大象传媒

A BOMBER CREWS STORY 鈥�

(鈥淪IX NEW ZEALANDERS AND AN ENGLISHMAN鈥�)

BACKGROUND

John Cooper was my mothers鈥� brother. He would have been my uncle had he been alive today. I had always wanted to uncover his service history and the circumstances surrounding his death in an air crash on the night of 20th April 1944.
I began my research early in 2001. The only details I had were from my mothers鈥� memories and a letter from the Air Ministry, which is now held by my brother in New York. I therefore sent a memo to my brother in the hope of obtaining John Coopers service number, which he kindly forwarded to me.
At this stage, although I had John鈥檚 service no., I needed to find out how to proceed with my research. I therefore searched the Internet and found a website on Bomber Command where I discovered a substantial amount of useful information.
My first step was to access the Commonwealth War Graves Commission鈥檚 website and by entering the relevant details I was able to uncover my first piece of information, which was that John was a flight engineer. (My mother had always thought that he had been an air gunner).
I then contacted RAF Innsworth in Gloucester who after providing proof of identity from my mother and enclosing a small fee, were able to send me a copy of John Cooper鈥檚 service history. This was invaluable to my research as it told me which units and squadrons he had served with and I was therefore able to locate the bases he had been posted to.
My next step was to contact the Air Historical Branch at RAF Bentley Priory, Stanmore, Middlesex, who were able to provide me with details of his death and the other crewmembers involved in the crash, and that there were two survivors.
I had already gained a good deal of knowledge but to confirm what I had uncovered and to answer a few still unanswered questions; I decided to visit the Public Records Office at Kew in London. There with the advice I had obtained from the website, I was able to trace the Station Records which confirmed all the information I had obtained. However, this visit also provided me with some valuable information regarding the crewmembers and in particular about the two survivors. All except my uncle were New Zealanders including the two survivors who were Hector Frew and Frank Hudson.
At this point my research came to a temporary halt, though I often wondered during this time whether Hector and Frank were still alive and if so, where they were now.
Then one day in February 2002, I was watching a 大象传媒 programme about two old friends who had served together in RAF Bomber Command during the war. At the end of the programme, a website was advertised 鈥� 鈥淲e鈥檒l Meet Again鈥�, where a message could be placed in the 鈥渟lim hope鈥� (I thought) of tracing Hector and Frank.

It wasn鈥檛 until 7th May 2002 that out of the blue I received a reply from the 大象传媒 saying that I had had a response to my message. This response was from Pelham Temple in Essex who told me that a great friend of his, Errol Martyn, an author living in New Zealand, had written some books on New Zealand crews and that he 鈥渕ay鈥� be able to help.
I immediately contacted Errol via e-mail and he was able to tell me two further vital pieces of information; these being Hectors and Franks 鈥渇ull鈥� names, and their last known whereabouts.
Again I thought it a very slim chance that they may still be living there but I decided to search the Internet again in the hope of finding a local newspaper that covered these areas.
I found a website for a paper called 鈥淭he Northland Age鈥� and sent a memo to 鈥淭he Editor鈥� asking if he would publish an advert for me enquiring if anyone knew of the whereabouts of Hector and Frank.
Only four days later on 11th May 2002, I received a reply, not from the paper but from one of Hectors relatives, Yvonne, who was able to tell me Hectors new address.
I must admit I couldn鈥檛 believe my good fortune! However, after coming so far, I thought it best to be cautious, as I didn鈥檛 want to invade Hectors privacy or remind him of some possibly disturbing memories involving the crash. I asked Yvonne for her opinion and she convinced me that Hector would be more than willing to talk to me. I decided to write to Hector but Yvonne suggested I ring him and leave a message 鈥渢o prepare him鈥�. So I did but to my surprise I was 鈥渋nvited鈥� to talk to Hector. Can you imagine how I was feeling? This was a dream come true! Something I thought would never happen! Something I鈥檇 dreamt about for years!
I was too nervous to take everything in but Hector was a 鈥減ure joy to talk to鈥� and the amount of detail he remembered after all these years, not only of the accident but of the war itself, simply 鈥渁mazed鈥� me! He also told me that Frank was also still alive, though not very well, and that they had remained in contact ever since the air crash in 1944.
Since this point, Hector and Frank have very kindly forwarded me their books containing Hectors detailed life story including his wartime experiences, and Franks in depth memories of his wartime exploits.
The following accounts I have compiled from all the sources of information mentioned above. These mainly concentrate on Hectors and Franks wartime experiences, though unfortunately, there are 鈥渕any more vivid memories鈥� I have been unable to include at this stage.
I would like to convey 鈥渕y deepest gratitude鈥� to all those who have contributed to making the following possible, and in particular Hector and Frank (including Maureen, Franks friend), without whose time, help and support, I would never have been able to tell 鈥渢heir story鈥�.

鈥淭HEIR STORY鈥�

This is the true story of my uncle, John Cooper, but mainly it is a true story compiled from two men鈥檚 memories, Hector Frew and Frank Hudson. It is a story of bravery, great courage, and determination to overcome the terrible ordeals that war brought before them. These are the 鈥渇acts鈥�; I have 鈥漬ot鈥� glamourised them, I do not need to and nor would I wish to. The facts alone tell 鈥渢heir story鈥�. However, as you will see, there were also moments of 鈥渓ight鈥� relief where humour played its part!

JOHN COOPER

I will begin where my research started, with my uncle Flight Sergeant John Cooper. John Cooper was born on 5th July 1921 in London, almost four years before my mother. He was an only son with two sisters.
Before the war he was a Press Operator, working with metal, I believe.
On 30th January 1941 he enlisted as a Volunteer Reserve with Euston Reserve 2RC Cardington as an AC2 (Aircraftman 2nd Class). He was 19 yrs old and described as 5 feet 10 inches tall, having a chest size of 37.5 inches, brown hair, brown eyes and having a fair complexion.

He trained at various locations before being promoted to AC1 (Aircraftman 1st Class) on 1st February 1943.
He then volunteered and was recommended for training on 18th February 1943 to become a Flight Engineer.
On 15th May 1943 he was posted to 13OTU (Operational Training Unit) at Finmere in Oxfordshire.
He qualified as a Flight Engineer on 31st January 1944 and was promoted to Flight Sergeant.
On 12th February 1944 he was posted to 31 RAF Base (Aircrew School) Methwold near Cambridge for possibly a weeks Commando training course.
On 25th February 1944 he was posted to 1657CU (Conversion Unit) at RAF Stradishall, Suffolk to train on four engined heavy Stirling bombers. This is where he was to meet Hector and Frank for the first time.

HECTOR FREW

Hector was born in Scotland on 30th May 1920. Hectors parents decided to emigrate to New Zealand and bought a farm.
Hector applied to join the Royal New Zealand Air Force with the ambition of becoming an air gunner. Hector went to Levin commence ground training.
He reported to the R.N.Z.A.F. at Roturua and became a trainee Wireless Operator Air Gunner with 50 or so others.
In October 1942, Hector departed from Wellington in New Zealand on a voyage to Canada, via America, for air training. He travelled the length of the States West Coast from the Mexican Border to Canada.
He arrived at Vancouver and boarded Canadian National travelling through the Rocky Mountains for a day and a half until eventually arriving at Edmonton for a fortnights stay in an Air Force Manning Pool.
Very soon Hector was posted and again boarded a train along with the Australians, arriving at their new destination at Number 3 Wireless at Winnipeg, Manitoba. He spent the next nine months here, including the bitter cold winter of 1942/3 when the temperature reached 40 degrees below zero. It was intensive training in Morse code and in the use of radio communications in the air.
It was at this time that Hector was to meet June who he was later to marry.
At the end of the nine month period, all Hectors companions graduated with their Wireless Operator wings and Sergeant stripes but Hector stayed on awaiting posting to gunnery training. Later, three other New Zealanders joined him, things improved for Hector and they were posted to Gunnery School in French Canada.

Another long train journey ensued until he reached his new destination of Quebec. It was now well into spring. French officers and instructors now trained Hector how to use machine guns, map reading and the skills required by gunners in air warfare, but most vital of all, was the training given to recognise aircraft, whether they were friend or foe. After six weeks of training, Hector moved on to commence Flight Training on an airfield on the south bank of the St. Lawrence at Mont Joli.
The planes he flew were Fairey Battles, which were two seater fighter bombers manned by a pilot and a gunner. Hector would fire at a sort of sock known as a 鈥渄rogue鈥� which was towed behind another Fairey Battle. On return to the drome, the bullet holes were counted and the gunner scored accordingly. After five of these exercises, the air firing was completed.

He recalls a memory involving a comrade and a skunk! A skunk sprayed one of the men in Hectors dormitory. The man threw his uniform out of the window and spent the next two hours in the shower. Even then, still no one would approach him!
There was another incident when some men in strange uniforms were in a dance at the aerodrome. One of the girls, who had danced with the men, mentioned to one of Hectors officers of a strange smell about these men. An alarm was sounded and these strangers were chased to the banks of the river where they rowed off. It was said that they were sailors from a German submarine who had ventured ashore for a bit of company. Submariners, because of their times spent below in confined quarters, had a distinct odour which was what alerted Hectors guards. As Hector says 鈥淐heeky fellows those Germans!鈥�
Hector graduated as a Sergeant with Gunners wings and went back to Winnipeg. It was now summer 1943 in central Canada and he travelled by train again to the port of Halifax where he was to embark for England. The harbour was crammed with ships and as Italy had just surrendered, all the vessels celebrated the victory by sounding their sirens as Hectors train passed along the harbour.
Today, Hector is mindful of the fact 鈥渢hat he would never have had this Canadian experience had it not been for the war鈥�.
Hector was now aboard the liner 鈥淨ueen Elizabeth鈥�. The crossing was at the height of the submarine war on shipping. As they embarked, news came though of a large convoy that had been attacked and destroyed by a U-boat.
Hector was issued with two mess tins but a Dutch airman next to Hector didn鈥檛 have any mess gear, so Hector gave him a tin and a spoon. That meant when Hector reached the servery, he had to put everything in one tin, like the meat, vegetables, and sweet, including his coffee, if there was any!
The voyage took three days and they arrived at Port Glasgow on the Clyde in Scotland. Hector was now in the land of his birth and the homeland his parents fondly remembered.
Before disembarking from the 鈥淨ueen Elizabeth鈥�, they were given American K rations, probably to sustain them on the train journey ahead, but when they saw children begging beside the tracks, they threw the rations to them. However, they soon regretted it as the train journey lasted hours and overnight.
Eventually they reached Brighton on the south coast. Brighton was the base for New Zealand and Australian airmen and it was from there that they were despatched to the various airfields.
Hector recalls one evening while enjoying a picture show, the air raid sirens sounding and bombs falling on the town. No one seemed concerned and carried on watching the film, so not wishing to appear concerned, Hector stayed too. When he came out, there was a bomb crater across the street from the theatre.
On another occasion, Hector was outside his hotel when he saw a British fighter plane chase a German bomber across the town and out to sea to disappear in cloud. A moment later, the fighter reappeared obviously damaged and trailing smoke. It headed for the town dropping altitude as it approached. (Our planes when returning to base had to cross the coast at certain places otherwise they could be the enemy). This plane was approaching in the wrong place. The grim reality of war was played out in front of Hector when the defence batteries opened fire, shooting the plane down.
Hectors stay in Brighton soon ended and his attachment of Air Gunners moved on to further training at an Operational Training Unit (O.T.U.) at Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire. On a walk to the local village of Westcott, stood a huge mansion, which belonged to the Rothschilds family of banking fame. This building now served as a barracks for the armed forces. Farming went on as usual all around these buildings, and runways often cut swathes through wheat fields.
Hectors training took place in crew rooms where all the flight sections worked (intelligence, gunnery, navigation etc.) and from where parachutes were obtained for flights. Crew rooms, mess halls and barracks were scattered and hidden out of sight by trees. Hector would walk a mile for his lunch and a mile back to work.
East Anglia in particular, was one huge aerodrome where navigational lights encircling each field at night would often intersect each other. The air was filled day and night with RAF and American fighter and bomber planes.

THE CREW

Most of the training flights were done at night with six weeks training followed by one weeks break. It was at the O.T.U. that Hector met his fellow crewmembers. These were Flight Sergeant John (鈥淛ock鈥�) Gold, Flight Sergeant William Murray (鈥淢urray鈥�) Aitken, Flight Sergeant Douglas Howard (鈥淒ug鈥�) De Laney, and Flight Sergeant Godfrey Randal (Geogh鈥�) Weston. All five including Hector were New Zealanders.

JOHN (鈥淛OCK鈥�) GOLD

Jock Gold was 23 years old and the pilot. He was the only married crewmember and had a very young child. Jock 鈥減robably鈥� worked with his family who owned a bakery in Dunedin, New Zealand. He was tall, well built and had considerable skills as a rugby player. Pilots of bomber crews had to have that aptitude known as 鈥渓eaders of men鈥� and he quietly went about his task of welding the crew together as an efficient fighting unit. Even when the duties of flying were put aside and they set out to have some fun, they did as a group with Jock as their big brother. He was respected for his skills in the air among his fellow pilots.

WILLIAM (鈥淢URRAY鈥�) AITKEN

Murray Aitken was 21 years old and the navigator. Before the war, he was a student from Wellington, New Zealand.
Navigators had to have a mathematical mind to prepare them for the responsibilities of guiding the plane at night and in all weathers. At that time, navigation was by dead reckoning with few of the aid that was to come in towards the end of the war. By virtue of their long training, they were usually studious types but Murray was a boisterous youth with a prodigious thirst. He and Hector seemed always to have neighbouring bunks and knocked around a lot together. Hector thinks Murray regarded him as the older brother figure.

DOUGLAS (鈥淒UG鈥�) HOWARD DE LANEY

Dug De Laney was 20 years old and the wireless operator. His previous occupation was as a railway guard on the New Zealand railways. He was from Hikurangi, New Zealand. Dug was very skilled in Morse and radio operating and as Hector had done some wireless training, they had a lot in common and understood each other鈥檚 duties.
However, Dug seemed to have a complete disregard for all conventions including discipline but commanded a great deal of respect by virtue of his complete mastery of his job.

GODFREY (鈥淕EOGH鈥�) RANDAL WESTON

Geogh Weston was 22 years old and the bomb aimer. Like Murray, Geogh also came from Wellington, New Zealand. Geogh had started his training as a navigator but sitting at a desk shut away from the action didn鈥檛 appeal to him so he reclassified to a bomb aimer and rode in the front turret. He was a short, jolly man whose unfailing humour saw the crew through some bad times.

With Hector as the air gunner, now aged 23 (nearly 24) and known by the others as 鈥淕randad鈥� as he was the oldest until later Frank was to arrive, the crew went into very intensive training and spent long, cold, exhausting hours in the air preparing for bombing missions over Germany.

TRAINING ON WELLINGTON 鈥淢EDIUM鈥� BOMBERS

The Operational Training Unit at Westcott was equipped with Vickers Wellington twin engined medium bombers affectionately known as 鈥淲impies鈥�. These planes had been in service since the beginning of the conflict but were now used in training having been superseded by larger and faster aircraft. Because of their construction they could sustain enormous damage from flack and fighters, which probably inspired the song 鈥淐oming Home On A Wing and A Prayer鈥�.
None of the crew were familiar with the 鈥淲impy鈥� and they had to get to know it鈥檚 peculiarities and one was that the motors had to be turned over by hand before they could be started, which was something to do with the oil seeping into the bottom cylinder heads of the radial motors. Two airmen grasped the propeller and swung on it to turn the engine completely over, and with heavy gear on, it took some doing.
There was also some difficulty for the pilot in trimming the aircraft to make it fly straight and this was overcome by bags of sand by the rear turret. Through time, the bags rotted and sand got into the workings of the guns. In one turret Hector flew in, sand had got into the ammunition tanks causing the ammunition belts to keep feeding up into the turret and as the guns were not firing, the turret filled with ammunition. There was nothing for it but to break the belts of ammunition and throw them overboard.
To get into the turret, the rear gunner had to grasp two handgrips on either side of the fuselage and hoist himself into the turret. Very close to these two handgrips were two handles, which were part of the steering mechanism and if the gunner made a mistake in the dark and grabbed the wrong handles, his weight put the plane completely out of control until he relinquished his grip.
To enter and leave the plane, the crew had to walk between the engines, which was hazardous if they were running and it led to some fatalities with tired airmen walking into the spinning propellers.
The flying training simulated, as near as possible, actual bombing sorties. Long night flights with numerous changes of course to test the navigators鈥� accuracy and the pilots鈥� control of the aircraft. Daylight trips to the bombing range to hone co-ordination between the bomb aimer and the pilot and back to firing at drogues to improve Hectors鈥� skills.

The ever-present fear of enemy night fighters kept the gunner alert. The danger of straying off course and into balloon barrages was very real for the navigator.
One of the greatest problems for Hector in the rear turret was the intense cold, which no amount of clothing could overcome. The motors only heated the rest of the plane. Icicles would form on the gun barrels and as Hector rotated the turret, the icicles would break off and form on the other side of the barrels.
In one storm, dancing blue lights lit up the turret.
To combat the cold, gunners would wear long silk underwear, a submariners鈥� jersey and long knitted thigh length socks. Then there was the battle dress with an inner kapok flying suit and an outer flying suit. On his hands, he would first put on white silk gloves, woollen mittens, inner flying gloves and to finish with outer gloves. On his feet he wore numerous pairs of socks with his flying boots.
The rear turret was a very lonely place on the plane as Hector was completely shut off from the rest of the crew.
At this stage, Bomber Command was losing up to a hundred bombers a night and Hector had only met one gunner who had completed his first tour of operations of thirty trips and his second tour of twenty trips unscathed. They knew their chances of surviving training and bombing operations were 鈥渧ery slim鈥� indeed.
Civilians had this catastrophic idea of the life expectancy of an air gunner and they looked on Hector with a kind of awe and hero worship but there was no greater danger to the gunner than the rest of the crew for if he was put out of action, the bomber was then defenceless. From Hectors position, a gunner would be first to bail out from a stricken plane and would have the greatest chance of leaving unharmed.
It wasn鈥檛 all lonely, cold, dangerous night flying. There were also day trips across the busy skies of Britain. There was the exhilaration of low flying when the bombers sped across the fields, then when the pilot approached a tree or haystack, he would give the motors slight acceleration which lifted the plane momentarily to skim the object to sink on the other side, and all the gunner saw was the tree above his turret. The whole crew engrossed in the excitement.
Although most of the men were highly educated, it was surprising to know how superstitious many of them were. There was no Hut No.13 or aircraft No. 13. Throughout the RAF, the term 12A was used.
A survivor of one or two crashes could be regarded as a 鈥淛onah鈥�, with no one keen to fly with him.
They were also schooled in the skills of evading capture if shot down and how to make it back to England. Their escape kit, kept in the leg of their flying boots consisted of such things as passport photographs so the French underground could supply them with false documents. They also had German marks and French francs, and maps of Europe in various languages.
They spent a week in a Commando Course where they mastered unarmed combat and how to kill with their bare hands. Being the only New Zealand crew, they liked to excel in everything. 鈥淭ake the honour of the people with you鈥�, as the song went. With tremendous effort, they were the first to complete the combat course with its鈥� many obstacles, only to be told they must be too fit and made to go around again. 鈥淪o much for honour and glory!鈥�

TRAINING ON STIRLING 鈥淗EAVY鈥� BOMBERS

The crew then moved on to 1657CU (Conversion Unit) at Stradishall, Suffolk to train on four engined Stirling heavy bombers. This aerodrome had been built before the war so all it鈥檚 activities were centred about the headquarters and the hangers, as opposed to the dispersed fields. It was the base for several other flying fields.
Hector remembers how massive the Stirling bombers were. He couldn鈥檛 see over the top of the main landing wheels and from the ground to where the pilot sat, it was twenty-two feet. Stirlings were now only used for training and towing gliders as Lancasters and Halifaxes had now superseded them, as these were faster and could climb higher. Many Stirlings met their end with the paratroopers at the battle of Arnhem.
The five man crew now became seven when two more airmen joined them. These were the flight engineer John Cooper, now 22 years old, already mentioned at the beginning of the story, and the mid-upper gunner Frank Hudson.
John was brought in to help Jock, the pilot, to help him get used to handling heavy bombers.
Frank was brought in as the Stirling had an extra turret mid-way along the top of the plane.

FRANCIS (鈥淔RANK鈥�) PHILLIP HUDSON

Frank was born on 4th February 1918, and now 26 years old. He was the mid-upper gunner and also now the oldest member of the crew.
Like Hector, Frank used to be a farmer in New Zealand before the war and had served in the same Army unit as Hector in peacetime, before becoming a mid-upper gunner, although this was the first time they had actually met.
Frank had completed his training in Canada and graduated to a Flight Sergeant before arriving in Greenock, Scotland aboard the 鈥淨ueen Mary鈥� late in 1943 before travelling by train to Brighton on the south coast of England.
Frank had also moved on to Westcott, Buckinghamshire before being posted to 1657CU (Conversion Unit) at Stradishall, Suffolk.

TRAINING TOGETHER

The seven-man crew was now complete. The date was 25th February 1944 and now as a full bomber crew, they did everything together except when they had to attend their various sections i.e. Gunnery, Navigation etc. The crew was a very strong one. Frank remembers how they would visit the local pub for a 鈥渇ew鈥� drinks, John being the one who drank the least!
They made the most of visiting local villages and there was the odd weekend in London to take in the sights and gather with other New Zealanders in the Kiwi Club. John, being a Londoner, would visit home and his parents.
On one occasion, Jock, Murray, Dug and Frank spent a weekend鈥檚 leave in London with John and visited John鈥檚 parents. Meanwhile, Hector and Geogh went to visit Geogh鈥檚 family who owned a farm in Norfolk.
These excursions cemented the crew into close comradeship.
Every six weeks the crew were given one weeks leave and on these occasions they usually split up and went their separate ways for most had connections to the Old Country. Hector would travel to Scotland to visit his family and to see as much of his heritage as possible visiting his birthplace.
The bomber crew was designed to be, and theirs certainly was, 鈥渁 band of men closer than brothers鈥�. Hector greatly appreciated the companionship of the crew and greatly respected their skills in the air. He would not have chosen to fly with any other crew.

THE ACCIDENT

The crew had completed twenty-two training flights at 1657CU. They had come to the end of their training and were due to be posted to No. 75 Squadron, the famous New Zealand Squadron, flying Lancaster heavy bombers at Mepal, Cambridgeshire.
On the Monday night, one of the planes failed to return from a flight over the North Sea. Gold鈥檚 crew were engaged in the search from the air without success.
On the Wednesday, another, also with a predominantly New Zealander crew that Gold鈥檚 crew had trained with, flew into a barrage balloon cable which took one wing off. The whole crew managed to parachute to safety.
By now the dreaded 鈥渃rashes happened in threes鈥� and superstition took hold among the flyers.
The week had many interruptions due to the flying schedule, what with the weather and planes unserviceable, so the station was very low on actual flying hours.
On Friday night, 20th April 1944, to get up time spent in the air, Gold鈥檚 crew, as a fully experienced crew, took off on their twenty-third and final training flight before they were due to join No.75 Squadron the following day. This was a long cross-country night flight, which would add to their flying time.
When they returned to land, two motors cut out, the port wing dropped and the plane crashed head on into the runway at 23.12 hours in front of the control tower. The plane burst into flames as the tail of the plane rose into the air to be whipped backwards with the force of the impact before falling back onto it鈥檚 belly.
All of the fuselage forward of the mid-upper turret was demolished. Jock Gold, Murray Aitken, Geogh Weston, Dug De Laney and John Cooper were all killed instantly.
As the tail of the plane whipped backwards, Frank was worried he would be flipped into the fire so attempted to get out of his mid-upper turret but as the plane fell back onto it鈥檚 belly, Frank who was already partly out of his turret, was thrown, smashing the ladder from the turret to the floor of the plane. Everything was on fire but he knew where the plane鈥檚 door was and passed through the flames to the door and jumped out. He expected a six-foot drop but as the plane was on its belly the drop was only six inches so he jarred himself badly as he landed. Despite a suspected fractured forearm, broken teeth and an injured hip, he ran around the plane hoping to rescue any survivors. At the back of the plane he only found a hole where Hectors turret had been.
In the force of the impact and as the tail had flipped backwards, Hector and his turret had been thrown some distance away from the plane. Frank found Hector, still in his turret amongst flames where petrol had spilt. He pulled Hector out of his turret and as he did so, a WAAF girl returning on her pushbike from a night out stopped to assist. Together they supported him by his shoulders and dragged him away from the plane and flames into long grass before the plane blew up, as there was 2000 gallons of high-octane petrol on board.
The WAAF girl then lay on top of Hector in the long grass to protect him from the exploding ammunition and petrol tanks. Hector had suffered a blow to his head, which had brought his scalp down over his eyes. He was bleeding profusely over his flying suit and the WAAF girl, and was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Meanwhile, Frank had run back to the front of the plane but it was a mass of roaring flames and exploding ammunition so it was impossible to approach. The fire brigade and ambulance arrived which picked up Frank but they were unaware that Hector was in the long grass until Frank told them so they had to go back to find him.
The ambulance took them to the stations sick quarters and Hector was later transferred to the RAF hospital at Ely having suffered three crushed vertebrae in his lower spine in addition to the head wound.
In the crash, Hectors natural curve in his spine had been knocked straight when the turret hit the ground. Hector was later told that a piece of armour plating that formed the gunners seat had a 鈥渄ish鈥� in it from the force of the descent.
Frank was treated for shock and after a week in the stations sick quarters, he was discharged, put on light duties and given fourteen days sick leave, However, before the fourteen days had elapsed, Frank had to fly again to make sure his nerve hadn鈥檛 gone. It had! But he slowly regained his confidence.
Meanwhile, Hector later saw the WAAF girl again and was able to thank her. She had had her uniform cleaned. Hector was hoping she might have been issued with a new one! After that meeting, she was never seen again.
John Cooper was buried in Islington cemetery, Middlesex, London.
John Gold, William Murray Aitken and Douglas Howard De Laney are all buried in Cambridge City cemetery, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire.
Godfrey Randal Weston was buried in Hemblington (All Saints) churchyard with his older brother George Ernest Weston (a pilot) who was born in Peterborough, Northamptonshire in 1919. Squadron Leader George Ernest Weston DFC of 61 Squadron was killed when his Lancaster bomber crashed immediately after take off on 1st October 1942. He was 23 years old. The Lancaster crashed because a short circuit prompted the release of the dinghy stowed in the wing. The dinghy fouled the tail of the Lancaster bomber and sent the aircraft down out of control. All seven crewmembers were killed.

HECTOR鈥橲 HOSPITAL MEMORIES

For a week, Hector lay in a bed designed to replace the natural curve of his spine. This was a time of unending, excruciating pain, which the regular injections of morphine did little to control. Soon Hector experienced severe pain when he was fitted with a spinal plaster jacket. He was stretched between two trestle like tables with his thighs supported on one and shoulders on the other with torso suspended while his spine was manipulated into its correct curve before the plaster was applied. During this process, Hector had to remain conscious to assist the surgeon to place his back into its correct shape. Fortunately, there was a nurse who injected him with painkillers when the specialist was ready to encase him in plaster.
Hector awoke sometime later, in the dark, with a suffocating weight on his chest which made him feel as if he was being crushed but again there was the nurse with that comforting needle which took him through until morning. When he awoke in daylight he realised he was in a spinal jacket. He was then able to stand and walk again.
Ely was being prepared for D-Day so all patients who were recovering were moved to convalescence at a Remedial Centre in Liverpool. This was Hoylake where Hector was treated for the best part of a year.
Meanwhile at Hoylake on his first day there, Hector had to attend morning parade and he was aghast when he heard the Sergeant order them to run around the football field. Hector thought, 鈥淐an鈥檛 he see I鈥檓 encased in a plaster jacket?鈥� However, in his enormous weight of plaster, and on shaky legs, Hector managed, not so much as a run but a crawl, to get around that field.
In Hectors room of five bunks were two Free French flyers and Hector grew to know the younger of the two. The older Frenchman was a Naval flyer, who still retained his magnificent French Naval uniform, answering to the name of Charlie. Charlie, with his medals, was very popular with the ladies and spent all evenings until lights out down town in their company. Consequently, he always approached the breakfast table somewhat the worse for wear. His world fell apart when there was no marmalade on the menu and his pleas for his favourite breakfast fell on deaf ears. The rest of the table took up his cause with a loud clamour with banging on plates, which always brought the cook out to quieten the noise. Then they bargained with the cook to give their share of the precious marmalade to Charlie to keep him in permanent supply. This mini riot happened every morning. Hector really thinks Charlie credited his marmalade with some strange aphrodisiac property!
With all the exercise in the summer heat and the inability to bath due to the plaster, they developed strong B.O. When visiting the cinema, they often had a circle of empty seats around them!

RETURN TO DUTY

Eventually Hector went back to his unit at Stradishall, which was now used by No. 186 Squadron. Hector was now without his crew and he felt their loss deeply.
He was unable to sit for any length of time, which made flying in the rear turret impossible so he was effectively grounded.
The atmosphere surrounding a bomber unit was much more intense and purposeful than the training units. As most bombing sorties were carried out at night, the day was spent in preparing the aircraft with fuel and bombs. The section leader briefed their crews and the gunners by their gunnery officer on the sort of fighter opposition to expect. Pilots were directed about the route and purpose of the attack and the target. Navigators received the course to fly and the weather to be expected for the trip. Bomb aimers studied the target and the wireless operators received the secret codes and signals to be used. Finally a general briefing for the whole crew then off to the crew rooms to don flying suits and prepare for take off. All this was very secret but they knew when there was a 鈥渄o鈥� on for the telephone service to and from the outside was disconnected.
Then it was time when all possible preparations had been completed and the crews were in their planes ready for takeoff. The control tower had the task of getting as many of the bombers into the air as quickly as possible so the aircraft had more chance of staying together on the flight to the target. One bomber would be halfway down the runway about to lift off while a second plane was in position at the beginning of the runway with its engines revving to takeoff as soon as the first one made it into the air. A third and fourth aircraft were lined up on either side of the plane on the runway ready to take their place in the takeoff operation. In a very few minutes all the squadron鈥檚 planes were in the air and circling for height before taking their place in the bomber stream.

This was a time when the usual work of the aerodrome came to a stop as all personnel gathered to watch the takeoff and Hector was sure they all silently prayed that all would return safely. All that the ground staff could do had been done. In the barmy English summer evenings, after the excitement of the planes鈥� departure, people were quiet and thoughtful seemingly overcome by the event that had just taken place. Then to the thoughts that ordinary folks like us in some German locality would have their lives devastated.
Relief came when the first of the returning bombers touched down and the base resumed its activities. Crews were brought in from the dispersal areas and debriefed, fed and returned to their barracks for what was left of the night.
Suspense grew with each passing moment as the control tower waited for the stragglers鈥� return. Then came the grim realisation that their fuel had been expended and they were down somewhere. When no word was received that they had landed elsewhere in a friendly area, they were officially posted as missing, presumed lost over enemy territory. (There were two airbases on the South Coast in use as crash aerodromes to bring planes down that had suffered damage and were in trouble).
One of Hectors duties was part of a group who went into the barracks of missing airmen to secure their possessions, which after a suitable time had elapsed, were forwarded to their next-of-kin. Then another crew would take over their bunks and places, and the business of war went on.
Towards the end of the war, Hector witnessed the air armada of Stirling bombers towing gliders full of paratroopers destined for Arnhem in Holland.
He also saw the V1 rockets, one landing on a nearby Norman Church, which was reduced to rubble. Also from the aerodrome, it was possible to see the vapour trails of the V2 rockets heading for London.
Soon the war was to end and Hector would be on his voyage home.

FRANK鈥橲 WARTIME EXPLOITS

On return from sick leave after the accident, Frank returned to training and was posted to a nearby station called Shepherds Grove where he joined another crew captained by Flying Officer Hogg, who seldom spoke to the rest of his Welsh crew. They used to fight over their 鈥淐hampion鈥� comics.
After a few training flights with them, Frank developed problems with his right shoulder and was diagnosed with chromo-bursitis, which meant as a gunner that he could not cock the two right hand guns. Not knowing what effect firing the two port guns only would have on the turret rotation, he decided to go sick rather than risk the lives of the crew.
He was sent to Hoylake where he met Hector encased in plaster. After a period of treatment, Frank returned to Sheperds Grove but on his return he was told that Hoggs crew of Welshmen had flown their plane into a tree on a hilltop and the crew had all been killed.
Frank was crewless again and became a 鈥済eneral dogsbody鈥� at nearby Stradishall, helping instructors and doing odd jobs such as building a clay-pigeon fort and painting a Stirling plane.

It was whilst he was painting the Stirling, which was used for ground drills, he saw another Stirling coming in very low with its wheels up. It flew along the wide main street of Stradishall, between the hangars and administration buildings. It slithered along the ground, a wing tip striking the corner of a WAAF building. When the dust settled a WAAF girl could be seen sitting in her bath, the walls having been demolished. The WAAF was sitting in full view of the whole station, covered in dust and bits of fibrolite. As Frank says, 鈥淒idn鈥檛 she go crook!鈥� A number of airmen gathered, unsure whether to gaze in wonder at the WAAF, or to attend the crashed plane. She called for a towel, but all Frank had to offer was a handkerchief!
As nobody was killed, all ended happily.
During Franks time at Stradishall, Frank met a land girl from London called Edna (Eddie) Dallas. She lived at nearby Thurlow with 26 other girls in a mansion owned by Lord Vesty. Frank used to bike ride to Thurlow to see her and organise for the land girls to attend the mess dances, which they were pleased to do, as there was not much life in Thurlow. Frank and Eddie became unofficially engaged but she broke it off as she thought she was too young at 19 years old to settle down.

Frank now crewed up again, this time with Flight Sergeant Harry 鈥淏enny鈥� Bennett as the pilot. On a training flight in September 1944 they were sent to the London area to get familiarised with searchlights. There was an enemy air raid in progress. They found themselves among the 鈥渟queakers鈥� attached to barrage balloons. Barrage balloons had steel cables down to the ground, which were designed to cut the wings off any planes that got among them. The 鈥渟queakers鈥� were a warning to the allied aircraft.
The German planes could not pick up the 鈥渟queakers鈥� as the frequencies were changed frequently. They climbed to get away from them and came to an enormous cumulonimbus cloud. They flew over the cloud, the worst thing they could have done. One engine froze; another one lost some cylinders. The ice above the cloud iced up the plane, forcing it down into the cloud. The navigator, Harry 鈥淏arney鈥� Barnfield, got frozen hands and said, 鈥淚 can鈥檛 navigate anymore, Benny鈥�. Bennett replied, 鈥淭hen navigate with your feet, we鈥檝e got to get out of here.鈥� They struggled towards the base, evidently overshooting it, and were finally forced down onto what appeared to be flat land but it turned out to be the tidal flats in the Wash. They headed ashore before the tide came in, wet and cold, and weighed down by flying gear. They found a house and the homeowner thought they were Germans and phoned the police. The plane sat in the mud for a long time 鈥� a year at least. The navigator, Harry 鈥淏arney鈥� Barnfield, was in hospital for 6 months with frostbite.

On another training flight in a Stirling with Bennett, flying across England in the daytime, there was a sudden ripping explosion. A cloud of black smoke passed the rear turret and the aircraft bucked and jumped due to the pilots鈥� reaction. Frank thought they had blown up and were on fire, so he thought of getting out. He jettisoned the door and was sitting on the sill with his feet out. He pulled off his helmet to disconnect various wires and pipes and was ready to roll out with his parachute on. As the aircraft was flying straight and level, he put his helmet back on and heard the pilot say to the engineer, 鈥淲hat the hell was that? Feather the engine.鈥� They got no orders to jump so Frank got back in and said nothing. The main 鈥渂ig end鈥� on one engine had broken off the crankshaft, but as they still had three good engines, they carried on with the flight. On their return, there was a bigger enquiry over the engine than there would have been over a dead man. One of the ground crew asked Frank where the door was. Frank replied, 鈥淚鈥檓 buggered if I know!鈥� They threatened to dock Franks鈥� pay but never did.

After these training flights in Stirlings, the crew was posted to Oulton, near Aylsham in North Norfolk. They travelled by train to Haverhill. At Oulton their unit was 1699 Conversion Unit, where they converted onto Flying Fortresses. These American planes were quite different from Stirlings. Fortresses had a crew of ten; so two second-tour waist gunners, Jock Murdoch and Bill Church, and a Canadian bomb aimer, Steve Nessner, joined them. As Nessner spoke German, he was used for special duties. Frank became the air gunner in the rear turret.
Their training was completed on 30 November 1944, and they commenced operations over enemy territory with No. 214 Squadron. Franks鈥� squadron was one of only two RAF squadrons using American Fortresses. The other being No. 223 Squadron. Both squadrons were based at Oulton. At night they could operate at higher altitudes than the British bombers and as the turrets had no heating, it was very cold at high altitude. The crew were clothed in merino and silk long-sleeved and long-legged underwear, then an electric suit, their uniform, then an inner and outer flying suit with socks and electric slippers. They also wore knee boot socks New Zealand women had knitted, which were sent over, and flying boots. The flying boots had dog collars around the ankles so the flying boots wouldn鈥檛 come off if they had to jump. Their leather helmets had goggles in case of fire. On their hands they wore silk gloves, woollen gloves, electric gloves and leather gauntlets. The silk gloves were to prevent fingers sticking to the metal of the gun if they had to clear a stoppage. Frank never had to do this as he looked after his guns. At night in the winter, Frank wiped all the anti-freeze oil out of his guns, as the anti-freeze would freeze causing the guns to stop. He ran his guns dry and had no problems.
The electric suits had separate fuses for the slippers, suits and gloves. If a fuse blew, they had a minute or so in which to replace it before it was too cold to do so. Frostbite was considered to be a self-inflicted wound.

In the rear turret, sometimes the Perspex windows would ice over. By rubbing hard, it was possible to keep a little peephole clear but it was hopeless for looking for night fighters, so he would smash the Perspex with the fire axe. This would reduce the temperature even more, and an icy wind would blow in. Tears would then flow running down his cheeks, damming up and freezing around the top of the oxygen mask causing painful frostbite. The exhaust of the oxygen mask grew into a big icicle, which hung down like a walrus task. Icicles also developed on Franks鈥� eyelashes.
At hand was a small oxygen bottle, which would last for ten minutes if they had to bale out, as at the height they flew, they would be dead through oxygen loss before they would hit the air they could breathe.
In the rear turret of a Fortress, Frank knelt with his hips straight so that he could look down. The turrets were very cramped but he could sit back on a bike seat when it was quiet and visibility was good. On one occasion Frank was in the cramped position for thirteen hours, though usually it would not be more than six or seven hours. Cold knees caused the greatest discomfort as the electric suit had no wires over the knees. These would have broken with bending and blown a fuse. Many crewmen didn鈥檛 like the rear gunner position as it meant isolation and lack of contact with the rest of the crew but it was of vital importance to the defence of the aircraft. Frank didn鈥檛 mind this isolation as he had more faith in his own abilities than with others.

V1 ROCKET MEMORIES

Frank and his crew were returning home from the Ruhr one night when off the starboard beam at the same height, he noticed a fiery object pacing them. A terrific lot of flak was coming up as allied ground troops were trying to hit it. Franks鈥� plane moved away from the flak, when the doodlebug was hit. A jolt hit the plane 鈥� the concussion from the explosion 鈥� and they saw a terrific flash. It was sometime later as they flew home that they figured out what it was.
On one occasion, Frank was on leave in London standing on a reasonably crowded street, when he heard a doodlebug coming. The engine stopped, which meant it would hit the ground in a few seconds. A storm water grating was handy, so Frank lifted it up and jumped down into the waist deep water and filth. An elderly lady with voluminous long skirts and boots with fasteners all down them, jumped down on top of Frank and the boot fasteners scraped down his ears. He dropped the grating with a clang and there was an almighty blast. A tidal wave surged over them and Frank held onto the woman as she went under. The wave returned again and again until it finally lessened. They were in total blackness as bricks now covered the grating. It was just a matter of waiting until they could attract the attention of the heavy rescue people. They heard voices overhead, so they yelled and banged a brick on the grating. Much to their relief they were soon heard and the rescue team cleared away the bricks and hauled them out.

One of them, an Irishman, stared at Frank and said 鈥淢ither o鈥� Gad! Go and have a wash!鈥� The old woman bolted without a word. Frank went down to the New Zealand Services Club in Charing Cross Road to see about a shower. He smelt so strongly that he couldn鈥檛 get any sense out of anyone except a sailor, who lent Frank his spare uniform. Frank had a shower and whilst in the shower, trampled his uniform underfoot to try and get rid of the smell. He spent the next day walking around London as a matelot, avoiding naval petty officers and saluting naval officers. He got his uniform professionally laundered and soon returned to being a member of the air force.
On another occasion, Frank was on a street corner talking to two men when they heard a doodlebug coming. It demolished a city block diagonally across from where they were standing. The blast was exceedingly violent. One of the men was stripped completely naked, even to his socks but appeared otherwise unharmed. The other man was 鈥減ulped鈥�. Frank was undamaged apart from ringing in his ears, which lasted a fortnight. All three of them were put in an ambulance but Frank got out.

V2 ROCKET MEMORIES

Frank witnessed a V2 rocket in flight, on two separate occasions during missions.
On one occasion they were flying over Belgium when they saw a streak of light, which was a V2 rocket aimed at Antwerp.
On the other occasion, they were coming back from Germany when they saw a flash on the ground and a V2 rocket arced across the sky towards England, leaving a trail of flames. The navigator noted the time, height and position. Next day, the newspapers reported that a V2 had landed 鈥渟omewhere鈥� in England around the same time but it was never stated where, as this information would have been useful to the Germans.
One night Frank was in bed at home base when a V2 landed and exploded in a paddock of turnips not far from his hut. They were bombarded with flying turnips, some mashed, some solid. The front of the hut was brick and it was demolished and mixed with a mass of mashed turnips. The crater was 70 feet across and 50 feet deep, which subsequently filled with water. They used it as a swimming pool in the summer.
On another occasion, Frank was in the Lady Freyburg Hotel in Knightsbridge when a lot of windows were broken by a V2, which exploded quite close in Marble Arch.

FLYING OPERATIONS

Some nights Frank and his crew would take off and see no other aircraft whereas on others they would be in amongst a hive of activity, with sparks, shells and tracers.
The Pathfinders would get to Germany first, find the target, illuminate it and Frank and his crew would bomb on the flares.
The Dortmund Ems Canal went in a viaduct over farms and towns. The allies would burst the canal and drain the water. The shipping would be sitting on the bottom of the viaduct until it was repaired, when the allies would burst it again. The Germans had stacks of anti-aircraft guns and fighters to defend it. Franks鈥� crew were meant to be there for only twenty minutes at a time because of the wear and tear on their nerves. However, one night, their relief didn鈥檛 turn up, probably shot down, and they were there for almost an hour and they slowly climbed to avoid collisions.
There were thirty-six parachute flares, which lit the scene up brighter than an enormous Christmas tree. Franks鈥� crew finally set course for base and they got coned in searchlights between Cologne and the Ruhr industrial valley. While endeavouring to get out of this cone, one of the anti-aircraft shells exploded under the starboard wing and flipped the aircraft upside down. They flew upside down for quite a way before going into a vertical dive, attaining a speed of 460 knots. The controls were locked through sheer air pressure. The engineer, pilot and bomb aimer struggled with the controls but couldn鈥檛 pull her out of the dive. They had lost 17,000 feet, when a second tour waist gunner shouted, 鈥淯se the trimming tabs, you bastards!鈥� That pulled the aircraft out slowly, not far above the ground.
They continued home flying at a low altitude avoiding trees and hilltops.
It was during this raid that Frank saw for the first time, the phenomenon called 鈥渟carecrows鈥�. This was a ploy by the Germans to trick bomber crews into thinking that a heavy bomber had been shot down. They fired material into the air, which exploded in flames and fell in a spin just like a burning plane.
On another night, Frank saw one and told the navigator to note the time, height and position. During de-briefing Frank reported a Lancaster shot down but later found out that no aircraft had been lost that night.
One night while it was still daylight, they had crossed the Rhine, on course to their target. Frank saw a Stirling silhouetted against the sunlight, which was weaving. He didn鈥檛 say anything, as it was an allied plane. Franks鈥� plane was also weaving (evasive action) and as the weaves intersected, the mid-upper gunner yelled 鈥淪tarboard go!鈥� thinking the Stirling was an enemy aircraft. The pilot instantly dived to the starboard. This evasive action had hardly begun when there were several explosions from heavy flak from ground fire. The shells exploded with red flashes exactly where they would have been if they hadn鈥檛 dived. Franks鈥� religious wireless operator declared that God was looking after them!

On another flight, Frank observed a Messerschmitt 262, one of the first jet planes, which flew near them for about quarter of an hour but it did not attack before disappearing. On his return, Frank reported the sighting to the intelligence officers, who were very interested.
One night, Franks鈥� crew flew on a long trip to Gdynia (near Gdansk) in Poland via Norway and Sweden. Sweden was neutral so the crew weren鈥檛 supposed to fly over their territory. The Swedes were well defended and they put up an enormous avenue of searchlights where they fired thousands of rounds of flak. Little of this came near Frank, as the Swedes didn鈥檛 want to hit them. Arriving at Gdynia where the German fleet were supposed to be based, all Frank could see was smoke and sundry flashes and much flak. Franks鈥� plane was the second of two planes, which were jamming the German radar and radio. The other British planes had preceded them and given the town a good bombing. There was no noticeable fighter activity because, Franks鈥� crew presumed, they were waiting for them to take a shortcut home across Germany. However, Franks鈥� crew returned the way they came. The Swedes again 鈥渨elcomed鈥� them with searchlights but this time without flak.
At interrogation after this thirteen-hour flight, Franks鈥� crew told their story. The first crews described how the ships had been sunk but a Photographic Reconnaissance flight done by Spitfires the next morning reported that there was a lot of damage but 鈥渘o ships鈥�. The German ships were at Kiel. The next night Franks鈥� crew had to attack Kiel. The Germans were expecting them and it was a pretty lively do.
On 7th February 1945, Franks鈥� crew went on special duty operations jamming radio and radar while Six Group was bombing the Dortmund Ems Canal. There was heavy flak. Franks鈥� crew had been jamming for twenty minutes, then gained height slowly. The bombers were busy bombing the canal and dodging a horde of German night fighters.
When it was home time, Franks鈥� crew set course but they got left behind as the other aircraft were a lot faster. In the vicinity of Essen they were coned by a multitude of searchlights. Essen was heavily defended with 400 heavy flak guns. One of the second tour waist gunners told Bennett to fly into the thickest of the flak. When Frank asked him 鈥淲hy?鈥� the next day, he told Frank that the flak was automatically controlled so that the next burst would explode elsewhere.

They got past Essen but were jumped by a Junkers 88 night fighter, which stayed behind them and started shooting. This was a poor manoeuvre on his part, as he should have attacked on a curve pursuit. This though, gave Frank the opportunity to shoot point-blank. Franks鈥� tracers converged on the fighter; knocking silver sparks off him. Frank had been aiming at the nose of the plane and had even saw the pilot but Frank switched his gunfire to the fighters tanks, between the nose and the engines, knowing that his explosive incendiaries would penetrate the fighters armoured tanks. The fighters鈥� pilot had stopped firing, presumably killed, when suddenly there was a great yellow flash from his exploding tanks. While Frank continued to fire at the fighter, the fighters鈥� crew fired back with their cannons and machine guns. A tracer appeared to be coming straight towards Frank, so he yelled, 鈥淧ort go!鈥� The tail of Franks plane came up and the tracer tore through the belly of the plane.

The radar device (H2S), which was fixed under the plane, was blown to bits. Frank lost his bike seat when it was also blown to smithereens. A cannon shell tugged at the crotch of his trousers, scorching his battle-dress pants. Frank also had a few holes in his clothes where bullets just missed him, and his epaulette was shot off. He had a penny in his pocket and a tin of tobacco. A spent bullet hit the tin and squashed the tobacco into a black pulp. It also put a big dent in the penny, which saved his hip joint from severe damage. Jock Murdoch, one of the waist gunners got a bullet through his forearm between the two bones. Being a Scotsman his swearing was magnificent! Bill Church, the other waist gunner, had his ammunition tank blown up. The flash blinded him temporarily. One wireless operator got a hole through his battle-dress, which wrecked his transmitter. The pilot had a heel of his boot shot off. The bottom got shot off the navigators鈥� compartment, losing the two nose guns. The navigator, Ernest 鈥淧addy鈥� Paddick, sat sideways and a cannon shell penetrated his hip joint, went through his lower belly and out the other hip joint and lay on the seat beside him without exploding. The mid-upper gunner, Leslie 鈥淟es鈥� Hadder, tried to render first aid but Paddy fought back. The bomb aimer wasn鈥檛 able to help because he couldn鈥檛 cross the great gap in the floor.
They resumed course but there then appeared to be a fire under the starboard wing. Frank thought they would have to bail out over the Ruhr. On throttling back, the glow disappeared and they decided that the turbo supercharger had been shot off one of the engines.
They continued home, heading for a long emergency strip at Manston as they thought they would have no wheels. The bomb aimer, Frank Hares, navigated them to Manston, with the little remaining navigating equipment and he later received a D.F.M. for his efforts.
It was a pretty ropy landing. They did a few loops as they only had one wheel. The pilot, Harry 鈥淏enny鈥� Bennett subsequently received the D.F.C. Frank was recommended for a D.F.C. by the gunnery leader Flight Lieutenant Phillips, but so many had been issued that month, that Frank was told he would receive his at the end of his tour. Frank never completed his tour so he never received his D.F.M. but the Group Captain did congratulate him.
The mid-upper gunner, 鈥淟es鈥� Hadder, got the unexploded shell from beside the navigator, 鈥淧addy鈥� Paddick, and put it in his pocket, no doubt thinking that if it fell on the concrete it might go off. He threw it into the long grass, but the captain made him go and look for it in case a mower hit it. So he took it to the armourers and they were very interested, as they had never seen one like it before. On x-raying it, they found it to be of a new design.
The downing of the Junkers 88 was confirmed by several other crews, and also later by Bomber Command.
All of the crew got back safely except 鈥淧addy鈥� Paddick, the navigator.
Ernest George Paddick died on 8th February 1945, 4 days after Frank鈥檚 birthday, at the age of 23. He was buried in St. Marylebone cemetery, Middlesex, London.

Bill Church, the blinded waist gunner, was sent to the Royal Norwich Hospital. Frank and Jock Murdoch, the other waist gunner with his arm in a sling, visited Bill a couple of days later. He sat up in bed, his vision restored. Bill and Jock were great drinkers, as they reckoned their numbers were up so they might as well enjoy them. Jocks鈥� pack clinked with the rattling of beer bottles. After drinking a few bottles, Bill had some visitors. His father and brother arrived with long faces carrying a wreath and a bunch of flowers. Frank says he will never forget the look on their faces when they saw Bill sitting up in bed grinning with a bottle of beer. At first a look of astonishment, then relief, and then they helped them finish the beer and gave the flowers to a nurse.
After this they had a replacement navigator called Smethurst. They went on a cross-country flight to test him out. He worked out a course with the navigation leader back at base. They went over to France to do some square searches. They were supposed to turn and go back across England and right over Ireland before heading back home. Smethurst told the pilot that with his next turn and in so many minutes they would be on course for England. Just then there was a break in the cloud and Frank saw snowy mountains above them. Frank yelled, 鈥淕et up them stairs!鈥� which they did. The Alps were the only mountains they could possibly be, so they climbed higher than Mont Blanc to make sure they cleared them. They demanded that the navigator gave them a course for base, but he didn鈥檛 know where they were.
They set off in the general direction of East Anglia. After travelling for some time the navigator said, 鈥淔or Gods sake gunners, give me a fix!鈥� Down below was the coast of France and a river mouth, so between the rest of the crew they got back home, and told the navigator he wasn鈥檛 flying with them again!
On another night coming home across France or Holland, Frank had seen for some time a Halifax bomber astern of them and weaving. Frank reported it but after a while one of the waist gunners, Jock Murdoch, started firing at it, evidently forgetting Frank had reported it. Silver sparks flew off the end of its port wing. The Halifax took violent evasive action and disappeared. On returning to base, Jock reported the incident, as he knew they would find .5 calibre bullet holes in the wing, and the Germans didn鈥檛 use that calibre. Next day a Halifax landed at Oulton, which was unusual. Jock didn鈥檛 know where to hide. However, they were there on other business and were not after him. On reading the combat reports of the nights operations, a Halifax crew had reported a head-on attack with a Junkers 88 night fighter at the same time, height and position, much to Jocks relief. As there were no operations that night, Jock and his mate, Bill Church, biked off down to the pub at Aylsham to settle their nerves.
On returning from special duty operations in Germany with Bennetts鈥� crew one night, they had got down pretty low and they could see the moonlit autobahn stretching out in front of them. There were no trees on either side so they lowered their wheels and touched down on it. They kept the speed up at 220 knots in case they had to take off. The boys up front saw various items of traffic. They had landed with their landing and navigation lights on and the drivers of the vehicles got off the road pronto. They soon lifted off and returned to base.

OULTON AIRBASE

While at Oulton, they had an engine crew made up of girls. They looked after the engines well and they never had a failure in the air.
One night they were going on operations but an engine was sounding quite sick. In knee-deep snow and an icy wind, the girls, wearing sheepskin jackets, jacked up another engine and installed it. Franks crew always did their best to look after the engine crew by thanking them and by shouting them a beer now and then. Frank gave the girls some spare sea-socks, which had been sent to the New Zealand airmen by the women of New Zealand.
One evening after the pub had shut, but while there was still daylight, Frank was returning to the base in a bus from Aylsham. This was unusual for Frank has he generally rode his bike. The bus was shot up by a German fighter, which must have sneaked through the screen. The bus crashed into the drain and everyone took to the bushes in case the fighter returned. Once they had collected their wits, they went to see what they could do for the wounded. A lovely young WAAF whom Frank had helped to train was severely wounded and dying. She died in Frank鈥檚 arms as he tried to comfort her. Frank says, 鈥淲hy the fighter bothered about a bus when there was an airbase full of planes, I鈥檒l never know鈥�.
As can be imagined, the conditions on operations and the high chop-rate played havoc with their nerves. Frank had to hold his hand steady as he wrote letters and had difficulty not to slop beer when he was drinking.
During this time, Frank frequently suffered from bronchitis. The hut was damp and so were his clothes. There was no heating unless they evaded the gamekeeper and stole some wood. The Naafi cafeteria had their own heap of coke and as the coke was being pinched, an armed guard was posted. Frank got some whisky in a small bottle and kept the guard occupied while his crewmates filled some sacks the other side of the heap. The weather was snowy and freezing cold.
In the air, Frank was breathing in frozen oxygen so the wireless boys made a little resistor heater to keep the microphone from freezing as it was needed by Frank to warn the pilot to take evasive action.
Frank was finding it very difficult to cough at height due to the cold and difference in air pressure, so he went off sick for a while. The special operator, Steve Nessner, was also in sick quarters.
Unbeknown to Frank, on 3/4th March 1945, Bennett and crew had gone on operations. His navigator on this occasion was 鈥淏arney鈥� Barnfield, who replaced Paddick, and who had now recovered from frostbite six months previously.
Some men from Crosbie鈥檚 crew made up the numbers. Patrick Healy took Frank鈥檚 place, McDermid took 鈥淛ock鈥� Murdoch鈥檚 place as waist gunner, Lindsay Odgers, an Australian, was substitute for Nessner and Leslie Billington was flight engineer.
On arriving back at Oulton, at least one Junkers 88 came back with them, and Frank could hear it shooting up hangars and whatever. 鈥淏enny鈥� was on the circuit and about to land but he had to do another circuit as a damaged plane was given priority. Almost at the same time as the other plane landed, Bennett, with landing lights on and wheels down, was hit. The plane, on fire, hit some trees and blew up. Bennett was alive but badly injured when picked up but later died of his injuries. Les Hadder, William Briddon, Frank Hares and all those mentioned above were also killed on 4th March 1945. McDermid and Church were the only survivors.
The pilot, Harry Bennett DFC was 24 years old. He was buried in Islington cemetery, Middlesex, London.
The air bomber, Frank Hares DFM, was 21 years old. He was buried in Coalville (Hugglescote) cemetery, Leicestershire.
The navigator, Harry Barnfield was 24 years old. He was buried in Salford (Agecroft) cemetery, Lancashire.
The air gunner, Patrick James Healy was also 24 years old. He was buried in Leytonstone (St. Patrick鈥檚) Roman Catholic cemetery, Essex.
Warrant Officer Lindsay Joseph Odgers, an Australian, was 21 years old. He was buried in Cambridge City cemetery, Cambridgeshire.
The flight engineer, Leslie Ernest Billington was 20 years old. He was buried in Blickling (St. Andrew) churchyard, Norfolk.
The wireless operator, William Briddon was 27 years old. He was buried in South Wingfield (All Saints) churchyard, Derbyshire.
One of the gunners, Leslie Arnold Hadder was 20 years old. He was buried in Thorpe-Next-Norwich (St. Andrew) Church cemetery.
The dead, dying and wounded were brought into sick quarters where two doctors worked on them. Frank had to show them how to take off the gunners鈥� harnesses. The enemy aircraft continued to circle, shooting up whatever he could see. Somebody switched a hangar light on and Jerry shot it up. The Group Captain went along in his car and parked it outside the Intelligence Section where de-briefing was in progress, but omitted to switch his lights off. The lights, although blacked out, were enough for the Junkers to shoot up the Intelligence Section and the car. After the first round of fire, blokes were diving under the table. The Junkers had another shot at the building, which was made of fibrolite, and it shattered. All of the blokes under the table got pieces of fibrolite in their backsides. They were brought to the hospital where the doctor gave Frank the job of picking the pieces out.
Things quietened down but the enemy was still circling. When a WAAF opened the door of the sick quarters to see what was going on outside, a burst of bullets and shells entered at the door, miraculously missing her, gouging the lino covering the concrete floor and wrecking the fire pot. Burning coke was scattered everywhere. Frank departed for the woods and hid behind the biggest tree he could find, despite bare feet and a hellish cough.
Bennett had a girlfriend and they were getting engaged. She was a nurse at the sick quarters but she wasn鈥檛 on duty that night. During the next few days she enquired where Bennett was. No one was game enough to tell her but she looked in the morgue and saw his body amongst the large number in there. She went quite hysterical and screamed and screamed. She didn鈥檛 settle down for a long time and eventually disappeared from camp, probably on indefinite leave.
Hadder, the mid-upper gunner, was the first to be buried. The doctor wouldn鈥檛 let Frank attend his funeral because of the state of his health. A couple of days later, they got a load of coffins to take the rest of the bodies to the big Commonwealth cemetery at Cambridge. They had the service at the station chapel. The names of twelve airmen were read out including Franks. Frank counted the coffins and there were only eleven. The WAAF鈥檚 were all crying; Frank didn鈥檛 know they missed him so much! Frank went to Cambridge to the cemetery for the burial. They read out the twelve names again, but Frank was the only one who noticed that there were only eleven holes dug. Frank told the chaplain that he was still alive, and had he notified his next-of-kin about his supposed death? He said it was nothing to do with him, and to see the Air Ministry about it. The next day Frank sent a cablegram to the Air Ministry.
Two telegrams arrived to Frank鈥檚 home village of Kaipara Flats, New Zealand, at the same time, one telling of his death and the second one saying to disregard the former.
The postmaster was a sensible man and a family friend, so he went along to my fathers鈥� farm, where he found Franks father working at his sawmill, and handed over the second telegram first.
As Frank hadn鈥檛 attended Hadder鈥檚 funeral, Frank went as soon as he was able, to visit Hadder鈥檚 family. His mother made a big fuss of Frank. She had heard Frank was dead, and was convinced that if Frank was still alive then Les must be alive as well. She took a lot of convincing that it was otherwise. This was a very unnerving experience, and Frank really had to steel himself to visit other relatives in similar circumstances after this.
Frank was crewless once more, and people were beginning to wonder at the rate that Frank got through crews, and navigators in particular. After about a month in sick quarters, Nessner and Frank were crewed up with the remains of Crosbie鈥檚 crew. In early April 1945, they went on a special duty target operation over Hamburg. As they headed for home they were attacked by a number of German night fighters. For 40 minutes they took evasive action. Their course took them across Holland, the Zuyder Zee and the Friesian Islands. The German flak emplacements on the Friesian Islands fired at them. They dived into the curtain of flak, and the German planes turned tail and went back home. Crosbie strained his back with the physical exertion of corkscrewing the plane, and they went on no more operations that month.
Nearing the end of the war during the Battle of the Bulge, they supported the British army by interfering with German tank and troop movements. It wasn鈥檛 very pleasant knowing that the war was nearly over, yet they might still get the chop. The allies had got some Tempests and Typhoon tank busting aircraft, and they would outpace the German flak. They finished off the job. Things wound down for us from then on.

WINDING DOWN

At this time Frank was made Acting Station Warrant Officer 鈥� a general roustabout. Frank had an office, a WAAF and a telephone. When the adjutant rang and said that the WAAF鈥檚 were overdue for a kit inspection, Frank set off with a sergeant on their bikes to the WAAF鈥檚 site. The inspection had been announced in station standing orders, and the WAAF鈥檚 were already standing by their beds with all their issue gear spread out on them. Frank looked at their clothing and equipment list and asked the nearest WAAF where her second pair of RAF issue blue bloomers were, as she only had one pair on display, whereupon she promptly lifted her skirt up to her chin. Frank was so deeply embarrassed that Frank told the sergeant to carry on and Frank disappeared.
Frank found that he was also in charge of leave passes for the ground crew. Some WAAF鈥檚, one at a time, asked for sick leave passes and rail warrants, to visit sick grandmothers, mothers, and with all manner of other excuses, for compassionate leave. Frank didn鈥檛 know that they were only entitled to one leave pass a year, so Frank obliged them. This came to an end when the NCO in charge of the instrument repair section barged in and said, 鈥淲here the hell are all my girls?鈥� When the adjutant heard of this he said that all requests for compassionate leave were to be referred to him.

The Group Captain decided that all the aircrew were getting sloppy and obese, and Frank was to give them some exercise. Frank made them run around the perimeter track. Expecting rebellion, Frank mustered most of the service police to come as well. Frank lined them up and said that the last twenty would have to go around again. Frank rode his pushbike around to supervise. Some of the men were up to squadron leader, but they still had to do as they were told. Frank enjoyed that.
Once it was decided that the war was over, the Group Captain spoke to them over the tannoy system, 鈥淒o not burn the aircraft. They maybe needed in the Far East.鈥� Somebody called out, 鈥淣ot us! Send the Yanks!鈥� The Wing Commander had ordered thousands of gallons of beer previous to this, as he knew that the demand for beer would be so great at war鈥檚 end, that there would be none available. He was right, and they were well catered for. He suggested that they stay on base to celebrate, as transport would be chaotic. They needed some sheep to spit-roast for the celebrations. Somebody knew of a disused airbase in France where there were lots of sheep, so someone jacked up a Dakota transport plane. As Frank was a farmer, he was talked into going to help round up the sheep. They flew over, landed, caught 20 鈥� 30 sheep and loaded them on board. As they returned, the sheep were climbing all over the pilot鈥檚 shoulders, fellows were slipping over in the muck, and Frank saw one sheep doing broadsides with an officers cap on its head. Back at base the sheep were despatched and roasted. Frank disappeared, as he didn鈥檛 want to clean up the mess. The parties and drinking went on for nights.

FRANKS JOURNEY HOME

From there Frank went on indefinite leave. During the next three months Frank remained in England and married a girl from Leeds. He was in Leeds when VJ-Day was celebrated. He sailed from Southampton aboard the 鈥淥rion鈥� troopship, bound for New Zealand, but they only got as far as the Bay of Biscay before limping back to Southampton on one engine. A fortnight later Frank got notice to board the 鈥淎thlone Castle鈥� and he got home via Suez, Bombay, Fremantle, Melbourne, then Wellington. Franks wife followed about six months later.

HECTORS JOURNEY HOME

At the end of the war, Hector made an application to be routed via Canada. So it was back to the New Zealand base at Brighton to await return home. One lady Hector spoke to had lost her naval husband and two sons and now she was completely alone.
They were fare welled by their good old friend Wakey Wakey with tears in his eyes as he said he had seen many New Zealanders come through on their way to squadrons but he had seen very few returning.

Hector joined a small group of other New Zealanders on the French liner 鈥淟ouis Pasteur鈥� at Portsmouth bound for Canada, which was the first ship to leave this port after peace was declared. On board were some 8,000 Canadian veterans on their way to their homeland and families. As they moved down harbour on their way to open sea they were accompanied by a Coastal Command Sunderland flying boat. Some of their buddies were on board so they gave them a right royal farewell with an impressive exhibition of aerobatics in that cumbersome and dignified aircraft, which would have done a Spitfire proud. The pilot finished off his display by several strafing runs over the stern so closely they could see the crew in their various stations.
It was a fast voyage through seas no longer threatened by enemy submarines.
At dock at Halifax, they arrived around 9am and by 11am all the men had disembarked.
Again Hector saw the speed and efficiency of the Canadian rail system, for these trains were composed of day and night coaches, dining and observation cars starting out on a journey that could take up to 7 days. They were all on their way in a couple of hours.
Hector and June were married in Canada but June was left in Canada while Hector continued his journey, but she later joined a group of Canadian war brides bound for Australia and New Zealand when Hector was already some way on his voyage across the Pacific.

HECTORS VOYAGE HOME

Hector left with a small group of no more than 8 airmen. They eventually arrived at their embarkation point for the voyage after a long and involved train journey at Pittsburg, California on the eastern arm of San Francisco Harbour. It was here that the materials of war required for the ongoing battles against the Japanese awaited shipment to the war zones with thousands of US army men who had completed their training and were now thirsting for battle. Hectors group became acquainted with some of the supplies the Americans considered necessary to wage war. Their duty free P.X. stores stocked with everything from ice cream to baby carriages and mess halls rivalling downtown restaurants. Hector certainly enjoyed these luxuries after the austerity of Britain.
Hectors ship was a Liberty boat obviously the veteran of many wartime voyages. During some episode in her career, she had collided with something up forward with the result of a great dish in her bow. As the ship rose on a wave, instead of the sharp outline of a normal bow, there was a hollow. Liberty boats and their sister ships, the Victory boats, were classes of tramp cargo vessels, mass-produced by welding instead of the traditional riveting. They had a disconcerting habit of breaking in two in stormy weather and having to be towed into port in separate sections.
Their maximum speed in good weather was probably 8 鈥� 10 knots but Hectors floating home with its dished in bow struggled along at about 6 knots. So commenced his slow voyage from San Francisco to Pearl Harbour, fortunately enjoying the fine weather.

Hectors accommodation above one of the cargo holds was Spartan even for wartime transport. Hectors bunk was steel framed held in place by chains so it could be folded against the wall to give him more space. Toilets (or heads in the navy term) were an open drain on deck where they squatted on wooden frames rather like sparrows on a fence. Most of the deck space was taken up by large ships鈥� propellers held in place by massive chains.
The compliment of passengers consisted of Hectors small party, about the same number of American doctors and clergymen with one section of army privates with their sergeant. What those 6 or 7 soldiers were doing on their own away from their unit was a mystery. The professional men were all from the Deep South thoroughly immersed in anti-Negro traditions and supremacy of the White Race. With Hectors upbringing close to Maoris it was hard for him to understand these men describing their treatment of Black Americans.
Hector eventually arrived at Pearl Harbour where it was still possible to see the submerged wrecks of warships attacked by the Japanese. Hector was invited to the Submarine Bases recreational club in the Moana Hotel, which was the only hotel on Waikiki Beach at that time. They relaxed in that luxury with the odd swim in this home of surfing. The hotel had three ballrooms, each with its own big band entertainment. Those submariners knew all about rest and recreation.
One evening a great pandemonium broke out on the ships around Hector. Sirens sounded and sailors were whooping and dancing on the decks. The reason for all the celebrations soon reached Hector. Japan had surrendered. Hector joined the victory celebrations with the revellers in Honolulu in the day that has come to be known as VJ-Day.
Then it was out into the mighty Pacific to resume his journey. The seas became bluer as he sailed on west into the South Pacific. The soldiers had disembarked at Honolulu so Hector enjoyed extra space. On the previous leg of Hectors voyage, he knew that Pearl Harbour was to be his landfall but now he had no idea of his destination.
Some weeks later, Hector arrived at the island of Guadalcanal in the Solomons group to tie up at the wharf at Lunga Point to discharge more cargo. This was the scene of the fierce fighting on both land and sea to reclaim the island from the Japanese. The rows and rows of white crosses in the war cemetery was a poignant reminder of the huge cost in human lives in this campaign. This operation by the Americans relieved the threat to Australia and New Zealand.
Japanese stragglers were still being rounded up and any area outside of the American strongholds was by no means safe. Henderson Airfield, of great strategic importance and scene of the bloodiest fighting, now had a contingent of New Zealand airmen so New Zealanders no longer felt alien in other nations forces. Home now seemed just over the horizon.
On Hector sailed again, this time heading east. His destination turned out to be Espiritu Santo in the Vanuatu group. At long last Hector left his floating home after what seemed like months on the ocean waves. Hector was accommodated on a New Zealand air force aerodrome to await the final leg of his long journey.
Here he learned that the Top Brass had lost contact with Hectors party on his wanderings and had no idea where he was. It was only after his visit to Henderson field that Hector was located. Eventually, Hector was onboard the regular DC-10 flight to Whenuapai on a plane still fitted out to carry paratroopers. This must have been one of the longest and most unusual return journeys of any New Zealanders serving in World War 2.

BACK TO CIVILIAN LIFE

Hector found himself as a clerk in the Forest Service to finish his working life as a cashier in the electric power industry.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW

FRANK

Frank, now aged 84 years old, lives in a rest home in New Zealand, having suffered a few strokes in the past 4 years.

HECTOR

Hector, now aged 82 years old, lives in a retirement village in Rotorua, New Zealand.

Ever since the war, Hector and Frank have remained good friends. Hector has never failed to ring Frank each year on Anzac Day, no doubt giving thanks for the fact that he has had a long and happy life due to Franks actions on the night of the accident.

Written from research I have compiled, with the vast majority 鈥渃opied鈥� from Hectors and Franks books.
To Hector and Frank 鈥� 鈥淢y sincere gratitude鈥�.

Bill Knight

16th June 2002

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