大象传媒

Reflections of a Lancaster Wop/AG in a Pathfinder Squadron

July 23 鈥� July 28, 1944: 99 heavy bombers did not return from 4 nights鈥� activities. Stuttgart may have had rather a pasting but so did we. We saw them going down in balls of fire all around. At least that鈥檚 what we thought and reported it at de-briefing when we got back. 鈥淰ery interesting鈥�, they said, 鈥淭hey鈥檙e putting up these shells which resemble an exploding aircraft when they go off 鈥� just to frighten you a bit. Not to worry 鈥� just take a note of the time and position and let us know.鈥� So we went about our business thereafter much comforted. It was, of course, a gigantic confidence trick; kept from as many as possible. In my case it was 35 years later when all was explained in the Sunday Telegraph in October 1979. Junkers 88 night fighters had simply been fitted with twin cannon which slanted upwards about 70 degrees from the horizontal. They would creep under us, aim for the fuel tanks in our wings, and blow us apart.

Until August 15, 1944 I flew regularly with the same skipper and crew. From then on I flew only with the squadron commander Wing Commander Cribb (promoted to Group Captain in the time I flew with him) or his deputy, Wing Commander McMillan. This was a doubtful privilege as these officers by the nature of things would, when they chose to fly, certainly not take part in operations against a soft target. There is an entry in my flying log-book:

September 5, 1944 18.00 W/C Cribb Operations: Le Havre 2hrs 30min
Master Bomber

鈥淪urrender or be bombed鈥� 鈥� that is what they had been told. It was not quite as simple as that. At the briefing it was said that this port was urgently needed by the allied forces in France, that the German forces occupying it, although surrounded, would not surrender; and that the ultimatum had been issued to them to surrender or be bombed 鈥� hence the remark in my log-book.

In just over an hour on a clear September evening we arrived over Le Havre at 7000 feet just before the main force arrived and laid our markers right in the town centre as instructed. We saw everything very clearly indeed at this height. The main force of in excess of 300 aircraft were advised by us where to bomb in relation to our markers and those of other Pathfinder aircraft backing us up, as we circled round the town for the 10-15 minutes it took, as it seemed to us, to virtually obliterate the allotted target. Surprisingly not a shot was fired at us.

Another hour and were back at base. Bacon and egg and chips in the mess and a pint of beer and so to bed. To be quite honest I did not think much more about it until 47 years later, when I saw a 30-minute feature on 大象传媒 TV in 1991. I had not in any way until then realised the full implications; so, in 1994, a few weeks before the 50th anniversary of this raid I wrote to 大象传媒 (South) TV:

鈥淚 ask you if you could do me a personal favour, please. During 1991 a 大象传媒 2 programme told the moving story of how in late August 1944, the German-held port of Le Havre continued to hold out against the surrounding allied forces. The senior German officer had instructions to fight to the last man but was concerned about the fate of the French population. He asked the British to allow the civilian population through their lines. This request was refused and an order was given to attack. A British Army officer, Captain William Douglas-Home refused to carry out an order on the grounds that the civilian population would be endangered and was subsequently court-martialled, cashiered, and served one year鈥檚 imprisonment in a civilian prison. In the film the moral and legal questions that arose from his action were discussed in some detail and compared with those invoked at the Nuremberg trials in 1945. Three years before the programme was made he had petitioned the Army Board for a review of the findings and sentence of his court-martial. The week before the programme the Army Board announced, without giving reasons, that they had denied his petition. Sadly, I believe that William Douglas-Home died recently. He was, I think, a man of exceptional moral courage.

I became aware of the events on the ground only when I saw this programme three years ago and realised it was my own aircraft that had led this raid. I had not known until then that we had been instrumental in causing death and injury (quite unnecessarily) to some unknown thousands of French civilians. As I recall no mention was made at the briefing before the raid of the implications of what we would be doing. Had we known would we have had the courage of Captain Douglas-Home? I am not sure, I think maybe not. Not one German soldier was killed. Some 12,000 of them, who ultimately surrendered, were, at the time not in the town at all but manning the perimeter of the larger area they occupied.

It will soon be the 50th anniversary of this unhappy episode. I would be grateful if you could, on my behalf, induce the 大象传媒 on this day, to honour this gallant man and remember those who died, whom he had tried to save. While I feel no personal guilt, I do, to say the least, feel uncomfortable about our part in this and you will no doubt conclude, and rightly, that this is my way of expressing regret for the decisions taken at the time.

Yours sincerely

JC Chapman (One-time F/Lt, RAFVR)

October 28, 1944: as beautiful a day as you get in mid-autumn. Not a cloud in the sky. Take off at 13.42. A heavy bomb load and not so much fuel for we were going only as far as Cologne. Our first venture over the Third Reich in daylight was to be with W/Commander MacMillan again as pilot, and Master-Bomber of a force of no less than 733 aircraft.

We were to be the first aircraft to arrive at the target to drop our markers. Cologne had been visited many times since the famous 鈥極ne Thousand Bomber鈥� raid of 1942. The object of this raid was to destroy the remaining built-up segment of the city so far relatively untouched. This was from the Cathedral outwards towards the North East, shaped like a large slice of cake. A few minutes before our scheduled time on target at 20,000 feet the sky was clear and the visibility perfect. I remember that I had to wear sun-glasses (those issued to me in Africa in 鈥�42) as the sun was west of south and not very high in the sky and could well conceal a German fighter. It suddenly dawned on us 鈥� probably the rear gunner mentioned it on the intercom 鈥� that there was not a single aircraft in sight. We seemed to be quite alone in the sky.

I had a strong sense of panic 鈥� had I missed a recall signal or something on the wireless? Then the navigator piped up 鈥淚 think we are 90 seconds ahead of time, skipper鈥�. With the large mass of Cologne now almost below us there was no time to circle; to cut our speed down would have had little effect; we just had to make the best of it. I could see the Rhine and the cathedral to my left, just over the edge of the wing which had dropped as we went into a wide circuit to port over the south of the city.

The heavy-flak gunners below probably could not believe their luck at what they were seeing 鈥� one solitary Lancaster above their city in broad daylight and not a cloud in the sky. Seemingly every 88mm in and around Cologne got our height, speed, and direction worked out with some accuracy. Almost immediately there was quite a thump as our port inner was hit, caught fire, and stopped. Holes appeared in the fuselage. I remember thinking, all inside 1/10th of a second it seemed, everything in slow motion, - it had to be sometime 鈥� this is it 鈥� when my luck runs out 鈥� I was standing beside my seat with my head in the astro-dome, as usual. I reached down with my left hand and eased my parachute out of its stowage and put it on the table in front of the wireless receiver, within easy reach and ready to clip on. Surprisingly, I now felt quite calm and detached. The flame from the region of the port-inner engine reached back almost to the tailplane. 鈥楳ac鈥� was looking back over his left shoulder, the mid-upper gunner was leaning forward in his turret, the rear gunner had his turret turned, we were all looking at it when quite suddenly it just went out. With the port wing lowered I could see the Rhine and the Cathedral standing clearly above earlier devastation. The flak followed us, surrounded us鈥�; we could see it, smell it and hear it 鈥� that was too close. 鈥楳ac鈥� ploughed on as though it just wasn鈥檛 happening but no doubt anxious for some sign of the main force as he still kept looking over his left shoulder. The rear-gunner saw them first and then, there they all were, like a gigantic swarm of bees. The flak turned its attention to this more worthwhile target and we were out of it into clearer air and heading for the aiming point, dead on track with doors open, the bomb-aimer with his thumb on the button and 鈥淢arkers gone, skipper鈥�, and then 鈥楳ac鈥� was on the R/T to the main force 鈥� 鈥楤omb the green markers鈥� 鈥� etc 鈥� and we were out of direct trouble and doing what we had come for. Somewhat sheepishly, I remember, I put my parachute back in its stowage. We then went into a wide circuit around the target area, directing the main force where to bomb in relation to the markers burning on the ground and the other Pathfinder aircraft where to place their back-up markers. And then it was all over with utter devastation below. Back to base for us on three engines, downhill all the way, was no problem, and we landed before dark.

The next day we learned that Bomber Command had assessed the raid as having caused 鈥榚normous damage鈥� and, more importantly for us, that 鈥楳ac鈥� had been given an 鈥榠mmediate鈥� award of the DSO.

That same day was important for me too. The Squadron Commander asked to see me. I had just completed 3 tours of bombing operations, he told me, and for me, personally, I could take it that the war was over but I could stay on the Squadron for a bit if I liked. I walked from his office several inches taller and went for an amble round the airfield on my own and thought about things.

With a slight leap forward into the future for the moment; on 22nd May 1945 I was one of the crew of a Lancaster which flew at low level over many of our main targets in the Rhineland and Ruhr valley. The devastation was absolutely appalling, none more so than at Cologne where it appeared that the great bulk of the magnificent cathedral was the only solid building left standing. I have never forgotten this sight. It is said that 300 dwellings remained intact in the city on which 45000 tons of bombs were dropped. (Coventry received 530 tons.)

My God, I thought, what is all this we have been doing?

February 13, 1945: I went to the briefing for the raid on the city of Dresden. After the necessary 鈥榞en鈥� had been given on the route, the weather, take-off times, and all the usual things, an officer got up and sent the crews off with this thought鈥︹�滵resden鈥�, he said, 鈥渋s a very old German city and crowded at the moment we believe with refugees from the Russian front. Many of the buildings are of wooden construction and you are loaded to the maximum with incendiaries. It will burn well.鈥�

That scene and the actual words that officer spoke, made their mark in my brain at that moment and have remained there. It was as though I had sensed that in the future, it would become a moment of history and that I must remember this; I have to remember.

The full horror of that night became generally evident only slowly, but by the 1980鈥檚 was fairly well known in this country. I followed the arguments between the extremes of those whose verdict was 鈥榮erve them right鈥� and that greater number beginning to voice doubts, not only about Dresden in particular but about the whole principles of Bomber Command itself and those who directed its activities.

In 1992 I read about certain former members of Bomber Command who had commissioned the erection of a statue of the late 鈥楤omber鈥� Harris in The Strand in London, and which was to be unveiled by the Queen Mother on 31st May. I wrote to the 鈥業ndependent on Sunday鈥� 鈥溾� have always felt shame and anger over this matter (the carpet bombing of German civilian centres and Dresden in particular) but not more so than at this moment. I feel I have to express this to someone and that you might like to know that there is at least one former member of Bomber Command who has in no way contributed to the statue of Sir Arthur Harris and who would certainly not cross the Strand to look at it.鈥�

And some thoughts about survival

While engaged in operational flying I had not thought so much whether but how long I would survive. If one was written off in one's own mind, then anything else was a bonus. And yet, surprisingly, when peace came, there was little immediate sense of self-congratulation or relief. For very many years I gave it little thought, if any, for one has to get on with the business of living.

Between 1939 and 1945 the RAF lost 70,253 all ranks killed or missing on operations. Bomber command lost 47,268, plus 8,305 in training or accidents, plus 1570 ground crews, including WAAF = 55,573 total.

The casualty rate of the opening period of the Pathfinder Force was 4.6%. It is not surprising that a loss rate exceeding 4% would lead to the eventual decline of the force with insufficient crews managing to survive a first tour of operations to provide the leadership and experience in squadrons for the increasing proportion of raw reinforcements.

If, therefore, sheer chance was the criterion, no one would expect to survive this number of operations. That some did, indicates that skill and experience may have played some part but it was noted that in the later years of the war the casualty rate among experienced crews was not less than others. The reason for this was possibly the introduction in late 1943 of the German night fighters with upward firing cannon.

I am lucky to be writing this at all after 76 operational flights, if statistics mean anything: and must have shared that luck with all those who flew with me on various occasions for none of my immediate crew was ever injured. Fortune continued to smile in my direction. It is said that survivors have difficulty with guilt. Why me? they say. It's just that some people call it right every time, others get it wrong. It seems to me in the end that that is what it is, nothing more than which side up the penny drops.

It is now 1998 and I am 77 years of age and as physically fit as I have a right to be. I have some residual problems: tinnitus which will never stop and which I have to accept; noise, crowded places, narrow passages, possibly a few other things tend to make me feel uncomfortable at times but I can live with them. I have remembered many things, often quite trivial, and can still picture them clearly. At the same time there is so much I can push away into the background: those long, noisy, uncomfortable, anxious, often frightened hours and they do not trouble me.

I am quite unable to describe, for example, just how it was, taking off in a heavily laden bomber, engines at full revs and boost, pushing the screaming vibrations of horse-power through all one's senses, through feet, stomach, ears, brain; and the frightening thought that one of those engines might fail to any degree during those long 45 seconds or so it took to get us off the ground. And yet, now and then, perhaps a cello will pick up a particular chord at that same frequency and in that instant of sound I am back in the darkness with the runway lights flashing past and a quick shiver of fear will run through me and be gone. I can cope with it now though and I have come to realise that I would not for a moment be without my past or change it more than a little here and there. And I feel, now, in hindsight, a tremendous sense of privilege to have had the opportunity to experience so much even if I may not have seen it quite that way at the time.

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