themselves and, of course, stopped. Bill, the unflappable Yorkshireman , said "Bloody Quiet up here ", leaned forward and pressed the same button and all four engines unfeathered themselves. On the post mortem, later, it was found that a drop of solder from some electrical work above had neatly fused all four circuits together.
You couldn't make it up - plus the positioning of feathering buttons was often an "afterthought" - one decorated Mosquito pilot described his aircraft's cockpit as "an ergonomic slum" but, of course there was a war on and 'elf & safety' was not even a concept in those times.
Ian BB
On the Military thread "Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW11" page 20, post 397. ED. This happened on a Halifax.
During the day of an Operation we would take our aircraft up on an air test to give all the equipment on board a thorough workout. On one occasion I asked Bill, my Yorkshire Flight Engineer, to feather one of the engines so that I could practice some three engine flying. A rotating propellor, without power, causes enormous drag on the aircraft, so the blades of the propellor of the "dead" engine are turned electrically, so that the leading edge is presented to the airstream, This is called "feathering" as in rowing, when the blades of the oar are turned in similar fashion so that they do not cause drag in the water. We always carried out air tests at an altitude of 5,000ft. or more and it was just as well as when Bill pressed the button of the Port outer engine (The engines are numbered from 1 to 4 looking from the tail to the nose, so the Port outer was No.1). and "Bingo" ...all four engines promptly feathered themselves and, of course, stopped. Bill, the unflappable Yorkshireman , said "Bloody Quiet up here ", leaned forward and pressed the same button and all four engines unfeathered themselves. On the post mortem, later, it was found that a drop of solder from some electrical work above had neatly fused all four circuits together.
You couldn't make it up - plus the positioning of feathering buttons was often an "afterthought" - one decorated Mosquito pilot described his aircraft's cockpit as "an ergonomic slum" but, of course there was a war on and 'elf & safety' was not even a concept in those times.
Ian BB
Last edited by Ian Burgess-Barber; 18th Jan 2024 at 09:20. Reason: The pilot concerned here was in fact the highly repected early contributer to this thread 'Regle'.
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A Night to Remember - part 18
In which an exhausted crew of a wrecked aircraft make their own way back to Ludford, where they face the same ordeal 12 times over.
SILENCE at last, everything is still while everybody digests the fact that we have survived and slowly we start to unbuckle seat belts and parachutes and gather together our bits and pieces and start to make our way down the fuselage to the exit door. The engineer stands aside to allow me to stiffly get out of my seat. “OK Stan, we made it!” “Yes skip, I’m glad that undercarriage didn’t fold up”. The navigator is just finishing stuffing his charts and gear into his green canvas bag. “OK Alex?” He gives me a wry smile. “Yep, I guess so”.
Why are we all so subdued ? Mentally exhausted? We should be cheering and shouting, but we don’t, we just climb wearily into the crew bus which takes us over to a welcome cup of coffee, a tot of rum and de-briefing. “Your eyes look very red Smithy, you had better get them looked at after we’ve been de-briefed.” “OK skip, they are bloody sore but I’ll have my rum and coffee first”. We walk to the mess where egg and bacon is on the menu and at four o’clock we fall into bed and sleep the sleep of the exhausted.
We wake in time for lunch after which we report to the admin office to discover that our squadron can’t spare a crew to come and collect us and that we will have to make our way back to Ludford Magna by rail. We are a motley looking bunch in our flying boots, helmets, Mae Wests and parachutes when we are taken to the railway station to board the train for London, where we find that we have missed our connection to Lincoln and will have to stay overnight.
Who’s complaining? I live in London, so does Peter our Special and Junior the midupper, so we make our way through the Underground and on buses, six of us to my home where I can be with my wife and the other two to their homes, having made arrangements to meet up again in the morning to catch the train back to Lincoln and bus to Ludford.
It’s very strange, dressed as we are nobody seems to be taking any notice of us. It feels as though we are invisible and nobody knows that just a few hours ago we were over Germany in an aircraft in flames and facing instant oblivion. Oh well, we won’t tell them, we will just go on enjoying the fact that it’s good to be alive and hope that we can survive the next twelve operations.
Ron (on the right) and his Lancaster crew did survive their tour of 32 ops despite their flying beacon for night fighters, and kept in touch for the rest of their lives, in Ron's case at the age of 92. More about this remarkable man in the next few days.
In which an exhausted crew of a wrecked aircraft make their own way back to Ludford, where they face the same ordeal 12 times over.
SILENCE at last, everything is still while everybody digests the fact that we have survived and slowly we start to unbuckle seat belts and parachutes and gather together our bits and pieces and start to make our way down the fuselage to the exit door. The engineer stands aside to allow me to stiffly get out of my seat. “OK Stan, we made it!” “Yes skip, I’m glad that undercarriage didn’t fold up”. The navigator is just finishing stuffing his charts and gear into his green canvas bag. “OK Alex?” He gives me a wry smile. “Yep, I guess so”.
Why are we all so subdued ? Mentally exhausted? We should be cheering and shouting, but we don’t, we just climb wearily into the crew bus which takes us over to a welcome cup of coffee, a tot of rum and de-briefing. “Your eyes look very red Smithy, you had better get them looked at after we’ve been de-briefed.” “OK skip, they are bloody sore but I’ll have my rum and coffee first”. We walk to the mess where egg and bacon is on the menu and at four o’clock we fall into bed and sleep the sleep of the exhausted.
We wake in time for lunch after which we report to the admin office to discover that our squadron can’t spare a crew to come and collect us and that we will have to make our way back to Ludford Magna by rail. We are a motley looking bunch in our flying boots, helmets, Mae Wests and parachutes when we are taken to the railway station to board the train for London, where we find that we have missed our connection to Lincoln and will have to stay overnight.
Who’s complaining? I live in London, so does Peter our Special and Junior the midupper, so we make our way through the Underground and on buses, six of us to my home where I can be with my wife and the other two to their homes, having made arrangements to meet up again in the morning to catch the train back to Lincoln and bus to Ludford.
It’s very strange, dressed as we are nobody seems to be taking any notice of us. It feels as though we are invisible and nobody knows that just a few hours ago we were over Germany in an aircraft in flames and facing instant oblivion. Oh well, we won’t tell them, we will just go on enjoying the fact that it’s good to be alive and hope that we can survive the next twelve operations.
Ron (on the right) and his Lancaster crew did survive their tour of 32 ops despite their flying beacon for night fighters, and kept in touch for the rest of their lives, in Ron's case at the age of 92. More about this remarkable man in the next few days.
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A gripping story of very brave young men in an exceptionally dangerous 'game' (as if Bomber Command wasn't a risky way of earning a crust anyway)!
The joyful photo that we finish with and the fact that they survived their tour brings the story to a welcome, and rare, happy ending. Thanks, Geriaviator for finding this one for us, looking forward to hearing what Ron did next.
Ian BB
The joyful photo that we finish with and the fact that they survived their tour brings the story to a welcome, and rare, happy ending. Thanks, Geriaviator for finding this one for us, looking forward to hearing what Ron did next.
Ian BB
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Have been AWOL for a considerable time and on a whim thought I would pay a visit to the crew room and was delighted to find that this thread which had looked to be fading away had been resuscitated .. Well gone to Geriaviator for posting "A night to remember" and a belated Happy New Year to all.
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