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It was 20th October, 1940. I had already done three long distance trips over Germany that month of some nine hours each. When another one came up, it did not seem to present any difficulties, especially as this time it would be Italy's Milan at the sharp end.
A lot depended on the weather. So far that month, it had been pretty grim over Northern Europe. Most of the trips had required a great deal of instrument flying, icing conditions were often present. For this one, the biggest difficulty was the loaded Whitley aircraft being able to negotiate the Alps. That night, the cloud broke up as we neared the mountains. The tops of the cumulus were at about 10,000 ft. As we were around 12,000 ft, I was quite happy! I could see the lighted city of Geneva on the port side, and Mont Blanc away ahead to starboard.
Continuing on course, we soon cleared the high stuff and were able to come down rapidly as we neared Milan. At 8000 feet we had a pretty clear view of the city with the river running through from northwest to southeast. Picking out the Pirelli works was not too difficult. We had been well briefed as to its position, with reference to the river and surrounding buildings. Once in position, I did a gliding run onto the target. At 4000 feet the bomb aimer released the bombs and I opened up the engines and climbed away. Meantime the Italian anti-aircraft gunners were having a real go at us.
On the glide down, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my groin region. I was sure I had been hit by a piece of shrapnel. All I could do was to get out of the area as soon as possible. Once at a safe altitude I called on the second pilot to take over, while I went back in the fuselage to inspect the wounded parts. In those days, Whitley aircraft had no heating available for the crew. We wore cumbersome flying clothing consisting of very thick fur-lined leather trousers and jacket, in addition to the flying helmet and leather gloves with separate silk linings. It took me a considerable time to divest and get through all the clothing. At last I got through to the bare flesh and was relieved to see no blood. The whole area was very inflamed. I must admit the pain was wearing off.
I suddenly felt the aircraft lurch to port. I hastened my dressing, rushed back to the cockpit and demanded of the pilot, "What the hell are you playing at?" He replied, "I can't keep the damned thing up!" My reply, "Get out and let me have a go". He got out and the aircraft fell away to port. I was back in my seat in a flash, and found that the port engine had failed. Switching on to the second petrol tank for that engine solved the problem. While at it, I did the same for the starboard engine. I should have warned the second pilot we were due a tank change. I think the pain down below took priority.
It was not until we landed some four hours later that I discovered that I had been carrying a petrol capsule for my cigarette lighter in my trouser pocket. It had burst during my rapid descent over Milan, causing all the unnecessary anguish.
We landed back at Manston airfield in Kent after 8 hours 55 minutes in the air. We didn't stay long. The sirens were soon going. A German bomber came over and gave us some of our own medicine. We had a quick breakfast refueled the aircraft and headed back to dear old Yorkshire.