大象传媒

On 29th August 1942 a ridge of high pressure over the country meant a clear sky with a few clouds, sunshine all the way? Not on your life. It meant that our Squadron No.88 were given a target to attack. We were equipped with Boston Mark 3 airctaft in which each member of the crew had their own individual cockpit without access to each other.We were based at RAF Attlebridge in Norfolk, one of the squadrons which made up No2 Group Bomber Command, a group consisting of light bomber squadrons.
I was a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner holding the rank of Sergeant at the time. My crew consisted of a pilot, Vincent Hughes, and an observer, Edward Armitage, known as Ted. They had recently been awarded a commission and were brand new Pilot Officers. Although I had been put up for a commission at the same time as them, for some reason my commission had not been promulgated. It was announced the following month to take effect from 3rd September 1942.
As I recall in a sketchy sort of way after all these years, we were briefed as usual to fly at low level and found that our target was to be a power station at Comines, not too deep into enemy territory. It should have been a straightforward low level operation and we expected to be back for our bacon and egg in a couple of hours. Six aircraft were detailed to attack in pairs at two minute intervals. We were to fly as number two to Flt.Lt."Farmer" Adams who was to lead the box of six to the target. All went well on the channel crossing, guns were tested and the pilots concentrated on maintaining their height just above the surface of the sea whilst looking into a fairly low sun reflected in the water ahead of them, making it difficult to make out the horizon. I do not recall any flak on crossing the enemy coast but we gunners had to be alert to the possibility of fighters using the few clouds above us as cover for an attack on us. About two minutes from the target all hell was let loose as we flew into a solid barrage of light
and very accurate flak. I heard Ted on the intercom shout "Farmers had it" and as we flashed over a wood I saw the flames and smoke from the crash of our leading aircraft. Just at that moment there was a tremendous bang and our aircraft swung violently to the starboard and upwards. We had been hit by a shell, somewhere in the front of the aircraft because there was no sign of any damage around my station. Vin then called Ted on the intercom, there was no reply, after several attempts to get him to reply, Vin said that we had been hit in the nose and that Ted might have had it. Our starboard engine was smoking but not on fire and Vin was desparately trying to feather the propellor which was causing a lot of drag but he was having no luck. He then said we had to abandon the mission and asked whether we should make an emergency landing, or attempt to get back to base. I'm afraid I chickened out of the decision and told Vin that as he was the pilot, it was his responsibilty. His problem was that if Ted was seriously wounded, and we were forced to ditch on the return journey, Ted was unlikely to survive. On the other hand he might already have been dead, and the certainty of languishing in a prisoner of war camp did not appeal. Vin was a married man with a child to think of. I did not envy him his decision and perhaps for the first time was glad I was not a pilot.
Vin turned the aircraft for the return journey and found that the milling of the propellor on the starboard side was making flying the aircraft ona straight and level course was very difficult. It was then that the first problem for me arose. Oil was seeping from the starboard engine and the slipstream was turning it into a fine spray which was comimg into my open cockpit and getting into my eyes. I tried putting my goggles on to keep out the oil but this only resulted in the goggles being covered in oil which prevented me from seeing. As it was imperative that I kept an eye out for enemy aircraft, which could very easily have picked us off if one attacked. I had no option but to accept the discomfort and try to keep my eyes clear by constant rubbing. Vin then asked me to help in keeping the aircraft straight and level by putting some weight on the rudder bar (Bostons were equipped with basic controls in the air gunners cockpit, a rudder bar, a control column and for some reason which I still do not understand a wobble pump.) Vin then told me that we were losing oil pressure and asked me to pump the wobble pump. The technical aspect of this has never been explained to me.
So, we crossed the enemy coast on the way back with, fortunately, no great opposition from the anti aircraft gunners and started the channel crossing. This was the most uncomfortable journey I have ever experienced, oil in the eyes, an aching left leg through pressing on the rudder bar which meant bending my left leg backwards as much as I could, periodic pumping to maintain oil pressure, and the ever present worry od whether or not we would plunge into the sea. Vin asked me to switch on the IFF(Identification Friend or Foe)this meant leaving my position and crawling back to the installation to do so. The crossing seemed never ending but eventually Vin said he could see the coast and that we were approaching Ipswich. There were several naval vessels in the harbour so I fired the colours of the day from the Verey pistol to identify us as friendly, this had no effect and the navy opened up on us from too great a distance to be effective, thank goodness. Vin then said that we would put down at Ipswich Airfield which was used as a training airfield for Spitfire pilots, and as he could not risk circling before landing we would go straight in and he asked me to fire a RED as we crossed the perimeter to warn other aircraft of our presence and direction. This I did and I braced myself for what I thought would be a belly landing. However as we touched down I realised that our wheels were down but one tyre was punctured which resulted in a violent swerve to starboard. Just as we swerved, I saw a Spitfire landing on what would have been a parallel course had we not been swerving to the right.
Yhe crash was inevitable, and furthermore it was going to involve the back of our aircraft where I was sitting. I could do nothing except put my feet up on to the scarf ring, cover my head as best I could with my arms in a sort of foetus position and wait for it. I remember clearly the awful sound of crunching tearing metal, the aircraft was pshed violently around, and then utter and complete silence, just smoke and dust blocking out the daylight. Suddenly I realised to my astonishment, that I was alright, I hadn't been hurt, then I thought FIRE get out quick. I went to put my feet down but they wouldn't go down, the wing of the Spitfire had sliced into the starboard side of ours, and I was sitting on it. Somehow I clambered out of the top of my cockpit and jumped to the ground. I then thought again of the possibility of FIRE and I ran round to see if I could help the Spitfire pilot. Behind the tail I bumped into someone so I said "Help me get the pilot out" he said "I am the pilot" help me get the gunner out". At that point I thought of Ted, and I must confess that I had not given him a great deal of thought during the flight back. I suppose self preservation had something to do with that. I said "Come and help me with the Observer" The pilot said "He's alright, the front of the kite hasn't been touched", or words to that effect. I ran round to the nose of the aircraft and looked up at Ted. He was just sitting there, in his seat, but without any perspex in the nose it having been shot away, and..........he had no face.
For the first time in my life I fainted. I came round lying on the grass with an officer kneeling beside me. Then to my amazement I heard a voice call "Get me out of here" It was Ted, he was alive but extremely badly wounded.
Poor fellow had received multiple wounds to the face, arms and thighs, only his parachute which he had clipped to his harness had saved him. The constant bleeding from the shrapnel wounds to his face had congealed into a mass of dried blood due to the fact that he had faced an open cockpit throughout the journey back. It was this that had given me the impression that his face had been completely blown away. I think at that point I I had a slight breakdown in composure and I was led away by the officer to a hangar offices where they had an officers bar, they were kind enough to forecast my promotion to commissioned rank and gave me a brandy which I desparately needed.
Several hours later after I had to some extent recovered from the events of the morning, I looked around our aircraft and was amazed to see that the wing of the Spitfire was embedded into the side of ours and that had I not put my feet up on to the scarf ring I would have lost both of my legs.
If ever a pilot deserved recognition by the award of the Distinguished Flying Cross for bringing his aircraft and crew back, at least all alive, it was Vincent Hughes, but it was not to be. No official recognition was forthcoming, but Ted Armitage, and I, am eternally grateful to Vin for his brilliant airmanship on that occasion.
That was, of course, the last operation we shared as a crew, as Ted never fully recovered sufficiently from his wounds to continue service in the RAF and was discharged. Despite the loss of an eye, several fingers and numerous other permanent injuries, Ted managed to get a place at university where he obtained his degree and spent the rest of his life as a teacher. Sadly, Ted having survived his terrible injuries, contracted cancer and died at an early age. Vincent, now must be about 89 years old is, so far as I am aware, still alive and going strong. Here's to you Vin, I've had a wonderful life - all thanks to you.

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