Ted Gordon's Life in the RAF -Part 3: Chapters 11 to 12a
By Actiondesk Sheffield
People in story: Ted Gordon,
Location of story: WALTHAM
Unit name: 100 SQUADRON
Background to story: Royal Air Force
CHAPTER 11
100 SQUADRON - WALTHAM MOTTO - SARANG TEBUAN JANGAN DULIAK (NEVER STIR UP A HORNET'S NEST)
SQUADRON AIRCRAFT LETTERS "MW"
From Blyton to Grimsby is not very far, and when we arrived it was back to the old wooden huts and the round stove.
This Squadron I knew of from my Finningley days, for its badge is unique, skull and crossbones, a Far Eastern motto, and a reputation to match.
When you arrived, life appeared unreal and false, but you soon realised this was far from the truth, for in fact it was a hive of activity, but different from what you had previously experienced. The sounds projected took on a different meaning, for these were the sounds of an ever expanding force, determined to do a job of work, and seek revenge for what had happened to so many of our cities, London, Hull, Plymouth, Coventry, Sheffield, and many more.
On non-operational days, life for some was even more hectic and a visit to the hangar told you this. Engine changes for whatever reasons were always a fight against time. The English Merlin was always preferred against the Packard, for many said you could get more height, a precious commodity on many occasions. From the Wing Commander's point of view, less in the hangar meant the more he could put in the air. For us the Air Gunners, it sometimes meant a visit to the fixed turret for practice against the films, dependent on how the Gunnery Leader saw it.
It was not all work however, and your main source of recreation was either the camp cinema, or the village pub. The village pub saw scenes of letting off steam, these being initially condemned by the locals, but they soon realised our discipline, unlike the Army for example, was in the air, not on the ground, and seemed to understand. Some never did.
Having settled in I got my first surprise, for I was called to the Gunnery Leader's office and told to report to Warrant Officer Clark, whose mid upper had reported sick, and was unfit to fly. This was my first introduction to operational flying, and the target "the Big City", Berlin. We were not surprised, as our intelligence officer had previously warned us the Battle of Berlin was about to start.
At this juncture it was also revealed that if you got through the first five, and the last five, you were home and dry, these remarks appeared innocuous, but in fact were relatively true.
Aircrew were, a superstitious lot in many different ways; some would have markings on their aircraft, once they knew it was their own, others none other than the familiar bomb, denoting missions completed. Some wore St Christopher medals round their necks, some a particular scarf, and many other things, for these were regarded as tokens of luck.
This was not surprising however, for the odds of finishing a tour were five to one. With a reported 55,000 fliers killed, it is not surprising these odds were less.
Two points that were an integral part of aircrew life were first the eggs and bacon before the operation, the other was a more sinister aspect, the One O'clock News on BBC Radio. When this came on, a deathly hush came into both Officers' and Sergeants' mess for the previous night's report and it went something like this: "This is the BBC One O'clock News. Last night 600 aircraft raided Berlin, 63 of our aircraft are missing." (63 x 7 equalled 441 aircrew lost). Most times there were no comments, only being thankful it was not your turn.
In reality, this meant 441 telegrams to the families; for mothers, a distressing time, particularly if the father was also away in the Forces. The first telegram said "missing", and, after a period of time, "missing, presumed dead", and the last, "killed in action".
Nothing more can be said, only the parents left to grieve with dignity if the last one arrived.
"Missing" always gave hope after the initial shock, and many stories of the way home have been recorded and released. Many more were never revealed, for at the time lives of the people who helped were at risk, and some still classified as "Top Secret".
The only time I can recall of escape was a Squadron Leader of ours at 625 Squadron. He was shot down in the Aachen area of Germany, and returned to squadron three weeks later. How he got home was restricted at the time but, after many whiskies, parts emerged. Initially he evaded capture, laid low in barns and farmhouses, and travelled by night. In Holland he made a cradle, attached it to the underside of a tree, used a reed for an air pipe, and floated himself down the waterways. Eventually the Dutch Resistance found him and passed him on via many of the Safe Houses. This story was confirmed to me some years later by a Dutch friend who I visited at Heerlen, for his father was a Resistance man in this area at the time.
The reason I remember this man was simple, he was only 5' 7", the smallest pilot on the squadron. He had to have wooden, blocks fitted to the brake pedals, and when he took off had to stand on the blocks, apply full throttle, release the brakes and he went down the runway like a modern day jet.
In life you meet unforgettable characters and here was one, the Squadron Dentist. I don't recall his name, but I do recall meeting a giant of a man over 6' 6" tall, and he must have been 16 stones, but he had the touch of a fairy.
I hate dentists, as many others do, but here was one nobody disliked, for toothache when flying is a very unpleasant experience.
Our next flight was again a cross country and, some days later, my second operational flight with our own crew. By now the experienced crews had warned us of some of the things to expect, and indeed their words came true.
Just prior to this, we did two visits to the bombing range for Harry to get some practice in. The first one was alright, but the second was aborted due to 10/10 cloud. This cloud problem occurred later on, but was cured by a force that I will reveal later.
The Operations Room on all wartime stations was always the same; a large wooden hut, rows of chairs, and the operational board. When "ops" were posted, it was always the same routine. The Wing Commander Flying convened a meeting and each Section Leader reported their availability, from aircraft to crews, type of bombs, armament type, and all up weights, given for the target that had been designated, then things were motivated. These varied, from time to time, due to the distances to be flown and time anticipated in the air.
Some aircrews were known to visit Ops Room to peep through the keyhole to determine the target; they were always disappointed for it was covered up.
Speculation of targets was always rife, and it was invariably the Flight Engineer who had the best idea when he became aware of fuel loads.
When ops were called for Air Gunners, the routine was always the same, a turret check, first the perspex dome, to ensure there were no marks that could distort your night vision. Small marks at night produced side effects, for the mind plays peculiar tricks, and had been known to cause mistakes; then to check rotation, guns elevation, oxygen supply, heating, gun belt feed and ammunition supply. Sometimes the last was restricted, due to the all up weight factor. Satisfied that you and your armourer had done your jobs, you now awaited your visit to the Ops Room.
From here on, now knowing the routine, we undertook various operations to places like Munchen-Gladbach, Munich, Stuttgart, Kassel, Hanover (2), Berlin (2 more), never in the same aircraft, until we were allocated a Lancaster III DV242 - 'S' Sugar. In between these flights we undertook air firing exercise, and bombing exercises to hone our skills.
By this time we had passed the magic five figure, we felt a little easier, and found ourselves allocated to first wave spot.
To understand this first wave, you have to realise that Bomber Command had increased so much in size that three heavies now operated, Lancaster, Halifax and the Stirling. Each had its operational restrictions as to height and weights, and this gave logistical problems for the planners at Bomber Command, and Group Headquarters: To have sent all three aircraft in at the same time would have been sheer murder, particularly for the Stirling crews, so this was not on.
Air discipline, as I have mentioned before, was of vital, importance, and all generally tried to bomb a target in their allotted time span, but accidents for many reasons did occur, with varying degrees of severity. Woodbridge was however, available if you could not get home, and here was a graveyard, safety for many an aircraft of different types, Americans as well as British. We used this with a Mayday call.
Life toiled on here just the same, until one day we were advised that 'C' Flight was to be moved to form a new Squadron at Kelstern. We packed our bags, put them all in "S" Sugar and took the thirty minute flight, not before the good news however that our Aussie pilot had been awarded his commission in October 1943. The Aussie and the Canadian were together again, for indeed they were virtually inseparable, being a long way from home, and this we all understood.
By the end of this stint, I had flown in six different types of Lancaster bomber, ED317, DV242, ED814, W4999, ED883, and EE319, with two different pilots.
EE319 - the Phantom of the Ruhr - was destined to become famous, by completing 121 operations before being scrapped; what a pity.
Chapter 12a
625 SQUADRON – KELSTERN.
MOTTO - “WE AVENGE”
Kelstern, like Binbrook, is the other high point, so when we arrived, we were greeted by road rollers and other earth moving equipment, sludge all over the place, all the signs of another new airfield, so “S Sugar” was parked in a dispersal point with a background of beautiful oak trees, and this was to be her permanent home. Two other significant observations came to light, we noted Binbrook now had Lancasters and thus 460 Squadron Royal Australian Air Force was born. Mutterings of a new specialist Bomber Group abounded, this later being revealed as the Pathfinder Force, a Force that would play a great part in bombing policy.
Time was precious, the organisation brilliant, and within three days we were back in the air for a fighter affiliation exercise.
The old “sit up and beg” bicycles were now a must, for it was nearly a mile back to our old friend the wooden hut and its round stove; we five NCOB all in the same one with friends of another crew. The round stove, our comforting friend, rarely went out, for now it is winter time and Lincolnshire can be very cold with bitter winds. Two days after this, ops were called again, this our fourth on the Hanover run. 10/10 cloud appeared and made life difficult.
With this inconvenience, we now knew why the PFF was born. New crews arrived to get this squadron up to strength and along with them more ranks.
One day a Lancaster arrived flown in by a lady pilot of the Air Train/Fleet Auxiliary. We were indeed surprised, but over lunch she showed us her log book. She had flown a Spitfire, Mosquito and a Lancaster in the last ten days. Indeed, our admiration for these ladies of the ATA increased tremendously, for many of us recognised that Amy Johnson was a member of this select band.
Flying became ceaseless by day and night to get these new crews and planes up to standard, and amongst these we got the one and only American pilot and his crew. A Yank in the RAF at this time was unusual, but we understood why when he said he was at Cambridge University when war broke out and originally trained in their Air Squadron.
Wing Commander Preston was a different type, more inclined to be a father figure and older than the rest of us, for indeed the average age must have been in the low twenties.
Old “S Sugar” was having engine problems, so an air test was called and she came through with flying colours. Two days later, ops were called and Dusseldorf was the target.
Flying at night could be eerie, unnatural and yet majestic, with a canopy of stars to help us as and when required, an ever changing sky and moon phases, depending on the time of year. Some journalists called it a “Bombers Moon”, others unspeakable quotes, for it was not always your friend.
One night, ops were called, the target was Modane in Northern Italy. The objective was to seal the tunnel where all traffic coming from Italy was passing back to Germany. This raid was restricted to about one hundred aircraft and when we saw the route we knew it was to be a long night; in fact it took eight and a half hours.
For us and in particular our Aussie skipper, the moon proved a sight which was a delight to the eye and unforgettable; the Alps in all their glory, totally covered in snow. He had never seen real snow before. This was a picture no artist could paint.
The Battle of Berlin was now gaining momentum and the fourth for us, but “Sugar” developed engine trouble on the starboard outer and there was no way we could maintain or get the height required and keep our place for the bombing run, so this one was aborted.
Back to the hangar she went, this time for an engine change, and thankfully she got an English Merlin, which pleased us all, especially our Flight Engineer. Little is ever truthfully, honestly and gratefully said about the men behind the aircrews, but in essence, they worked longer hours and were extremely efficient and without their skills enterprise and ingenuity, many an aircraft and crew would have been lost.
The team spirit which developed between a permanent ground crew, an aircraft and its crew was rather like a big family where everybody pulled together. It was a wonderful experience; they saw you off and often waited hopefully for your return. For the ground crews whose aircraft did not return their faces spoke a thousand words.
Berlin – 5 came up and this proved a painful and eventful night. Fighter alley, north of the Rhine, proved more active than usual, and here for the first time, I spotted an ME109. Our instructor at Gunnery School warned us ,”not to invite trouble”, so we just watched it and then realised that he was reporting the path of the stream to determine the target. Being first wave we got another surprise, Intelligence had not reported any defence changes and over the target area, the flak had increased considerably, more to our operational height. “Sugar” took a considerable walloping, I lost part of my turret, which made things rather draughty and our skipper acquired some flak in his backside.
On returning to base, we reported the predicament, came straight in and the station blood wagon met us and took the skipper to the station sick quarters.
At the de-briefing, which always followed ops, normally a civilised affair, this night was turmoil. The yank came in furious, some bastard had collided with him on the bombing run; some minutes later, another crew came in reporting the same.
Some days later, after Intelligence had sifted through the reports and photographs it was suspected that two crews of the same squadron had collided. With six hundred aircraft in the air the odds were unthinkable but nevertheless, truth is stranger than fiction.
We all later went down to sick quarters to see how the skipper was, determined he was going to be alright, and retired to our beds.
Pr-BR