|
Of all the
operations in which I took part as a navigator, the one that
sticks in my memory is the last, which finished my second tour. I
imagine that
this is normal with aircrew, because each operation tends to erase the
memory
of the previous one, except when the earlier one is marked by something
highly
memorable.
My last trip took place on the 18 September
1944, and was a target marking job for an incendiary attack on
Bremerhaven. W/Cdr George Curry, our squadron commander, was pilot.
George and
I had already carried out 15 operations, and his complete control of
the
aircraft led to my full confidence in his leadership.
When target marking was first commenced by
PFF, the Target Indicators (T
Is) were dropped on the aiming point. The subsequent bombing, with the
consequent
smoke and fire, usually obscured the markers so that the later bombers
had to
bomb the conflagration. This resulted in scattered bombing which tended
to
creep back along the line of flight. As a result, offset marking was
adopted,
the TIs being dropped away from the target. The main force was given a
false
wind to be set on their bombsight, so that if they aimed at the markers
the
bombs would fall on target. An alternative was to make a timed run from
the
markers on a given course.
The TIs were to be dropped on a small patch
of land, almost an island,
formed by a bend in the small stream running into the Weser River. The
buildings surrounding the port were the target, and they were some
distance
from the TIs, so the attacking aircraft needed to have false winds set
on their
bombsights.
We took off at 1900 hrs, carrying a 1000lb
and a 250lb red TI, and set
course for the enemy coast. The only navigational aid available was
Gee, and
this was always jammed by the enemy so that the radar screen was fouled
up with
“grass”, which was usually sufficient to prevent you getting a reading
once you
had crossed the enemy coast. I had calculated our course on the “met”
wind, and
was hoping for a pinpoint to check our track.
I persevered with the Gee, and peering
through the “grass”, I was
delighted to get a fix well into enemy territory. When I calculated a
wind, it
was very different to the “met” wind, so we set out on a new course. I
said to
George that some of the markers who worked on the “met” wind would be
well off
track tonight.
We pressed on through the night, and
eventually approached the target
area. Looking ahead, I made out the aiming point, and when George
couldn’t see
it, I leant across to the pilot’s screen and pointed it out to him.
George immediately put the aircraft into a
steep dive. I said “You’re
not going to fly us into the ground, are you?” The light flak was very
heavy at
this stage, but we avoided it and plonked the Target Indicators in the
correct
place. The other markers followed suit, and a force of 213 Lancasters
carried
out the bombing. We took a cine film but I never saw it so I don’t know
if it
was any good. The operation was considered to be a very successful
attack.
The return to Woodhall Spa was without
incident.
The losses were 2 Lancasters and 1 Mosquito.
The Mosquito was piloted by
Norman Rutherford, with Frederick Stanbury as navigator.
Several days later, the CO called me into
his office and said “Bill, I’m
taking you off operations.”
My feelings at this moment were not
describable. I was speechless, and
than felt like throwing my arms into the air and screaming “I’m going
to live”.
You can imagine the relief, after 76 operations.
When W/Cdr Roy Elliott and I flew to
Woodhall Spa for the first time on
the 14 April, prior to the transfer of the squadron from Oakington, I
noticed a
WAAF officer in charge of preparing the messing and accommodation
facilities,
and was immediately attracted. Over the following months I had become
more than
a little in love with S/O Sheila Adamson. However, I had known too many
Air
Force widows, and was determined not to create another, so a marriage
proposal
was out of the question.
So, a few days later, I popped the question,
and Sheila
accepted. We were happily married in Boston Cathedral a few months
later, and
here we are, in Ballina, in northern New South Wales, about to
entertain our
grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
So you can see why the last trip has such
indelible memories for me.
There is, however, a sad postscript to this
story. Some years after the
war, George was flying a Mosquito in a Battle of Britain display, when
he
attempted a roll too close to the ground, and crashed.
I wrote a letter of sympathy to his widow,
and in her reply she said
“George died doing what he enjoyed most of all, that is, flying.”
|