大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from Northumberland on behalf of Mr. Denis Watt. Mr. Watt fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions, and the story has been added to the site with his permission. It is written in the first person.

I was born in 1922. With the family home at Cullercoats, in my youth I got to know something about the sea, which held me in good stead during my Royal Air Force (RAF) career, as will become apparent later in my story. Before outlining my flying career it is worth recording that, in 1942, the family home was badly damaged and almost destroyed when a German mine laying aircraft dropped mines in front and at the back of it. The family was evacuated by Canon Fry and for the remainder of the war they lived at St. Georges鈥檚 Vicarage.

I volunteered to join the RAF in July 1941, went to Canada for pilot training, and graduated in July 1942 as a Pilot Officer. Earlier that year, in March I was posted to 220 Squadron, Coastal Command as a Second Pilot. The squadron was based at Benbecula, in the Outer Hebrides, from where we flew Flying Fortress bombers on daylight anti-submarine patrols. An amusing incident occurred on my second patrol when we attacked what we thought was a German submarine that turned out to be Rockall Island. Visibility was very poor at the time, which is a good enough excuse for our mistake! The other incident I recall from my time with 220 Squadron was when a small boat was spotted adrift in which there was one seaman, the sole survivor from a ship sunk by a German U-Boat. We were able to circle the area until a nearby ship could pick him up.

In May 1943, I joined Number 3 Operational Training Unit at Cranwell, to train for conversion to Wellington Bombers. In August of that year I joined 172 Squadron at Chivenor, Devon as a Captain Pilot. The Wellingtons were modified with special radar, additional fuel tanks, and a searchlight, known as a Leigh Light, for night time anti-submarine patrols. These patrols over the Atlantic Ocean and the Bay of Biscay were of ten hours duration, for eighty per cent of which we were at four hundred feet above sea level, so it will not take much imagination to appreciate how demanding and exhausting they were. They were largely uneventful but on two occasions when we were returning from patrol we were attacked by German Focke-Wulf Fw 190s, on both occasions as we were about to make landfall around the Isles of Scilly. Gunfire was exchanged but, fortunately, low cloud provided us with ample escape routes.

On 3 November 1943, mine was one of three aircraft that formed a detachment sent to Gibraltar, to join 179 Squadron on anti-submarine over the Mediterranean Sea. Often, it was a struggle to take off from there fully loaded, and landing could also be difficult because of the effect the Rock had on the winds over the airstrip. On our first day there, one of our aircraft attacked a U-Boat on the surface only to be shot down. Next day, when my aircraft was on patrol we, too, found a submarine on the surface, so we prepared to attack. However, when I was about to release a depth charge I noticed a man on the submarine鈥檚 conning tower furiously wave a flag. At first, I thought the submarine might be trying to surrender, we鈥檇 heard of others doing so in similar circumstances, but then I realised that the flag was a Union Jack, so I broke off the attack and returned to Gibraltar where I was immediately reprimanded for attacking one of our own submarines! However, we had received no warning beforehand that a British submarine might be in our patrol area, so I thought the reprimand to be a bit rich.

Our patrol on 5 November 1943 was an absolute nightmare. Everything went wrong. First, within a short time I noticed that my Second Pilot appeared to be asleep but I could not rouse him. Then, I could not raise my Navigator on the intercom and it was not long before I realised that all of my crew were comatose. It later turned out that all but me had sandwiches before take-off, which must have been poisoned. Although I was able to rouse them, eventually, that was just the start of my problems. The radar was not functioning properly then we found that the radio, too, wasn鈥檛 working. Having decided to continue with the patrol regardless, we had complete engine failure, which was later attributed to mishandling of our fuel supply when the aircraft was prepared for the patrol. As we prepared to ditch, frantic efforts were made to hand-pump fuel to the engines, which alternately sprang back into life such that we were able to climb to about two thousand feet. Without radar, I had no choice but to head in an easterly direction. I was confident of being able to find the entrance to the Mediterranean but I missed it and found we鈥檇 made landfall over North Africa. Fortunately, I was aware of the approximate location of a new airfield opened by the Allies, so I headed for that. However, the airfield did not respond to our emergency distress calls and the runway remained in total darkness. By this time, we were running low on fuel and a landing was essential. Now, I鈥檇 always had a recurring dream of landing on a beach at night and my crew knew this, so they were not surprised when we got back to the coast that I decided to attempt a landing on what appeared to be a suitable beach. The first attempt failed when we almost hit nearby cliffs, and the second attempt was not much better when we came across a small village. It was at this point that I drew on my knowledge of the sea built up when I lived at Cullercoats. For the third attempt to land I came in as if to land on top of the waves as they crashed onto the beach. We skimmed the waves and made a safe landing on the beach at Temara, in what was then French Morocco. The crew clambered out of the plane, pleased to find that we鈥檇 landed without getting our feet wet. However, this was not quite the end of our tribulations. We were immediately arrested by French forces who, fortunately, decided to take us to the new airfield but the jeep ride to it, across the desert, was absolutely terrifying! When we arrived the Commanding Officer was most apologetic for the lack of response to our 鈥淢ayday鈥� calls. It was thought we were Germans trying to trick them into putting on the runway lights so that the airfield could be bombed. We returned to Gibraltar and the Wellington plane was recovered, eventually, but not before the local populace had looted anything that was removable.

On 2 December 1943, I returned to the United Kingdom, along with my crew, via St. Mawgan to Chivenor and 172 Squadron. Some time later, I found myself formally charged for 鈥淚mproper Possession鈥� of the clock I thought it best to bring back from the Wellington that we鈥檇 left it in Morocco. Fortunately, when I appeared before a Group Captain to answer the charge it did not take much to convince him that there had been no intention on my part to steal the clock, so the charge against me was dismissed.

In February 1944, my plane and crew were again on detachment from 172 Squadron, that time to the Azores. The airstrip there, at Lagens, was made of PSP, or Pierced Steel Plating. In fulfilling our anti-submarine role, we also provided an escort for trans-Atlantic convoys. The only noteworthy event to record is the night we picked up a large radar contact. We prepared to attack and illuminated the contact with our searchlight only to find it was an American Aircraft Carrier. Thankfully, its anti-aircraft batteries did not shoot at us and we were able to continue our patrol.

We returned to the UK in May 1944, again to Chivenor, Devon. By this time, preparations for the imminent landings in Normandy were well advanced. We were sent to Haverfordwest, in Pembrokeshire, to have our plane repainted with black and white squares, to aid identification during and after the D-Day landings. We undertook anti-submarine patrols at night, as a 鈥渞eward鈥� for which, on one occasion, we found ourselves being shot at by the Royal Navy! Also, once we almost collided in mid-air with another Allied aeroplane.

I remained with the RAF after the Second World War having done a lot of flying during it, mainly routine anti-submarine patrols that were largely without major incident. Nevertheless, I and my crew had our moments and the events of 5 November 1943 would take some beating for all that we had to contend with during that memorable night patrol.

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