大象传媒

744842 LAC R.McDONALD
WARD 19
BARAGWANATH MILITARY HOSPITAL
JOHANNESBURG
SOUTH AFRICA

FITTER ON 'J' FOR JOHNNIE

I first met 'J' for Johnnie as just one aeroplane among many. I was a Fitter in Maintenance Flight and was taking each Wellington II in turn and fitting the feathering apparatus for the airscrew. When I came to 'J' I never realised that it would become the main interest in my life for the next 12 months.
When I had completed my job and had carried out a ground test on the engines, I reported to 'A' Flight Office that the machine was ready for an air-test. On being notified of the time of the flight, I took along an electrician with his spare accumulators and fuses, just in case of accidents.
The pilot came along and appeared to know what the test was about so I just climbed in and off we went. By the way, amongst the seven airmen aboard we hadn't a single parachute. Except on operations, these things were scorned, contrary to regulations, of course; but nobody was worrying.
When we had climbed to about 2,000 feet above the East Coast of Yorkshire, the pilot indicated to me that he was going to feather each engine in turn. I climbed forward to stand behind the second pilot and so watch the instruments. The pilot throttled back the port engine, twitching on the aileron control, as he did, to stop the wing dipping. Then he pressed the feathering button and as the airscrew blades turned, switched off the magnetos.
Fair enough, the kite flew beautifully although it did not ride the bumps so well. After a few minutes, during which the pilot tried a few gentle turns, he made to unfeather the airscrew. With switches on, he pressed the button to unfeather. As the blades turned slightly, the wind caught them and slowly the engine began to turn over. The pilot thought this was OK and released the button and opened the throttle. Then the fun started, because the screw was only partly unfeathered and as the engine was accelerated so it vibrated and rocked madly in it's bearers. On seeing this, I fully expected the engine to fall out and the kite to crash into the drink and the crew with it. However the pilot was neither blind nor unconscious so he hauled back the throttle and feathered again. He tried to unfeather for a second time but the same thing happened and I broke into a cold sweat, thinking that the disaster would happen any time at all. By this time I could see the pilot's mistake and tried to make signs and yell above the scream of the other engine; I had no flying helmet. After he made the third mistake I abandoned the Hi-signs and hurried to the tail of the machine. The rear turret doors were open so I took the rear-gunner's helmet and scrambled back to the cockpit. I plugged in the inter-communication wire and called up "Hello Captain, Hello Captain".
On getting his reply, I continued "Hello Captain, Fitter here; look, you've got this thing all wrong; you release the feathering button too soon".
Thereupon I gave him directions and pretty soon we had the test successfully completed on both engines. As we turned for the home 'drome I called the Captain again "Hello Captain, we nearly had it that time and I can't swim you know".
He acknowledged with a smile and "I'll know better next time". In the hectic months that followed, this pilot flew one of the kites for 4 hours on one engine back from the south of Italy to Malta, so he did learn.

I left the kite for about a week and then I was notified that I was to fly with the Squadron to Malta for special operations. After a long embarkation leave of 48 hours I returned and was detailed to this same machine 'J' for Johnnie. As the crew list was put up, I found that we were to fly 10 in a machine, 1 rigger, armourer, instrument repairer, fitter and the six aircrew.
As these aircrew were to become idolised friends of mine in later days, I will tell a little about one or two of them.
Flight Sgt. Dickie B--- was the first pilot and captain. When we left the home aerodrome in England on our first hop to Malta, this daring pilot decide to 'shoot up' the drome.
The aeroplane was overloaded with 10 men aboard; I was sitting beside Dickie. We dived steeply on the field and flattened out at about 20 feet. It shook me to the core when, as we flashed past the hangers, Dickie clasped both hands over his head and only held the control column between his knees.
Our 1st W.Op/A.G. was the other adventurous member of the crew; a Canadian, Flight Sgt. Dougie M--- . He had a passion for automatics and had a beautiful .38 Berreta of his own.
When 'J' for Johnnie went on a low-level raid on Castel Benito in Tripolitania, he was keeping watch on the radio. After dropping all the 40lb anti-personnel bombs, they went in machine-gunning. All the Browning guns were being fired by other members of the crew, but Dougie wanted to have a pot. He went aft and blazed away through the flare chute with his own gun and ammo.
The others of the crew, 2nd Pilot, Observer, 2nd W.Op/A.G. and Rear Gunner were just the ordinary kind of fellow you could find anywhere on an RAF station; sober- minded and very conscientious while on duty.
The R.G. had confirmed M.E. 110 over Germany and a probable C.R. 42 over the land of Italy.
The great day came and, feeling very proud in my unfamiliar parachute and Mae West, I talked with some of the chaps who were staying behind until I was ordered aboard. With almost all the station personnel looking on, we took off and after the hectic incident of shooting up, made our way to a 'drome in the South of England. There was a specially long runway here to enable us to get off with our overload petrol tanks filled. Even then some trees had to be chopped down on the outskirt of the field.
We were due to leave the same night, so that afternoon I filled my overload tanks and pushed every last drop of fuel I could get into the other tanks; I didn't know but we might need it.
Two hour before the take- off time, all the crews on that trip had a special big dinner, known as a flying supper. Just as we had finished the meal, we heard that the trip was cancelled due to icing conditions on the route. That was OK by us though, we had had a good dinner and were in no hurry to leave the dear homeland. As with most good things though, there was a catch in it. This time we had to put the engine and turret covers over the machines. This easy-sounding feat showed promise of difficulties. There was a high wind, only two men on the job and we only had a rickety pair of step ladders. At one time I was blown off the top of the main-plane. I let off such a stream of poetic sayings that I had to stop myself for fear that the fabric should shrivel off the kite.
The following morning I strolled round to the plane to do my D.I. (Daily Inspection) on the engines. After running up, I had to top-up with petrol again. Not being wise in the ways of overload tanks, I had run the engines off all tanks, no selection. Therefore I had to unlock and open up 8 tanks just to put about one gallon in each. I learned later and selected the two overload tanks to run off.
We were delayed for a further four days by the bad weather but at last the real night arrived. Somehow the O.C. had managed to scrounge some cases of 4lb incendiaries, officially to procure a drift site, but amongst ourselves we knew that we wanted to have a bit of fun on the way over. Unfortunately these were taken off us at the last moment. The Rear Gunner had prepared for this eventuality and had brought along two empty beer bottles. When these were half-filled, for decency's sake, I'll say with water, and lobbed out of the rear turret, they caused the most terrifying shriek ever heard. We were hoping that some German fireman would die of heart failure when he heard them coming down.
Dickie, the Captain, gave me a few tips before we took off:
I had to take off my collar, or if we came down in the drink, I should have died of strangulation due to it shrinking.
I should wear the parachute over my Mae West so that I could jettison the harness quickly in the sea.
As we were flying high over Occupied France and I had no oxygen mask, I had to lie as still as possible to conserve energy and make breathing easier.
I was to lie in the bomb aimer's position in the nose, by no means the healthiest place in the event of a crash landing or take off.
Well after a few sickening lurches we were off and heading for the coast; the time was about 10.00pm.
England's black-out seemed to be very good because I could not even see the slightest glimmer of a light. After about an hour I heard the engines' note change into a slighter, harsher drone and looking down I saw that we had just crossed the coast and were now over the Channel. I didn't look down again until I noticed that the pilot had desynchronised the engines and the aircraft was doing quite a bit of weaving. To say that I was surprised would be putting it mildly because we had just crossed the French Coast at Le Havre and things were happening down there. Searchlights were waving across the sky looking for 'J' for Johnnie. Also I could see what appeared to be tiny yellow sparks on the ground. This turned out to be A.A. which was bursting all around us. This was my baptism of fire in the air and I didn't go a bundle on it. We were not doing them any harm and it did not seem right for them to be firing on us like that. Uneasily I looked round to identify my parachute pack and figured out the quickest way of getting out of the kite if the necessity arose. It never occurred to me that if the aeroplane was hit, I might stop a piece of shrapnel.
We left the danger area behind after half an hour and Dickie brought 'J' down to 5,000 feet over Unoccupied France and once again I took an interest in the scenery below. All the villages were lit up and nobody tried to interfere with our journey. I had heard from our pilots about friendly allies flashing 'V' in lights to our planes flying over and what I saw that night certainly made me think a lot.
After passing the illuminations at Marseilles the trip ceased to be even interesting; the continual deafening shriek of the engines for four hours was having an effect on me. I had some chocolate and a cup of coffee from my Thermos and felt a bit better. Soon I wriggled my way back to the Elsan chemical toilet. On the way back I reflected that I would never again bind the aircrew about making a mess in the kite; that machine sure did rock and roll.
Owing to a fairly strong beam wind we went a bit off course and were well on the way to Tunisia but the navigator soon brought us round again and as dawn broke we began to circle Malta. My first impression of this place was pretty poor; it was so small that circling it we seemed to be in perpetual tight turn. It looked very barren and grey with very little sign of life. The pilot made a good landing and taxied to the dispersal area.
Climbing stiffly from the machine I felt sick with exhaustion and after the punishing clatter from the motors I was stone deaf, having had no flying helmet on the whole trip. My only protection was a bit of cotton wool stuffed in my ears. When we trailed up to the mess for some food it was only to find that there were no plates. To get a plate and mug, we were expected to get an arrival chit signed several times and obtain plates from the stores. And all this after we had had over eight hours gruelling flying. Our O.C. soon got round all this red tape and very soon we were feeding. Our adventures at Malta were beginning.

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