´óÏó´«Ã½

Blenheim IVF No.L9481

On Tuesday 28th May 1940, four Blenheim IVF aircraft of No, 254 Squadron ’A’ Flight based at RAF Sumburgh in the Shetland Islands were detached to RAF Detling in Kent to operate with No. 248 Squadron on sea patrols covering the Dunkirk evacuation. These aircraft completed their first 3 hour patrol of the North Foreland Calais-Dunkirk circuit on 29th May and this was repeated later in the day on 30th May, after their first attempt was aborted due to fog over the Channel.

This is the story of the last patrol made by the Blenheim fighter aircraft and in particular, that of No. L9481, the subject of the painting. It is told by the only survivor from the No. 254 Squadron aircraft and describes the experiences of the Observer, Pilot Officer G. W. Spiers over a period of twelve hours.

At 0450 hours on Saturday 1st June 1940, two Blenheims of No. 254 Squadron and two of No. 248 Squadron took off from HAF Detling to make a three-hour shipping cover patrol of the Dunkirk evacuation shipping route. The patrol was commanded by Flying Officer J. W. Baird in Blenheim L9481 with his crew Pilot Officer G. W. Spiers Observer, and Wireless Operator/Air Gunner LAC R. Roskrow. Soon after take-off first one and then the other of the No. 248 Squadron Blenheims radioed that they were returning to Detling due to aircraft unserviceability, The two No. 254 Squadron aircraft commenced their patrol at about 0500 hours and had made several circuits up to 0745 hours. During two of these circuits, they engaged in unresolved encounters with first a Junkers 87 aircraft and later with a Heinkel Ill.

At about 0750 they started their last circuit before returning to Detling and at 0755 they were at 8,000 feet approaching Dunkirk, two miles out to sea flying parallel to the shore, when they were attacked by eleven ME 109 aircraft diving on them from the South in line astern.

Memoir of Pilot Officer G. W. Spiers

I was sitting in the seat on the right-hand side of the pilot. Looking out to my right I could see the sand beaches with numerous clusters of troops queueing to embark on small craft. As I looked up I saw recognisable ME 109 German aircraft diving in line astern towards our rear starboard quarter. I managed to count eleven 109s and as I looked downwards I saw our other Blenheim who had, been flying in line astern of us, pass beneath to starboard with both
engines on fire.

As soon as I had seen the enemy, I had yelled to Baird "fighters" and in the meantime he turned to port and headed for North Foreland giving the engines full power. We were slowly picking up speed in a shallow dive but a cold feeling in the small of my back, made me realise we were "sitting ducks" for fighters.

In temper and fear I shouted to Baird to manoeuvre the aircraft about, at the same time I made demonstrations by waving my hand in front of him. Whether or not he understood I never found out, as the cockpit suddenly filled with acrid smoke and flying fragments as the dashboard and instruments disintegrated in front of me, under a series of violent crashes and flashes. Suddenly it stopped. The smoke started to clear and I looked back through the armour plate to see what had happened to Roskrow the Gunner. The fuselage down to the turret was a mass of bullet holes which which were accentuated by the sun beams that shone through the smoke. All I could see of Roskrow was a bloody green flying suit slumped over the gun controls.

Turning to Baird I immediately realised he had been hit although he still held the controls. His head was slumped forward on his chest and blood ran down his right cheek from a wound in the temple that showed through the side of his helmet. Another wound in his neck had covered him with blood and it had gushed all over my left shoulder. He looked very peaceful with his eyes shut; I was sure he was dead. It was miraculous that I had survived that burst of gunfire into the cockpit. The two foot square Perspex panel had many holes in it. The bullets had passed me and gone into Baird and the cockpit panel.

I was now in the unenviable position of any member of aircrew who is not a Pilot as I was flying on my own and it was now up to me to save myself. My immediate reaction was to bale out, so I went forward into the navigation compartment and attempted to lift the Navigator's seat which was on top of the bale-out hatch. The seat would not fold back and was locked solid in the down position, and after struggling to raise it, for what seemed minutes, I realised the aircraft was beginning to roll to port. I then clambered back to the Pilot's cabin and viciously hit Baird's arms off the controls. Leaning over I pulled back the throttles as the engines were still at full power and were vibrating excessively. Yellow flames from the port engine were beating against the front and side windows and standing at the side of Baird I was about to level the aircraft to prevent the vicious sideslip, that was causing the flames to play on the cockpit, when suddenly the windscreen shattered. I felt a hot searing wind on my face, I felt my cheeks, nose, throat and mouth shrivelling under the heat but have no recollection of any pain. As soon as the aircraft righted, the cockpit cleared of fire and smoke and a noticeable peace descended as the cut back engines purred and the wind gently whined through the shattered
glass.

Some miles off to port I saw an armed trawler and as the aircraft was now at 5,000 feet, I thought I could glide to it without having to open up the engines. As I lost height the speed of the sea passing beneath magnified alarmingly, and although the thought of using the flaps and lowering the under- carriage, to reduce speed, occurred to me, I realised that I could not take my
eyes off the sea for the impending ditching. The trawler was now only a quarter of a mile off and closing fast, and I was only slightly higher than mast-head height. The aircraft was easy to control from my awkward position leaning over the pilot. I concentrated to keep the wings parallel to the water as I realise the danger of dipping a wing tip. The ripples on the calm sea closed nearer and nearer until there was suddenly a most violent jolt. Although the impact took only a fraction of a second it seemed like a slow motion cine film to me.

I can still visualise the water bounding in through the nose like a dam which had burst; I remember turning my back to the barrage and gently cushioning on it. The silent cockpit was now full of blood coloured sea and I struggled to reach the normal entry sliding hatch above the pilot's head. My feet kept slipping on the floor and I could make no progress despite the numerous attempts.

As I held my breath many of those past happiness which had occurred during my life passed through my mind as I realised I would not escape. I had never pray to God with such agony or earnestness. I tried to suck water into my lungs to hasten the end but I was unsuccessful and only swallowed it. My lungs were bursting and my pulse pounded in my ear drums, brilliant flashes and yellow spots appeared in front of my eyes; I thought of the sea bed its creatures and crabs. I had relaxed my efforts and I had started to sink downwards. I had sufficient consciousness to realise my right leg was straight and not in contact with what I thought to be the floor of the aircraft. Thinking this may be a way out, I drew my left leg up to it and paddled my way down in fear that my parachute harness and helmet lead would be entangled. After I had descended several feet I slowly backed away and then swam to the surface and broke water
about five yards away from the starboard side of the aircraft. To my surprise it was not lying horizontal below the surface of the water but the stub end of the fuselage was pointing upwards at 80 degrees with a jagged scar from which the turret and tail had been torn off. The steep angle was the reason why I could not reach the normal exit hatch.

Being an experienced swimmer I think that I had been trapped inside the fuselaqe for over three minutes. My parachute floated, in front of me and this I quickly discarded. My face now started to sting and I carefully abandoned my flying helmet.

During this time I could see the trawler steaming up towards me and they were starting to lower a boat. I blew up my Mae West and started to swim away from the aircraft towards the trawler. The seamen stretched out a pole on the end of which was a fish net and this they passed down to me, I thrust my right fingers through the mesh and they started to pull me up, but my qrip
failed when I was just clear of the water, and I fell back into the sea, The next attempt was successful as I interlocked my fingers on either side of the mesh.
I was pulled up over the side and stood on-the deck with helping hands of the seamen supporting me. One pointed to my blood stained shoulder and asked if I had been wounded, I said I didn’t think so and added that if they took my wet clothes off they would soon find out.They helped me to walk along the deck towards the galley but as I made a step I realised I had injured my ankle, l found it was not very painful when I walked on the toes of that foot.

In the warm galley they sat me in front of a hot stove but the cheery warmth of the fire was agony to my face. So they moved me away nearer the door where it was cooler. They cut open the left sleeve of my tunic but soon realised I had not been wounded. After dressing my face with ointment they took off my wet clothes. My legs had several small lacerations and they found there were small particles of shrapnel -and metal in my skin. This they quickly removed and bound up the small wounds. After dressing me in seaman’s clothing they took me below to the skipper's bunk and he came down and introduced himself clutching a half pint glass filled with rum, I remember drowning the rum in virtually one gulp and asked him for a cigarette, he soon returned with a tin of Woodbines and put them in a net that was above the bunk that I lay on. The slow drags of the cigarette and rum soon put me into a dreamless sleep, I awoke up about ten o’clock by the sound of heavy gunfire and a crashing of feet running on the deck above when suddenly there was an ear splitting explosion that shook the ship, I was thrown out of the bunk and the blanket I had placed over my sore face chafed the skin from my left cheek. A sailor came down into the bunk via the vertical iron steps and took me on his shoulder to the upper deck where he told me there had been a bombing attack on the shipping lanes by many Junkers 8 aircraft.

The skipper came over and said he had notified the Admiralty of my rescue and added he hoped the trawler would be ordered to Ramsgate to put me off. He said his crew were exhausted after a continuous week at Dunkirk and I might have been an excuse to get them back, however the Admiralty had refused this request so the skipper said he had called over a tug which was returning to Ramsgate I noticed we were just off-shore in about five feet of water when the tug came towards us. The skipper offered me back my Mae West for the voyage remarking it was better than the Navy issue. I told him he could keep it as a present and he was delighted adding that he could soon patch the bullet hole in the neck rest which he demonstrated by inserting his finger.
The tug which I later found out hailed from the Portsmouth came alongside. Waving goodbye to the trawler crew I clambered aboard the tug on whose decks squatted forty or fifty exhausted North African Moroccan troops, I think the tug's skipper was delighted to see me as he had no other crew and wanted to have a chat with someone in English. He soon let me know he didn't think we would reach Ramsgate, he cursed the fog and he cursed the dive bombers but what really seemed to disturb him, was a horrible knock coming out of the engine and he was
sure this would soon pack up. I regret I cannot remember the name of the trawler neither can I remember the name of the tug. We set off in the direction of England and after an hour or so ran into very thick fog and the sound of ships that were accompanying us soon disappeared and we found ourselves very much alone.

The skipper had no chart aboard and the fog closed in to only fifty yards Visibility. After a time we could hear surf breaking but he consoled me by saying it. was the Goodwin Sands and asked. me to go forward and point in the direction of any deep channels that I could see on the sand bottom. I seemed to spend several hours doing this apart from one or two breaks when the fog lifted. We saw no ships neither did we hear anything but the breaking of the surf.

Suddenly about eight o'clock in the evening the fog lifted and we were not too far off Ramsgate. He sailed up to the pier and I was taken off and sat on the ground. Some of the injured from other vessels made a terrible sight, particularly one Frenchman who had a large chunk of shrapnel protruding from his forehead, I seemed to be the only airman but there were many many troops of various nationalities who looked unkempt, filthy and completely exhausted. The volunteer Red Cross workers were working among them making them as comfortable as they could. I was soon attended to when an attractive young auxiliary nurse came across and looked at my face. She immediately burst into tears when she saw me and said how terrible it was the sailors had put grease on my face. She then started to clear the grease away with wadding and this
was a most painful operation as all the skin was coming off leaving me in red raw patches. She then put a cooling salve on my face and I felt much more comfortable. I was then asked where I would like to go, they said I could go to Ramsgate Hospital which was taking many of the casualties but I said as we were near an RAF Station at Mansion I would sooner be with my colleagues. A car soon arrived and I was taken to the Station Sick Quarters where they gave me excellent treatment. My foot and ankle were X-rayed and I found that I had a small broken bone, however it healed very quickly and within a fortnight i was able to go on sick leave.

For many years I believed the bodies of Baird and Roskrow lay in the wreck of the Blenheim at the bottom of the channel. However some two or three years ago I went to Runnymede Memorial which is a Memorial giving the names of all Allied airmen who have unknown graves.I failed at that time to find the names of either of them on the panels.I have recently spoken, to the War Graves Commission and they told me that Baird's body was recovered and that he is buried in the communal cemetery at Malo-Les-Baines which is two miles east of Dunkirk and his remains lie at Plot 2, Row A Grave No 30. They told me Roskrow's body was never recovered. However his name was engraved on Panel 19 of the Runnymede Memorial, I had been unable to locate it as I had been looking under the rank of Leading Aircraftsman but Roskrow's name was engraved under the rank of Sergeant. I imagine he had been promoted to this rank during the period when he was listed as missing in action.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.