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On the 14th, March 1941, after returning from Malta, where I hand taken part in Operation Colossus, I was posted to 35 Squadron. They were newly resurrected and were at Linton-on-Ouse, just outside of York, The Squadron was in the process of re-equipping with the new four engine aircraft, the dear old Halifax.
Four days earlier, they had carried out their first raid against the enemy. The target had been the channel port of Le Havre. On its return from the raid, one aircraft was mistakenly shot down by one of our own night fighters. The captain and the radio officer were the only two crew members able to bale out. The others were killed in the crash.
At the time, there were no four engine conversion units or four engine instructors. Each new crew captain received a demonstration landing, followed by one or two landings under the supervision of one already qualified on the aircraft. Then he was on his own. My captain was the Squadron Leader who had survived the earlier tragedy.
By the end of the month, I was ready and waiting for my first venture against the foe in the new giant aircraft. The crew, of course, were well up in theory, but raw in experience. On the 15th April, together with four other Halifaxes, we were briefed for a raid on the German port of Kiel My crew was made up by the following: a second pilot, a flight engineer, a navigator, a wireless operator and two gunners. Take off and climb to the operating altitude seemed a piece of cake with this new four—engined monster, compared to the lumbering old Whitley. There was no problem on the trip out, out as we neared the target, it seemed as if someone had disturbed a hornets nest. Searchlights doing their best to pick us out, while the anti aircraft guns put up a continuous barrage, shells bursting above and below the aircraft. We did our run in, dropped our bombs and started to turn for home, when there was a particularly loud bang. I saw the starboard undercarriage had dropped to the landing position and guessed that the hydraulic lines had been fractured hence what was down, stayed down. This included partial flaps.
Once on course for base, my speed was reduced by about forty knots, even after using
additional engine power.
As a "lame duck" we would have been easy meat for an enemy fighter. Fortunately, we
were not found out and arrived back over base after being 'overdue' by at least an hour.
The normal runway lights on. We were at 1500 feet as I flew over the airfield. I then turned
making a landing approach. Suddenly, all the lights were switched off. I continued to
circuit the airfield. Unknown to me, the area had earlier been attacked by a German JU88
'hit and run' bomber. The control had mistakenly thought it had returned for a second
attempt. They had obviously written us off as a "goner".
On my third circuit the two starboard engines cut out, giving me a vicious yawl to starboard. I realized at once that the starboard wing tanks had run dry, so I ordered the flight engineer to go back and transfer the starboard engines to feed from the port wing tanks. Unfortunately, he fluffed the drill and turned the cross feed "on" before turning the empty tanks "off " resulting in the he port engines also cutting out.
From now on, it was downhill all the way. Nothing but darkness ahead, I ordered the crew members to take up the crash position. This meant the navigator, wireless op, flight engineer and mid-upper gunner, took up the rest positions amid ship. The second pilot chose to remain in his seat next to me, while the tail gunner stayed in his turret. I kept the aircraft in a steady glide at about 110 knots, my eyes out like organ stops, jumping from the dashboard to the darkness ahead. When the darkness began to intensify, I went through my touch down drill. Ease back on the stick until the nose was horizontal and hold it there until impact. It works, providing you are at the appropriate height to start with. We were. There was a medium crunch followed by a short slither, and then all hell broke loose. We had run into the trunk of an oak tree. That tree still stands. I visited it in 1998, 55 years on, with a gentleman who was a ten-year-old sightseer at the time. There is a huge scar, at least ten feet high, on one face of that tree trunk. The poor old Halifax finished up in four pieces.
1. Cockpit and nose, facing forward, with the two pilots.
2. Port wing and port engines, facing aft.
3. Fuselage with starboard wing and engines facing aft, with four crew inside
4. Rear turret ten yards down the hedgerow with the rear gunner inside.
At the moment of impact, I saw the dashboard coming toward me. I remember thinking, "Keep your face out of the way". It must have missed my nose by less than an inch, I’m sure. In seconds, all was silent except for a strong hissing sound. My mind immediately flew to escaping petrol. I shouted to anyone who might hear, "Get out before the bloody thing blows up, I’m coming out through the top hatch". You must remember, it's still dark and there were no lights. I tried the escape hatch in vain. It was jammed. I jumped down from my seat, (the second pilot had already vanished), to head down the fuselage. I stepped into thin air! There was no fuselage, only green grass. Or my feet again, I called for all crewmembers to gather together. The wireless operator appeared immediately, he was uninjured and alert. Between us, we found the rest of the crew, less one. All were suffering minor injuries. The missing member was the rear gunner. We heard a racket down the hedgerow. He was trying to get out of his turret. His language should have blown the door open. The wireless op found the fire axe and soon had him free. He was a bit concussed and staggering around like a drunk.
As it got lighter, we were able to find the source of the hissing noise. The dingy had burst out of its housing and was fully inflated, out on the wing. Later that weekend, a schoolboy sightseer, together with a young girl, were given chocolate from the dingy rations by the RAF guards They became sweethearts and married. They still live in the nearby village.
Having got all the crew together, I left them in the care of the wireless operator while I went for help. Dawn was now breaking and I could see the outline of a cottage a few 100 yds away. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of a stream. To me, no problem, as I had on my flying boots. At the first step, I was up to my knees and third one waist-deep. I crossed, soaked to the "eye balls". I hammered at the door of a cottage and after a short interval, a fellow poked his head out of a bedroom window and told me in no uncertain terms to "bugger off". He, it appears, had been disturbed by the sound of gunfire and the air raid siren. He mistook me for a German airman. I eventually persuaded him otherwise and he agreed to go to the nearest telephone and do a 999 call. I told him I would wait in the nearby road until the ambulance arrived, when I would direct it to the crash site.
I stood in that road for almost an hour. A heavy smoker at the time, I was not amused to find all my cigarettes were waterlogged. Wet, cold and smokeless, it was no consolation to learn from my Squadron Commander, Willie Tait, in ambulance number two that the first one had turned over en route.
I was soon back in the crew quarters having a hot bath and a change of clothes. Unfortunately, the clothes were straight from the stores, badge-less and stripe-less. I arrived back at Dishforth where I was living out with my wife, only to be greeted by "What have you been up to? You've lost your rank and your pilot's wings!" This was on the Friday, and on the Monday, I was back in the air with three replacements in the crew. The crash was a thing of the past. As a result of this crash, the Halifax was withdrawn from ops until up locks had been fitted to the undercarriages.
Footnote: The occasion remembered by my sightseer in later years.
A thousand feet up over Linton,
The night is as black as apit
With defective hydraulics, fuel gauges on 'low'
All four engines decide t0 quit,
A thirty-ton glideris a nightmare.
But the pilot just won ’t let her go:
As the wind rushes by, Wally fights the controls,
Floating down to the meadow below.
After hitting an oak tree on landing,
Out jumps an appreciative crew,
But, to raise the alarm, theres a stream to be crossed,
So poor Wallyis left Pxxxing wet through!
Today, same Stream is still flowing,
The oak standing silently by;
But it still bears the scars on its truck from that night,
When a Halfax fell from the sky.