WWII Memoirs

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This is some material that my father wrote about his experiences as an RCAF airman during the early war years. Part of it comes from a speech he gave to some aviation group or other and part of it was for an article he wrote for the Canadian Aviation Historical Society Journal but it was never completed and submitted as far as I know. Most WWII aficionados know all about the various fighters – Hurricane, Spitfire, P-51 etc – but the only bombers anybody seems to know about are the American B-17 Flying Fortress and the B-24 Liberator. This is about something different . . .

I jumped in on a thread Gypsy has running & he encouraged me to make a devoted thread. Feel free to add more . . .

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W/OP AG IN THE PRE-GEE ERA

Perhaps I should explain my rather cryptic title. At the start of WWII, W/OP AG was the RAF's designation of Wireless Operator Air Gunner. It was used throughout the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan (BCATP) for some time, too. Later it became WAG, at least in Canada. The Pre-Gee era refers to the time before sophisticated electronic devices became available to assist navigators and to aid in bombing precision. We generally relied upon Dead Reckoning navigation aided, usually, by map reading, astro, and high and low frequency direction finding devices. Partly this reflects the state-of-the-art of that period, and perhaps even more the ability of the RAF and other forces to produce more elaborate equipment, and to properly train their people to use it effectively. I always liked the story of the navigation officer on the submarine who claimed that he could measure the length of his boat with a star shot from either end. On the other hand, he knew how long it was before he started! We had one Observer with us for a time who had specialized in astro, and who could achieve six miles fairly consistently in calm air. Not bad. You had to be able to see the stars, though.

The burden of the aerial response fell largely upon the shoulders of an ill-equipped RAF in the early years of the conflict; aided by the Royal Navy and some remnants of friendly European forces that managed to escape the continent. The Commonwealth responded, particularly with personnel. Following Pearl Harbor, the Americans rallied their aerial resources in both Britain and the Pacific, so gradually a formidable response was mounted against Goring's vaunted Luftwaffe. In the earlier years though, this response, however resolute, was very much touch and go.

Bomber Command fortunately had some good basic aeroplanes available to them, but of course they were always too few in the early years. State-of-the-art British equipment compared very well qualitatively with the German force, but once more the numbers of first-line bombers had to be drastically increased. For strategic bombing in the early 1940s, the Wellington was to be the most successful, once it was realized that it was basically a night bomber, and that there were no suitable long-range fighters that could provide support for day operations. Not only did the Wellingtons bridge the gap for offensive bombing in the early years, but they also continued to serve in a variety of useful roles throughout the entire war. Despite the fact that they remained fabric-covered in the age of monocoque, they were upgraded many times and ably shared the skies with the best high-technology could provide. In all, more than 11,000 of them were manufactured, and many older ones were recycled as later marks. Unfortunately only one Wellington was preserved by the Royal Air Force Museum, and another, retrieved from Loch Ness, is now displayed at Brooklands Aircraft Factory in Surrey. Despite the fact that several thousand Canadian aircrew served in them, none is available for display in Canada.

More on the Wellington in the next post.

 

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Wellington Bombers of 1941

In the early part of the war, Wellingtons were powered by Bristol Pegasus engines of 930 or so horsepower. It was this version of this famous airplane which prompted the frequent references to “power by rubber bands”. Some other early Wellingtons had Merlin engines which improved their performance substantially, and a few were powered by Pratt and Whitneys. Of the lot, the “Peggy Wimps” were the most numerous of those that served during the low point in Allied fortunes which might be identified as the pre-Alamein interval. They had obvious limitations of speed, climb, bomb load, and armament, but they were tough and versatile, as was attested by the many roles they performed in several theatres. They represented the state of the art at the beginning of the conflict, and were gradually upgraded during the lengthy interval before the new generation of heavy bombers appeared.

The original Mark IA Wellingtons did not have powered nose and tail turrets. Most of them originally had an awkward mid-under turret which retracted into the fuselage. This device created so much drag that it was discontinued. It left the mark on subsequent Wellingtons, though, because the jigs upon which the geodetic airframes were constructed were designed to accommodate it, so that its circular frame remained in the midst of the “basket weave” skeleton of even the later Wellingtons. The early turrets did have power assisted guns, which moved in the fixed Perspex domes. This arrangement lacked the visibility and fast response of the fully-powered Fraser-Nash and Boulton-Paul turrets that were provided later. The original system had a slight advantage, though, in that it provided better streamlining and less weight than did the later armament.

The IC Wellingtons were the mainstay of the “heavy” bomber force in 1940, although the less numerous Whitleys and Hampdens shared this role for a time. Most of the remaining As were relegated to Operational Training Units where they continued in use for several years. The geodetic construction of the Wellingtons was expensive, but it proved to be remarkably durable, both in terms of flying hours, in withstanding damage from enemy action and in surviving rough handling. The fabric cover was easily repaired, and whole sections of geodetic could be replaced more easily that the stressed skins of most other aircraft. Occasionally some fabric would rip off, but a little bit lost did not greatly impair the flying of the plane.

ARMAMENT

The standard armament of the IC Wellingtons consisted of two 303 Brownings in each of the two Fraser-Nash turrets. Later versions had a Browning beam gun with manual mountings out each side of the fuselage back where it narrows in the waist. The gunner had a swivel seat so that he could turn round from one gun to the other. Most other crewmen viewed this arrangement with great apprehension because the gunner could shoot off either wingtip and the ends of the tail plane. There was no stop on the arc of the guns. One did not sight directly with the beam guns, either, but rather held a cradle grip and looked through a reflector sight from a position ahead of the guns, which was felt to add to the peril.

Still other Wellingtons had the lightweight Vickers Gas- Operated guns for the beam position. These weapons were reminiscent of those used in World War 1, with feed from drums which had to be changed after forty rounds.

The front and rear turrets were moderately effective, although the front served more as a scare gun position than as a direct menace to the enemy. The beam guns were of little defensive use, and all of the armament suffered from the obvious limitations in range of the .303. On the other hand the lighter ammunition permitted the carrying of many more rounds than would have been the case with .5s or cannon. The Brownings had a very high rate of fire, so that impressive patterns were possible; fire that was readily visible at night because of the generous mix of tracer ammunition that was normally employed. Some tracer was necessary for sighting and beyond this the amount was left to the discretion of individual crews. Some wanted as much as possible for a maximum psychological effect, while others wanted to be as anonymous as possible and kept the tracer to a minimum. Tracer was hard on gun barrels, and it also inhibited night vision — often just at the time this faculty was needed most.

The fact that the later Wellingtons had four-gun rear turrets marked the recognition of the need for more defensive armament in the place where it was most effective.

Some of the IC Wellingtons in the Western Desert and elsewhere had temporary fabric faring between the front turret and the main fuselage. The guns could be elevated and depressed, but before the turret could be rotated the gunner had to open his doors and pull ripcords on either side to free it. The purpose was to improve streamlining and reduce drag, and to some degree to reduce cold air leaks. It obviously slowed the effective response time in case of an attack.

Compared with most later bombers the Wellington ICs were under-gunned, just as they were so obviously underpowered. In 1941 and 1942, the heyday of the IC’s, the greatest hazard in night operations was anti-aircraft tire, although the possibility of encountering fighters always existed. Over occupied Europe the defensive system against night bombers consisted of an elaborate network of searchlight installations, with the searchlights also serving as a guide to fighters. Airborne radar was still at a primitive stage of development at that time. VHF vectoring, supported by information from ground observation posts, served fairly effectively, particularly when aided by searchlights. In Crete and the adjacent mainland Balkans signal tires on the ground were actually employed to indicate the path of allied bombers overhead, a crude but effective device if enough reliable ground observers were available.

It was a frightening experience to be coned by 80 to 100 searchlights at 10-12,000 feet, which was the normal bombing altitude for the IC Wellingtons. These concentrations were only found in the Rhine-Ruhr area and near some of the more important targets. The Dutch coast had its parallel bands of searchlights and ground defenses, augmented with a fleet of flak ships just off the coast. When firmly caught in a searchlight cone the interior of the Wellington fuselage was as light as day despite the blacked outside windows. One had the impression that one’s aircraft covered a vast expanse of sky at those times, when in reality it probably appeared just as a tiny glowing cross to the ground gunners below.

In the desert, in 1942, where the ICs again served as the main heavy bomber force, flak was largely confined to
major targets. Fighters were proportionately a greater hazard, although they lacked the ground support and direction that was available to them in Europe. They had the advantage, though, of being able to predict where the bombers were likely to be, once a sortie was under way, since most of the action was in a narrow linear band, with targets largely at or near the coast. Pre-Alamein, most Wellingtons operated from Canal Zone bases, usually employing advanced landing grounds for the actual operation. Some squadrons moved out to the desert bases, with maintenance being done in the Delta or Palestine.

On European targets the Wellington’s guns were viewed as being mainly defensive, although they might occasionally be used to try to knock out searchlights or silence ground guns. In the desert some Wellington operations were carried out at low level where the guns could be used against ground targets. It was actually possible to track mobile ground units from an altitude of 3000 feet or so when there was a bright moonlight. Ever the lowly beam guns could be used effectively, providing someone was available to tell the gunner that a target was about to appear from under the wing. These exercises gave the front gunner a rare opportunity to blast away, and of course the rear gunner took his turn as the aircraft climbed away from the target.

One should not imply that Wellington crews sought opportunities to use their guns because this would obviously have been foolhardy. The low-level desert attacks were welcome diversions, though, and possibly were effective when ground armies were on the move, a situation which frequently applied in Egypt and Libya. For normal bombing operations the Wellington crews hoped that they could remain unseen and not be called upon to open fire, because such action was likely to attract every enemy fighter from miles around.

One novel device that was employed by Wellington crews and others was the carrying of a supply of beer bottles to be dropped when flak became particularly dangerous. The theory was that beer bottles sounded exactly like bombs and that searchlight and gun defenses would pack up if it appeared that they were being bombed. It sometimes worked, and was an inexpensive way of gaining a little security, particularly since Bomber Command always had plenty of empty beer bottles.

Flame floats were dropped over water for the purpose of taking drifts; over land, four pound incendiaries were used, at least when one was over enemy territory, or over uninhabited desert. The rear turret was graduated so that very accurate drifts could be taken by sighting through the regular gun sight and following the marker by turning the turret.

A good gunner tried to keep and maintain his own Browning barrels and breach blocks, although this was obviously not always possible. He also could load his own ammunition belts and thereby ensure the ammunition mix that he wanted and possible lessen the likelihood of stoppages. Not everyone did this, of course, but a few dedicated souls did, and earned the admiration of their fellow crewmen for their efforts. Leaving ammunition in turrets where a lens effect could be created in bright sunlight was a further hazard, which led to the destruction of entire aircraft, or to the spontaneous firing of stray rounds.

The same hydraulic system served the turrets, landing gear, flaps, and bomb doors, all of it powered by a pump on the starboard engine. There was a crank arrangement which permitted the gunners to slowly revolve the turrets manually if the system failed. The turrets had to be at zero before one could get in or out in the normal manner. Emergency escape from the rear involved turning it broadside and jettisoning the doors, something which might have to be done without the benefit of hydraulic power. Escape from the front had to be done via the fuselage, since bail out from there would have put the gunner into the props or against the wing. It also involved the participation of another crew member, once the front door was closed.

The rear turret was probably the most vulnerable position, but also the one which offered the fastest and cleanest escape in an emergency. The catch was that the chest pack chute was usually not worn in the turret, but rather had to be retrieved from a stowage on the fuselage side of the doors, then the doors had to be closed again, the turret rotated, the doors jettisoned, the intercom and oxygen disconnected, and only then could the gunner safely bail out.

PAYLOAD

Despite their performance limitations, the Pegasus-powered Wellingtons had excellent load-carrying capabilities. They normally carried 4000 pounds of bombs with an effective mission radius of up to 500 statute miles. Beyond that distance the loads were reduced and overload tanks substituted. Thus, Three Group Bomber Command, operating from bases in East Anglia, could operate at full strength as far as Bordeaux or Munich. Berlin was marginal, and Turin or Stettin required overloads.

Prior to Alamein, the desert Wellingtons were limited by range, too, so that advanced landing grounds had to be employed to reach dominant targets like Benghazi. Tripoli was out of range for the Wellingtons based in Egypt, although later in the war they were attacked by B-l7s, perhaps at greater hazard to their crews than to the enemy since the earliest Fortresses had very little defensive armament, particularly in the vital tail position.

When advanced landing grounds were utilized for specific missions, the Wellingtons were bombed up at Canal Zone bases and flown out to the desert. This involved landing with a full bomb load and substantial fuel in the middle of the day, a feat that tested the Captain’s skill and the nerves of the rest of the crew. It was reassuring to know that there were just “safe” general purpose bombs abroad, but less so when the load was composed of the old acid bottle delay bombs or liquid filled incendiaries. There apparently was a considerable store of the old delay bombs in Egypt in 1942, and they presumably were effective on targets like the busy port of Benghazi where the delay feature could slow the handling of vital goods for Rommel’s armies. The bombs were activated by acid eating through layers of insulating material after the container was broken by impact. The actual explosion took place a stipulated number of hours afterwards, something the armourers back at base presumably knew, but the aircrews were never told. This information gap was probably just as well. If the acid bottle broke in a rough landing on a desert strip there was no way of knowing it. Everyone breathed a great sigh of relief when the bomb run was over, perhaps ten hours after the original landing. It was assumed that SOJe of the unexplained losses on the way to target resulted from these bombs and everyone was always happy to see the last of them.

The bomb load that was frequently carried for low-level desert sorties in the moonlight consisted of fifteen or so 250 pound bombs with rod extensions. There was no safe on these bombs once the fuse was in place except for a thin shear pin. The idea was that the bombs would detonate just above ground level and hence be effective against personnel and equipment over a considerable area. Because of the limited space in the bomb bay for so many bombs with their rod extensions, some were mounted over top of others, each on a single release. This was fine so long as there was no hang-ups. When that occurred on the bottom row, that bomb swiveled around on its single support as the one above dropped off. It was disconcerting to look through the inspection window afterward and see the rod wedged against the roof of the bay, which was the floor of the main cabin. There was no access to the bomb bay in the Wellingtons from inside.

The canisters of four-pound incendiaries were carried in all theatres by Wellingtons and most other bombers. They could also be dropped individually through the flare chute or from the rear turret.
The IC Wellingtons did not carry 4000 pound bombs, although the Merlin-powered Mark us, and most of the other later Marks could. The ICs were used occasionally for mine- laying, though. This involved removing the bomb doors since the narrow, cylindrical mines could not fit wholly within the slightly arched bomb bay. Without parachutes, these mines had to be dropped from fifty feet or less, and at as slow a speed as possible. At Benghazi this involved coming in from the sea over the outer mole, placing the mine in the inner harbor, and then crossing the port area and the town before trying to gain altitude, all at 130 miles per hour or so.

When ships were the target, the appropriate armour piecing bombs could be carried if they were available.

Various incendiary devices were employed. One intriguing one, of rather questionable effectiveness, was the dekker, a paper incendiary which was transported wet in a liquid container, and then dropped by hand, a few at a time, down the flare chute. They were supposed to ignite when they dried out. They were effective against vegetation, wooden structures, and anything which was readily inflammable. They were spread over the Black Forest area on at least one occasion which happened to mark the beginning of a prolonged rainy spell. The forest rangers are supposed to have recruited school children to gather them up and bring them to the ranger stations while they tried to figure out what they were. They didn’t destroy the forest, but they were thought to have burned down a lot of ranger stations.

Flares, flame floats, and photo flashes were usually manually launched down the flare chute, although very large flashes were occasionally carried in the bomb bay, suspended and dropped with the bombs.

Air Ministry Mark IX OR Mark XIV bomb sights were used in the ICs. Most bombing was done from 10000 to 12000 feet, except when special low-level operations were on, or when exceptional climb conditions permitted a higher level. The climb-out profile of the fully-loaded Mark I Wellingtons usually resembled a series of hills and plateaus: the hills to gain a little altitude, and the plateaus to regain speed and lower the cylinder head temperatures. With the normal six-man crews that were carried in these aircraft, the Observer doubled as the bomb aimer, manning the bomb sight when in the target area. It was located just forward of the main entrance hatch and just back of the front turret. The usual stick, salvo, individual, or jettison combination were available.

As the dominant strategic bombers of the early war period, the Wellington ICs performed quite well. The 4000 pound total was a respectable bomb load for that time, and indeed many of the later four-engined aircraft did not carry much more. Since defensive armament was sacrificed for payload, night operations were essential, particularly since the Wellingtons operated far beyond the range of any of the possible escort fighters of the period, even if these had been available. The design was versatile, too, as is attested to by the fact that so many of the later Marks were developed, some being used right up to the end of the war.

WIRELESS

The wireless equipment aboard the IA and early IC Wellingtons was primitive and awkward to use, yet with a skilled operator I was capable of quite respectable results. The main communication and navigation set was the RAF 1082-83. Its output was only about 20 watts. It had low and “high” frequency capability, although the high referred to was only a low middle-range by modern standards. There was no VHF capability, although the technology was available at that time. The frequencies normally employed permitted transmission beyond the line of sight, so that skip from the ionized layer sometimes produced impressive results. Properly employed the system could cope with the range of the Wellingtons with ease, using ICW, interrupted continuous wave.

The most memorable characteristic of the 1082-83 set was its two sets of plug-in coils; four large ones for the transmitter, and an assortment of small ones for the receiver. These had to be used in the proper combinations for the different frequencies, with an elaborate tuning and back-tuning arrangement each time a change was made. Sometimes one could back-tune a ground station if its location was verified, but there was always the peril that it might be an enemy decoy. Legend has it that one Wellington carrying a VIP and substantial treasurer followed a decoy IIF/DF station into a landing and capture in Sicily while the Malta operators tried desperately to establish communication. The trick was for the decoy operator to get contact and then gradually back away from the true frequency. The air operator would back tune to him to maintain contact, so the frequency gap would widen. This would not have been possible with crystals, but these sets were all manually tuned. The safeguard was supposed to be a system of challenges; sets of random numbers which changed every hour. If there was a lot of traffic in a given area, though, the enemy would have all the challenges and responses recorded before the hour ended, so the system was never totally reliable.

If capture appeared to be imminent the Wireless Operator Air Gunner was required to eat the flimsy containing the challenge codes and frequencies.

Communication was in Morse. If time permitted, important messages were coded with the random syko system. Most navigation information was handled in abbreviated plain language; either the Q.code or the X-code. Thus QDM IMI meant, “What is my magnetic course with zero wind to reach you?” It would be sent to an HF/DF ground station and the original request would be followed by a series of long dashes so that the ground operator could swing his loop and get a reading. These bearings were reasonably reliable although the communications were frequently jammed. This system did not allow for drift, so that homing on a succession of these bearings might produce a pronounced spiral pattern if there was a strong cross wind. If possible it was used with two or even three stations to provide a fix so the spiral effect was not then a problem.

The RAF maintained a number of low-frequency non-directional beacons. These frequencies changed on a random basis, too, so that they could not be too useful to the enemy and to limit jamming. To use them, one had to change the receiver plug-in coil, and tune the set to the beacon. Next the aircraft loop was rotated until a minimum signal was received. Unfortunately there were two maxima and two minima for every rotation, so that an elaborate (and often unreliable) sensing procedure was required to try to determine whether one was approaching a given station, or going away from it. This was all very time consuming so that it was not used very much. The system could also be used with the few commercial broadcasting stations that were still operating in the early 1940s, and even with some of the enemy radio relay Stations which proved to be quite reliable. The main advantage of the loop was that it did not give away ones position. It was a more primitive version of the modern ADF.

By late 1941 most of the new Wellingtons came equipped with the Marconi 1154.55 transceiver. This set was much easier to use than the old 1082-83, and had a much better output. It vastly simplified the task of sensing loop bearings, and even had a needle for homing.

The Wellingtons also carried a short-range TR9 communications set with voice capability, on the rare occasions when it worked. This set could either be manually preset or tuned by crystal, the latter if and when the required crystals were to be had. Most local air to ground communication during the heyday of the ICs involved visual signals. The TR9s generally did have the capability of detecting barrage balloon squeakers, though, providing they were properly tuned.

Normally wireless silence was maintained until after bombs were dropped. The bombing of the primary or secondary targets was reported, and if necessary there would be further communication with one or more IIF/DF stations for navigation assistance.

All operational aircraft carried an 1FF, Identification Friend or Foe. This instrument was the original Transponder. Since the frequency mix was secret, there was an explosive charge which could be triggered by impact or by a manual switch, this last in the event that the aircraft was about to be captured. The 1FF would be plugged in after takeoff, and turned off when flying over enemy territory. They occasionally blew up when they were first plugged in, particularly when installed in the fabric Wellingtons which sometimes leaked after prolonged period of rain, thus making electrical shorts commonplace.

Instrument landing capability was very limited, largely because the time and resources were not available to make use of the existing technology. The primitive “ZZ” system was a sort of desperation measure. With luck could be safely employed using the existing on-board equipment, and a ground station with communications and direction-finding capability. A more sophisticated variant of the German Lorenz system was available at only a few of the RAF bomber stations.

The radio and direction finding equipment used in the Wellingtons in 1941 represented the transition in technology from that of the l930s to that which met the requirements of the bomber, fighter,and transport fleets of the later War years, and which formed the basis of the post-war systems. Airborne radar was just appearing during the period under discussion, and Gee, Oboe, and a reliable ILS were still in the future.

The radio navigation capability was obviously limited, with the hazards of enemy jamming, decoy stations, primitive equipment, atmospherics, and often very inexperienced operators, all putting its reliability in doubt. It was a useful check upon Dead Reckoning navigation, however, and sometimes the only way to get home. Astral navigation was used when possible, and radio provided a useful complementary system. Generally the I-IF/DF facilities were the most accurate, but they could not always be relied upon for the reasons previously noted, or simply because they could not keep pace with peak traffic.

 

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Not all of the anecdotes included here necessarily involve Wellingtons, and some relate to non-flying incidents which stick in my mind. One, in fact, took place shortly after I arrived in Britain in February of 1941. The RAF discovered that many Canadian BCATP wireless ops were not proficient on British equipment, so we were sent to Cranwell in Lincolnshire for a refresher course. This involved a lot of lectures and classroom training, but no practical air time. It also involved a lot of drill, for wont of anything better to do, and Cranwell was, I think, the largest RAF aerodrome in Britain so there was plenty of room to drill. On one such occasion we observed some interesting activity in a far corner of the flying area. A small aircraft, emitting a terrific noise, took off after a very long run and climbed away. One keen-eyed member of our group suddenly shouted, "It’s got no (expletive deleted) propeller." The aircraft circled the field a few times, and when it passed overheard we were all forced to agree that, "It had no (expletives deleted) propeller." We all had to sign a waiver that we had seen nothing unusual, and until tonight I have observed that admonition, on pain of being reduced in rank to AC2. The event was, of course, one of the initial air tests of the Whittle-powered jet fighter, so I guess we saw history being made that day.

We eventually were posted to No 20 Operational Training Unit at Lossiemouth on the Moray Firth and began OTU training on battle weary Ia and Ic Wellingtons. The Loch Ness Monster did its final flight from here a few months before. In earlier life it had been OJR of 149 Squadron, and had survived the ill-fated Wilhelmshaven daylight raid of 18 December 1939. As some of you will know, Lossiemouth is located near the famous Lossiemouth championship golf course, and had a tall lighthouse just off one corner of the field. I remember that one morning there was dense fog down to perhaps 25 feet of the deck which delayed our training flights for a while. Apparently it was just a thin layer, though, so the top of the lighthouse was above it. While we waited at dispersal we heard an aircraft circling overhead. Suddenly two skinny wheels and a hull appeared through the fog, and a Navy Walrus landed alongside the hangar line. The pilot knew where he was relative to the lighthouse. He had several sailors aboard who were going on leave, and there was no way they were going to turn around and go back to their station at remote Wick!

My father is the handsome one . . .

We had formed our six-man crews at the OTU at Lossiemouth. Two pilots were required for the Pegasus Wellingtons because they had to be hand-flown during the long climb out with their 4,000 lb bomb load. There was usually a heating problem in the climb, even to the normal 12-13,000 foot cruising altitude. It was a laborious step-climb process; which required two people. The more powerful Merlin and Hercules Wellingtons of that period normally coped with single pilot, and some of them could carry a 4,000 lb Blockbuster, which we could not do. Our normal load might consist of a 1,000 lb general purpose of armour piercing bomb, some 500 plunders, several canisters of 4 lb incendiaries, and perhaps some 2501b or smaller anti-personnel bombs. In the desert we often used a full load of 250s with rod extensions on the fuses. This was to make them explode right at ground level, but unfortunately they could not be carried safe. On one occasion I checked the inaccessible bomb bay through the inspection panel after bombing, and discovered, to my horror, that a rod-equipped 250 on the bottom row in the bay, had hung up. The one above had caused the lower bomb to swivel on its single hanger so that the rod, with its 1/16 inch shear pin, was firmly wedged against the cabin floor. We finally got rid of it by doing rapid pull-ups, but we all had our fingers in our ears while this was going on!

We also might carry delayed-action bombs with antique acid bottle delay fuses, apparently relics of RAF stores in the Middle East dating from the early 1930s. No one liked these bombs very much, and I hope the enemy was equally put off by them. We had to carry them from Shallufa to LG 09 at times, and hope that a rough desert landing didn't break the acid bottle. If it did the time delay became critical, and a short delay might mean that the bomb would go off in the air before it was dropped on target. We had some unexplained losses, and liked to blame the acid delays for them.

Wireless instruction at the OTU normally involved supervised or unsupervised flight with the Wellingtons, or, occasionally, Mark I Ansons. The wireless sets were 1082-83 transmitters and receivers of early 1930s vintage, and they involved the use of plug-in coils which had to be changed for frequency changes. Woe betide the operator who dropped a critical small, round, receiver coil, because it was almost impossible to find it again in a blacked-out aircraft. One interesting and rather crude exercise we practiced there was known as the ZZ landing. We did this with the main set using Morse, and with the aid of the unreliable TR-9 set using voice. The ground facility had a loop, and the air operator would send long dashes to make a loop target. The pilot was told when to begin final, if the communications system worked. As he neared the flare point the ground was supposed to signal, "Motors left", or "Motors right", or nothing at all if the alignment was OK. Fortunately we were never desperate enough to have to use this method in an emergency. Few stations were equipped to provide the service, anyway. It was just as well!

Bases: Mildenhall, Suffolk, 1941

Mildenhall is located about 18 miles northeast of Cambridge, in Suffolk. In 1941, Three Group, Bomber Command occupied a number of stations in this area, mainly using IC Wellingtons.

No. 149 (East India) Squadron was founded in 1918. [Bomber Squadrons of the RAF and Their Aircraft, Philip Moyes, MacDonald and Co., (Publishers), Ltd., London, 1964, pp. 174.7]. After night bombing operations in France, the unit was disbanded in 1919. It was reformed in 1937 at Mildenhall with Heyford aircraft designated as night bombers. Wellington aircraft were acquired in 1939, and operations were begun at the start of World War II. 149 remained at Mildenhall until 1942 when it transferred to nearby Lakenheath. The original IA Wellingtons were replaced by ICs, and these superceded by Short Sterlings which necessitated the move to an airport with hard-surfaced runways. Mildenhall then had mainly a grass surface with a hard “accelerator path”. This last was marginally sufficient for the loaded Wellingtons during much of the year when the grass surface was soggy.

Constructed as a peacetime base, Mildenhall offered many amenities which were lacking at the purely wartime stations. Most of the structures were of matching brick, thus providing a feeling of stability and permanence which was not always shared by the aircrews who operated from here. There was even a civilian pub, “The Bird In Hand”, located within the confines of the base. Perhaps surprisingly, it was constructed of the same bricks that were used in most of the other station buildings.

The East Anglia countryside is markedly flat. There were forested patches, though, to add a pleasant variety. Much of the land was in agricultural estates, although the functional ones diminished toward the northeast where inadequate drainage near the Wash largely prevented productive agri. culture. Drainage dictated the location of Three Group’s aerodromes too.

Mildenhall’s large grass airfield was generally free from approach obstructions, as were most of the other fields in the area. There was a large Bombing and Gunnery range nearby at Birnharn’s Heath, an expanse of wasteland near the Wash.

Mildenhall had excellent access to Cambridge, London and other centers via the well-developed road and rail systems. Three Group crews were able to mingle in the numerous Cambridge pubs when “ops” were cancelled. There was a well-established “Circuit of Pubs”, the rule being that one had to have a different drink at every stop.

The East Anglia stations were in a somewhat exposed position for heavy bombers which were obviously very vulnerable when they were on the ground. The fighter defenses of the London Metropolis were reasonably close by however, There was no physical barrier between these stations and the low, flat coastline of the Wash and the North Sea. It was sometimes possible to descend through an overcast over the sea and approach underneath, something which could not be done in many areas with rough terrain.

Mildenhall gained minor notoriety in the spring of 1941 with the filming of “Target for Tonight”, which we still see occasionally on late night television. Squadron Leader Pickard was the skipper of Wellington OJ-F, OJ were the call letters for the No. 149 Royal Air Force Bomber Command Squadron and “F for Freddie”, (in the days before F became Foxtrot). The movie gives a very factual account of an operational trip at that time. Pickard was killed much later while leading the famous Mosquito raid on the Amiens prison. OJ-F turned up again, recently, in the epic film, “The Winds of War”. One could guess that a part of the original film may have been utilized, probably augmented by models and a mock-up of the cockpit, for Pug Henry’s bombing mission to Berlin.

 

[tobedetermined]

When we were posted to 149 Squadron at Mildenhall they were using Ic Wellingtons with 930 hp Bristol Pegasus engines. We had only two Browning 303 calibre guns in each of the front and real turrets. Some of the aeroplanes were beginning to be equipped with non-hydraulic Browning beam guns fired by the Wireless Operator from a swivel seat in the narrow waist position. These guns had reflector sights. This was a mistake, because one could shoot off both one's own wingtips and the tips of the tailplanes, and the reflectors made it very difficult to determine a safe arc of fire. Open sights would have been much better. Four gun rear turrets, as on the later Wellingtons, would have been of much more use.

We flew a number of operations from Mildenhall in the summer and early fall of 1941. Our longest, I think, was to Stettin northeast of Berlin on the Baltic coast. That one took nine hours and ten minutes. Another long one was to Nuremburg. I like to tell those who suffered through the infamous March 1944 raid to Nuremburg that no wonder they had difficulty finding the target; we had obviously obliterated it three years earlier.

One of our senior Intelligence Officers at Mildenhall was S/L John Cobb, who then held the world land speed record. He wore a WWI Observer's badge. After a night on the town I was hitchhiking back to Mildenhall in the dawns early light when S/L Cobb and one of the flight commanders stopped to give me a ride up the great North Road to base. He had a souped up Lagonda, and he, like me, was late and in a hurry to get to Mildenhall. I think that ride was more exciting than the trip to Brest Harbour that evening. He would shift down for the roundabouts, and go round them at close to a hundred miles per hour.

The Brest trip is worth noting. A recent speaker noted that he was shot down while photographing the ships there in the early summer of 1941. We attacked it a month or so later, the prime target supposedly being the Sharnhorst and the Gneisnau. It turned out they had actually gone to St. Nazaire, and camouflaged merchant ships were left in their place. We carried a rare camera that night, and proved that we had hit the Battle Cruiser Prinz Eugen. I expect others hit her too, on these and other raids. In any case she was out of commission for some time. Prinz Eugen survived the war and was a target ship at Bikini Atoll. She initially survived that, too, but foundered in a storm when under tow shortly afterward.

More to come tomorrow . . .

 

[tobedetermined]

Just to back up a bit, like many others, my father volunteered for service after Britain (and therefore the Commonwealth) declared war on Germany in 1939. He was 19 years old. He had had a plane ride at a fair a few years earlier and this had ignited a lifelong love affair with flying. Of course, like all air force volunteers he wanted to be a pilot but his less than perfect vision tunneled him elsewhere. He eventually became a commissioned officer and then ended up getting his pilot’s wings just 2 months before the end of the European war. After basic training in Canada, they sailed to Britain in early 1941 and went through more training before they were attached to RAF Bomber Command for operations. What he didn’t know when he enlisted was the abysmal survivability rate for bomber crew. “55,573 killed out of a total of 125,000 aircrew (a 44.4 percent death rate), a further 8,403 were wounded in action and 9,838 became prisoners of war.” Data from Wiki.

The images above are scans from his flying log. Every airman kept a log of their flying time and the all important count of the number of operations that they had been involved in. The operations are in red and he kept a running count of the total – the figure circled in red. When he signed up, the RCAF furloughed airman back to Canada after they had completed 25 operations. This was increased to 30 early in the war but it was also widely ignored due to the lack of personnel to replace experienced crew. As shown above, he had completed 10 operations in Europe before he was transferred to the ME.

 

[tobedetermined]

In November of 1941 we picked up a brand new Wellington Ic, and departed for the Middle East where the desert war was gaining momentum. This aeroplane had a British Marconi 1154-55 transmitter and receiver combination, with a crude radio compass. We still used interrupted continuous wave (morse) for all of our communications, but the set was a considerable improvement over the previous 1082-83 even though both sets lacked precise crystal tuning.

We arrived in Gibraltar just as HMS Ark Royal was sinking a short distance outside the mooring area. All of her sailors were rescued, and many of her Swordfish were flown to Gib.

The next morning we departed for Malta about 1,000 miles away. We were leading a vic of three. All went well until we reached a position south of Pantalleria where we were intercepted by six Italian CR. 42s.

We went down to sea level and turned south, to lead them farther away from their presumed base. They formed a counterclockwise endless circle behind us and raked our formation with their .5 inch syncronized guns. We could not use our front turrets or even the beam guns in this situation. From the astro hatch I had the best view of all, and I remember the ridiculous thought that "Gee. this is just like Hell's Angels." Biplane fighters and the sparkle of syncronized guns firing through the props. All that was missing was the late Jean Harlow.

Vic Walklyn, our rear gunner, got one, and he turned north emitting heavy smoke. The others continued their attack and a lucky shot knocked out the starboard engine of Sgt. Barlow's Wellington, which was in tight formation on our port side. The prop assembly came off, and Barlow had to ditch almost immediately. We were coming into scattered low cloud at this point, but we were able to circle and see that all six crewmen had got into their dinghy. The remaining Italians broke off at this point, too; probably low on fuel with a long way to go home.

We were very much out of our element with unescorted Wellingtons in daylight, as had been proven two years earlier in the North Sea port and shipping raids. I think, too, that we were the very last of the Delivery Flight Wellingtons to fly down the Mediterranean in daylight. We had obviously been spotted the moment we left Gib, and had probably been monitored all the way to the ambush.

I was in communication with Malta all the way in, and actually had to land with my trailing aerial out because I was still working the ground station and didn't even know we were landing. Amazingly, from our altitude of some 100 feet, Birdlip in far away England was the first to answer the distress call I sent. The other stations in the HF/DF chain all came in right after. The Navy sent a Swordfish out from Malta to the reported position and they found the dinghy without difficulty.

The RAF sent out its high speed rescue launch and picked the crew up that night. Bert Cameron, the front gunner, was painfully but not seriously injured. Because of the fluorescent dye around the dinghy, the boy's uniforms were a brilliant yellow every time it rained for the next two months. New uniforms, and just about everything else, were scarce in Malta at that time.

We lost our new aircraft to bombing in Malta. I was attached for a time to a DWI Special Installations flight for a time, but did not do any real operations with them. They had primitive airborne radar, then called Radio Allocation, and were able to detect enemy ships at sea.

 

[tobedetermined]

Bases: Luqa Airport, Malta 1941-42

Luqa Airport is, located on one of the few reasonably level expanses on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. Its uphill downhill main runway was the only friendly strip within a thousand miles capable of handling the IC Wellingtons in 1941 and 1942, and of course the same applied to any other aircraft of equivalent or larger size.

Throughout history Malta has served as a strategic stronghold, located as it is almost in the geographic center of the Mediterranean basin. In the 1940s the air element was added to the traditional maritime role that had previously made the island fortress a place to be reckoned with.

The main island of Malta is only some eight by twelve miles in extent. The second island, Gozo, is even smaller, and with some miniscule islets makes up the complex. Most of the rock surface is porous limestone which weathers into an alkaline soil with poor water retention capability. The islands have been dissected by nature, and by man quarrying for the easily worked and attractive building stone.

Besides Luqa, there were two small fighter strips. Antiaircraft batteries were dispersed around the coast, and on at least one occasion were able to depress their Bofors and use them as coastal artillery against invading E Boats. Most of the historic defenses were grouped around the Grand harbor, and the secondary anchorage to the east of it, two natural deep- water basins between the peninsulas where the main settlements were located. The prime targets for enemy attack were the port areas and Luqa airport, this last particularly so when the bomber units up from the desert were in residence there.

The Luqa personnel mainly lived in the Poorhouse complex, which the RAF had taken over during the emergency. It was adjacent to the Leper Colony, both being located between the airport and Valetta. With such targets on its two sides the Poorhouse actually faired quite well during the early part of the blitz, although proximity led to some damage whether it was intended or not. One of the hazards in living there came from falling flak fragments during the frequent attacks.

The perimeter of Luqa airport was ringed with the remnants of wrecked aeroplanes, most of them having been destroyed when caught on the ground in daylight, although some where the result of combat damage and crash landings. There were even some recognizable remains of Gladiators, but whether they were the skeletons of the famous Faith, Hope, and Charity was not clear. The mix included Blenheims, BeaufIghters, Skuas, Swordfish, Marylands, Hurricanes, and of course burned-out Wellingtons recognizable by their exposed geodetics.

So far as space and access permitted, the aircraft were dispersed away from the runways, often in adjacent limestone quarries if they were not too deep. The night camouflaged Wellingtons stood out starkly against the bare limestone surface, so that even the best attempts to screen them were never wholly successful during the vulnerable daylight hours. Thus their casualty rate was very high during the blitz. There was no spare fuel to keep them in the air during raids, even if this had been possible, and certainly no place to fly them out of danger.

In late 1941 and early 1942 the desert squadrons sent flights of Wellingtons to operate from Malta, usually being replaced only when the equipment was largely depleted. One source of replacement was provided by Delivery Flight, a stream of new equipment flown out from England via Gibraltar, Malta, and then on to Egypt, this last only if the aircraft was not commandeered by a squadron operating out of Malta.

Special Installations Squadron operated an Anti-Surface Vessel flight from Malta. They had primitive airborne radar, then called Radio Allocation. It was carried in a specially equipped IC Wellington, as were other strange devices. There was even one of’ the “ring” Wellingtons. This flight provided the “eyes” for the Royal Navy’s “K” FORCE, and for the submarines and bombers, at a time when the enemy’s supply lines across the Mediterranean were most vital to him. This, in turn, accounted for the determined but unsuccessful Axis efforts to destroy Malta, its naval facilities, and Luqa Airport.

The main runway at Luqa was on a pronounced slope. The general rule was that the Wellingtons would take off downhill unless the wind was fifteen miles per hour or more in the opposite direction. This created some confusion, particularly when the Blenheims, Beaufighters, and Marylands were using one of the shorter cross strips. The sight of a loaded Wellington lumbering uphill, staggering off and over a Blenheim on a cross runway, and then slamming down again to continue its take off, added to the excitement in an environment which was never dull.

Another impression that remains is that of all of the personnel, including the Air Marshall, working feverishly in the middle of the night to fill bomb craters on the runway so the Blenheims and Wellingtons could land after missions. This was done while there were Junkers 88s in the circuit along with the friendly aircraft which were desperately short of fuel.

Even besieged Malta displayed a desperate sort of bravado during the blitz. The whiskey had mainly run out by Christmas of 1941, and the only brewery was bombed out at the same time. The Valetta Gut continued to function with wines and liqueurs. A sort of lasting image of the infamous Gut at that time is that of the bar girls, in a brief respite between raids, singing happily:

“Air raid warning,
raiders pass,
All the Air Force,
kiss my ass.”

This interval probably marked the peak of the Axis successes. The impact of it all was very apparent in Malta which was feeling the brunt of its second and largest aerial blitz. There were no British capital ships in the Mediterranean after Bantam was sunk. Pearl Harbor brought home the belated realization that a formidable new enemy had struck in the East, and the desert war was not going well.

The feeling of isolation that this engendered was very real in Malta, even though many of the events were thousands of miles distant. It marked the recognition of the Global Geopolitical reality of World War II, perhaps for the first time.

 

[Hermanthegerman]

The inner city of my hometown was destroyed to 99%

 

[tobedetermined]

Bremerhaven wasn't in his log Herman, but a number of other European ports cities were.

His take on the morality:

"Allied bombers were to play a substantial role in the ultimate victory and indeed for several years, were among the few really aggressive forces the western Allies could deploy against the largely land-locked Axis powers. This air campaign has been the subject of virulent attack by later-day armchair critics. Like it, or not, it was one of the very few avenues open to the west, and without it, it is doubtful if Allied morale could have been sustained. Aside from the growing material damage it achieved, the morale factor alone would have justified it. Besides, what else could have provided so much marketable material for Allied apologists for most of the half-century since the conflict ended?"

More to come . . .

 

[Sunshineinabag]

I'm watching the jutland battle atm

 

[Hermanthegerman]

.

 

[tobedetermined]

In January of 1942, we ignominiously sailed to Egypt aboard HMS Breckenshire, an armed merchant cruiser which was the mainstay of Malta supply until she had to be beached on Malta the following summer. We had a brief and inconclusive air attack when passing near Crete. The whole of the famous K Force of the Royal Navy was accompanying our lone merchant cruiser at that point, so the attackers were loath to press their attack home. It was on this voyage that a German submarine sheltered under the convoy, and was able to penetrate the submarine boom into Alexandria's outer harbour. That night they surfaced and severely damaged several warships sheltering there before surrendering.

We next joined 37 Squadron at Shallufa, a permanent RAF base a few miles north of Suez. They flew Ic Wellingtons, too, and the principle targets were German supply ports. The main eastern one, Benghazi, would have been about an 11 hour trip from Shallufa, so we had to use an advanced landing ground, LG 09, located near Alamein. Eventually we moved out to LG 09, which made us true desert rats, I guess. Aside from the well-defended port of Benghazi, we also went to Crete, and twice to bomb ports and shipping in Greece. Much later a somewhat stuffy colleague asked me if I was familiar with the ruins of Piraeus. I was able to respond, "I should be, I helped create them."

Bases: Landing Ground 09, Egypt, 1942

In contrast to the landscaped permanence of Mildenhall, and the wild confusion of Luqa, L.G. 09 was starkly primitive. It was located about six miles from the sea, inland from El Daba, and some 80 miles from the northwestern extremity of the Delta. There were no permanent structures, and the runway was just a levelled expanse of desert. The flarepath consisted of gooseneck flares. Traffic was controlled by Aldis lamps and Very pistols. The bomb and petrol dumps were located nearby and camouflaged as yellow as possible. The Wellingtons, the few motor vehicles, and the tents were highly visible by day, particularly since there was practically no vegetation in the area, and the shadows defied concealment.

37 Squadron, RAF, brought their Wellingtons to Egypt in late 1940. They operated from Shallufa, a large permanent base just north of Suez, and near the southern end of the Canal. In April 1942, they moved to L.G. 09, a facility that they had previously used as an advanced landing ground. In June, they were forced to withdraw to Abu Sueir following the fall of Tobruk and the rapid enemy advance to El Alamein.

The radius of action from 09 brought Benghazi well within Wellington range, and permitted occasional operations against Crete and southern Greece. The Mediterranean coast simplified navigation, although there frequently was a dangerous early morning ground haze which resulted from the considerable daily temperature change. This produced the warm air/cold surface phenomenon. It resulted in the loss of a number of aircraft and crews caught trying to let down through the deceptive haze. The usual sand storms made life unpleasant, but since they usually took place by day and were highly localized they did not greatly effect night bombing operations.

Sand did wreak havoc with the engines, though, producing excessively high oil consumption, and in some aircraft making it necessary to hand-pump oil almost continuously. Since this was a particularly exhausting task in the Wellingtons, everybody had to take his turn. There was also an unreliable sand filter which someone had designed as an afterthought for the desert Wellingtons. It could flip out of place and cut off the air intake at awkward moments, such as take-of, so the filter elements were usually quietly removed, sand or no sand.

Life at L.G. 09 was monotonous. 37 Squadron had arrived on a particularly windy day. Most of the air and ground crews were responsible for setting up their own tents, which was to have been done in a neat and orderly manner within a prescribed area. Since many of the personnel were not experienced in the art of setting up a tent in the wind with only loose sand to hold the pegs, the pattern that resulted was anything but symmetrical. It remained that way, anyway, and probably providing better protection for the occupants than would have been the case if neat rows had been adhered to.

One of the occasional duties which the crews had to assume when they were not flying was to patrol the perimeter of the base carrying an old drum-fed Thompson, desperately hoping that no raiding party would appear. Another duty was to man the dummy flare path, which was located a few miles away. This Involved taking all the necessary equipment out each night and bringing it back in the morning, since the Bedouin would remove anything that was left there during the day, even the empty petrol tins and sandbags.

One bit of probably futile deception that was carried out was that of the phony air test. Normally the aircraft that were to operate were air tested, including a full live test of the wireless equipment. The enemy had an excellent monitoring system and was presumed to know all of the call signs of all the desert bombers at any given time. The deception consisted of simulating air tests for all of the aircraft which were not actually being tested for a trip that night. Sometimes totally non-existent aircraft were included as well. To make it appear realistic, several wireless operators worked in rotation, making the usual mistakes, and generally trying to make it appear that the squadron was going to operate in full strength. The other side obviously knew what was going on, but of course didn’t know how much was true and how much was not.

The aircrews looked forward to crew leave in Palestine and occasional forty-eights in Cairo or Alexandria. When a leave went to Palestine, the crews were duty-bound to bring back a cargo of Jaffa oranges. They were cheap and abundant, since the normal marketing channels were all cut off. Shopping lists also included wines and any durable food that was to be had.

The stained well-worn document above is a durable cloth note all airmen carried in the ME.

As the desert war progressed the mix of equipment became more and more varied owing to the irregular acquisitions of captured guns and vehicles. The squadron tow truck was a German four-wheeled drive V8, since most of the regulation trucks were not designed for sandy terrain. There was also a captured Savoia 79 ton motor which was used for communications. One of the outboard engines was a British Pegasus. This created no problems since the regulation engines were almost identical. Italy had built this engine under license from Bristol for years. The Germans had many JUS2s in Africa, but the South Africans had some as well. Trigger happy flack gunners and fighter types had to be aware of this because there were daily mail flights from Delta bases out to the South African units in the field.

37 Squadron had to evacuate LG. 09 in June of 1942, and a few nights later they bombed the area in one of the few moonlight raids against enemy concentrations. The petrol dump was still burning, a brilliant landmark, it could be seen all the way to the Delta. A few weeks later the Battle of El Alamein raged over this same area, probably one of the crucial campaigns of the war, and the one that marked the turning point in Allied fortunes. Along with the Battle of Midway it signaled the beginning of the long road back from the depths of desperation which prevailed in late 1941 and the early months of 1942.

 

[tobedetermined]

Crossing enemy-held Crete on one occasion we observed the interesting phenomenon of fires, apparently remote-area signal fires, which would suddenly emerge defining our path over the island. A change of course meant that the double pathway of fires would change as new ones were lighted. We assumed that it had to be a very labour-intensive signaling device for fighters, but fortunately we were not intercepted.

Benghazi usually involved bombing ships and docks facilities, and once a low-level mine-laying operation inside the boom of their harbour. We had no parachutes for the long, cylindrical magnetic mines, so they had to be dropped at slow speed and from altitudes of less that fifty feet. The slow speed was no problem for the Ic Wellington, but the fifty feet was difficult to determine. This also involved going, still at slow speed, right across the major defenses, since trying to suddenly climb out of that position would have been even more dangerous.

One morning, after a Benghazi raid, when our home base was still Shallufa, we were crossing the Delta when a Hurricane came up alongside, dropped his gear and flaps, and slowed to our speed. I was in the astro hatch, and the fighter pilot was abreast of me about sixty feet away. The pilot opened his coupe top and waved, and then proceeded to gently put his port wing tip down on our starboard one. The air was perfectly calm, and we flew that way for many miles. Our skipper couldn't see any of this, and I kept saying, "Hold it steady" in case he tried to turn to take a look.

On another such flight we had F/O Chapell, an Intelligence Officer, as a passenger. One engine was running very rough, and eventually cut out completely several times. Ic Wellingtons didn't fly very well on one engine, so we landed at Heliopolis while we still had power. The engine was checked, but not properly repaired. F/O Chapell mentions this incident in his book, Wellington Wings. Operational crews were never very popular at Heliopolis because every time any of us had a minor mag drop, even five hundred miles away, we would make for there in hopes of having a couple of nights in the fleshpots of Cairo. On this occasion Brum spent some time carefully running up our sick engine before take-off, and a WO 1 objected furiously because they were painting a damaged Wellington downwind of us. Better he should have had his people service the engine properly! They were very inhospitable people at that major station!

In the spring of 1942, our crew was detailed for a special trip to Malta with an important passenger. We were misdirected to a soft spot on the Kabrit airport in Egypt, our departure point, and the aircraft nosed over and damaged the props. It is interesting to note that a USAAF Liberator squadron had assembled there, the first we had seen. This, I think, was the ill-fated unit that attempted the first Ploesti raid, a full year before the major successful attacks upon this vital target were carried out.

We picked up another aircraft and set out for Malta, with marginal weather forecast all the way. This episode points out the limitations and hazards of R/Nav in the Pre-Gee era. The Germans manned an excellent HF/DF station in Sicily which used our major navigation chain's frequency. We still had no crystal tuning, and had to rely upon back-tuning to make contact. Their technique was to use very powerful equipment, and gradually back us away from the British frequency. Our ground stations would realize what was happening, and would try to get us back again, usually to no avail. We could have used a modern-day scanner but of course they hadn't been invented yet. Mainly, we should have had accurate crystal tuners. On this trip Sicily came in loud and clear, and began to give us false QDMs (courses with zero wind). On a trip like this their bearings were plausible because Malta is only 50 miles from Sicily. I challenged most of them, but our challenge code changed every hour, and as the hour progressed the enemy would have recorded most of the challenges and could give the proper answer. They were pretty well organized, and we had little alternative but to use their bearings, given the adverse weather. QDMs could be misleading if there was a severe cross-wind, because a succession of them would give one a spiral track, tightening as one neared the ground station. In this case we realized our error, and in a brief break in the cloud saw flak and searchlights over Malta which was undergoing an attack. Determining winds on a long trip over water was difficult, although we could drop flame floats and use the rear turret guns to measure the drift; if we could see the water, that is. We also had some medium frequency direction-finding capability. Beacons were largely non-existent in that Command, and where they existed they were useless because of enemy jamming. Oh for a GPS.

On the return trip to Africa a few nights later we carried several senior officers. The weather was still bad, and there was a lot of Delivery Flight traffic, including a couple of crews that were having a bad time (Wellington Delivery Flight was flying at night by this time). The result was that it was very difficult to break into the HF/DF net, and since all we had to do was make a landfall in Egypt I let them have my share. One of the senior officers wasn't so confident, and while I was patiently waiting to get a DF slot he came up and demanded ,"Are you getting bearings, sergeant." Of course, to answer him I lost my place in the queue for contact. I could scarcely tell him what I wanted to say, given the difference in rank, so I went to the S/L second pilot (the skipper was still a sergeant), who was with us to get Wellington experience, and asked him to get the SOB off my back. He did so, and all was well thereafter.

 

[tobedetermined]

Here is a pic of the cramped space for the Wireless Operator in a Wellington.

In the summer of 1942 the German advance into Egypt began, and we found ourselves embroiled in the battle which later became known as the Little Alamein. It was a hectic time, and many of the Egyptians, and possible others too, hoped or feared that Egypt would be overrun. We continued to do some strategic bombing, but also shifted to low-level tactical operations during the high moon period. This involved actually tracking enemy desert armour columns, and attacking them when we could find them. Armour leaves a very visible trail in a sandy desert which we could see from about 3,000 feet when there was moonlight. They usually wouldn't fire at us, until they were sure they were detected, and by then we probably would be making our bombing run. It was quite exciting, and gave me a chance to use the beam guns in shoot ups.

There wasn't much radio work to do so I usually just kept a fighter watch from the astro hatch. On one occasion an aircraft suddenly appeared close astern and closing us rapidly. We had been operating without sleep for some time, and the rear gunner didn't even see him. The pilot had to lift his starboard wing over our high fin, and the two aircraft seemed to hang there for an intolerable time. I could actually see the rows of rivets in the moonlight. It was a Junkers 88 night fighter, so close I felt I could almost touch him. There was no sign of the remotely-controlled gun some of them carried alongside the fuselage, though. We would have been a perfect target for that. It was a hectic time for everybody, and presumably the enemy crew was just as startled as we were, and probably just as tired. All I could do was say "Steady, steady" to our skipper, and the 88 banked and climbed away.

I was then flying with a recently-arrived crew with no operational experience, a situation no one liked to find himself in when one has had some 40 trips. We had left LG 09 and retreated to Abu Suier in the northern part of the Canal Zone and we were operating with several other desert Wellington Squadrons and a variety of other aircraft types. Most of our ground crew were still adrift some place, and we actually had inexperienced sailors rescued from the sunken battleship Barham doing some of our fueling and maintenance work.

When the Alamein line stabilized I became tour completed once more, and shortly afterward was posted back to England via BOAC. I had a draft of ‘other tour completed’ sergeants with me on the trip. Having been promoted to WO a short time before, I had amazingly received my back pay, and so I had to subsidize the destitute sergeants for the trip home. All but one subsequently paid me back; quite a record given the chaos of the times.

This ended my operational career. After a month or so in England I was posted to an RCAF station in Canada as a wireless trainer. In late 1943 my remuster came through and I began pilot training, subsequently serving as a staff pilot at no 1 Wireless School, the same institution in which my first serious service training had begun. It appeared that an ‘old-timer’ like me was more useful training the new recruits than getting shot at over Germany. A possible later-day posting to the Far East was curtailed by the end of the War, but of course, not before I had had my tropical shots in preparation for it.

---

That is where the memoir ends. I will close with a ditty that he told me they used in Morse school for practice:

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.

That he did.