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Spitfire Pilot, 92 Squadron, Desert Air Force (DAF), Italy (1944 — 1945)

A ‘Spit’ Pilot’s thoughts…

Flight Sergeant/Warrant Officer Stanley (Mike) Widdowson: Spitfire Pilot, 92 Squadron 1944 — 1945.

Chapter 7: Beefy-blue three has gone!

This is probably one of the saddest accounts of all the ‘ops’ described in the diary. I can remember Dad telling me about this event in detail, and reading it still stuns me today. The reason behind this terrible flying incident did not come to light until nearly sixty years after, when I was reading Group Captain ‘Cocky’ Dundas’ account of the Desert Air Force in Italy. This same incident is described there, and it had clearly also affected him despite his long flying experience. Dundas was leading the ‘Spit-bombers’ into attack on a heavily defended strong-house, Dad was the second one down behind him; Pete Smith, and then ‘Yorky’ Burrows followed them in. They had been given the designation of ‘Blue flight’, and the R/T call-sign was ‘Beefy-blue’. Dad then, was ‘Beefy-blue two’.

11/04/45

Duration 1.10 ‘Rover Paddy’ to enemy strong-house, near Massa Lombarda.

The target we were briefed on was near Massa Lombara, and I was to be flying as the Group Captain’s (Dundas) ‘number two’. We went over the front lines and were directed by radio from our front line operator (Rover Paddy) to a target. However, the target objective given wasn’t too clear, and Groupy called for clarification, and then went down to have a better look. I was instructed to lead the other two chaps (Yorky and Pete) around Lake Comachio whist we were waiting for him. Shortly afterward, we were told not to bomb the designated target because some of our advanced troops were in the process of taking it, and had already engaged the enemy at close quarters (this will vouch for just how close we support the army on these Rover Paddies!).

We were next given another target just north of Lugo. It was an enemy building of some importance. We pinpointed the house and ‘Groupy’ (Dundas) and I went in. Jerry immediately started popping at us with some 20 mm stuff. We dropped our bombs, pulled out and, as I turned and climbed away, I saw a brilliant streak of flame and some blue smoke hanging over the target at about 4,000 feet… it could only mean one thing. Then ‘Yorky Burrows’ voice filled with horror and strangled with emotion crackled over the R/T. “Beefy Blue three’s gone up in flames”. The Groupy and I turned back and continued our attack straffing the house through a curtain of wreckage still falling to earth…. Pieces of aeroplane and man were floating down, and we flew through it…..

Pete Smith was in that ‘kite’… Jerry must have hit him smack on his bomb - and it blew him, and the aircraft, to shreds… It was a horrible death, but at least it was very quick. Yorky was following Pete down and, diving through the falling wreckage, he got a clod of blood on his windscreen… Poor sod, it shook him more than any of us - and who wouldn’t it shake? It takes a man of bloody iron to stick this racket. The remaining three of us returned to base, and the C.O. called me aside and asked me “not to say too much about it“ to the other pilots because “it may have a bad effect on morale”. I went and had some lunch, but by now the old nerves were pretty rough after the morning’s ‘op’, so I ‘phoned the C.O. and asked him to put me on the next operational trip. It does you good to fly again straight away after an incident like that.’

Dad flew the next ‘op’ that afternoon, on another Rover Paddy, and to the same area that Pete had ‘bought it’ earlier that day. Pete had been serving with 92 Squadron since 1944, and had done more than ‘his bit’. It was tragic he should die just three weeks away from the surrender. When the aircraft wreckage was finally found by the advancing troops, Pete’s remains were taken and buried in Faenza war cemetery between Bologna and Forli. The inscription reads:

Charles Peter Keith Smith, Flying Officer, 92 Squadron, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, who died on Wednesday 11th April 1945. Age 22.

The official version in the Squadron records was that Pete had suffered a ‘fluke shot’, and that the ‘ack-ack’ had hit him directly on the nose of his primed bomb. However, he wasn’t the last pilot of 244 Wing DAF to ‘explode’ in his bomb-dive. The next day’s entry in Dad’s diary reads:

12/04/45

‘Wing Commander Ron Barry, who was flying with us on the pre-dawn show this morning, was blown to shreds in his bomb dive during his next ‘op’ later in the morning. It’s the same as happened to Pete Smith yesterday. There is something wrong somewhere — that’s the fourth chap in less days. It can’t be flak hitting the bomb every time… everyone is getting worried over it. Not a pleasant thought…’.

The true answer to these worrying events came in Dundas’ book, published forty years later. His account recalls a visit on the afternoon of 12th April from an officer of the DAF, who told him that ‘’a batch of suspect bombs’’ had been delivered to 244 Wing, and that a small percentage of these ‘’had faulty fuses’’. Tthis would account for the bombs exploding as soon as they had been primed; in other words, during the bomb dive. Since the suspect bombs could not be identified in any way from the unaffected ones, the only safe solution would have been to withdraw the entire consignment. This would have left the advancing ground troops largely unsupported and, at this crucial time of concerted attack on the Gothic Line, it was clearly not an option. Fortunately, after this date, there were no further incidents of this type. However, for those who had been carrying the bombs, including Dundas, survival had simply been down to a question of ‘luck’.

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