大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by a volunteer from the GRM Action Desk on behalf Catriona Watson, Alec's granddaughter, and has been added to the site with her permission. Catriona fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MINE LAYING (Gardening) The first part of this procedure i.e. briefing, was at the same time. There would only be the two squadrons flying from Leconfield.

As soon as we crossed the coast, it was down to 200 feet to get below the enemy
Radar defences, identify some point on the coast (Continent), not too easy in the dark , navigation had to be very accurate or you could spend time looking for the point which could be dangerous, then fly on a predetermined course, drop your mines and head for home. This was all very simple provided no one made any speed errors and arrived too early, which then alerted the defences who would be ready and waiting for the rest of us to arrive. This could be a bit dodgy.

Some of the mines (crafty mines) were so fused that they did not explode when the first ship went over them so probably only blowing up the minesweeper but possible only the seventh or eighth ship to pass over so that the area had to be swept four or five times to convince the enemy the area was clean.

I discovered early in life that swimming was not for me, once I was horizontal in the swimming position I could not return to the vertical to stand up and I soon gave it up. In their wisdom, Bomber Command issued an order that all operational aircrew must learn to swim. Consequently, on every possible occasion, those of us who could not swim were taken to the baths for lessons. I got as far as doing the breast stroke provided someone had their hand under my chin. When the hand was taken away I gradually sank lower and lower under the water, then the old problem returned of putting my feet down and regaining the vertical. The instructor had to dive in and haul me out. They tried throwing me in at the deep end but with the same result, I took a deep breath but soon found myself on the bottom hoping they would realise I was on the bottom and fish me out before I ran out of breath. They eventually gave up on the task and I became one of the few aircrew who could not swim. I put my faith in my Mae West.

My crew achieved a bit of fame when a survey showed that we were the youngest crew on ops. Our average age was 20, I was the eldest at 22, Derek and Don 21, Jackie was 19 and Taffy was 17 (false age at joining). My wife has probably got the only engagement ring to go on an operation. She had left it in the bathroom one morning, I picked it up, put it in my pocket and forgot to give it back. On arrival at the aerodrome, I found that I was on ops. So the ring went with me.

One night on a mine laying trip, one of the mines failed to drop. We returned to base after trying everything to shake it off, expecting to be ordered to head the kite out to sea and bale out. ( I had full confidence in the parachutes as we had often been told by the Waafs when they handed them out that if they did not work we could take them back to the store to be replaced!!!) Instead, I was told to jettison the petrol while the drome was cleared. With a great deal of trepidation (FEAR), I carried out their orders and made the gentlest landing I have ever made. The mine did not fall, thank God. On another occasion, after laying mines in the Kiel Canal, we had just passed over Denmark when we were picked up by fighters. To lose them I climbed up into the clouds. Unfortunately, it was a storm cloud, which caused blue lights to flash all over the place, just as in a Dracula monster movie. But when it caused the electrically operated propellers to feather and the engines to stop I became worried. The glide angle of a Wellington was fairly steep, about 45 degrees and being of geodetic structure covered with canvas were not noted for their floating abilities I got the wireless operator to send out a May Day call then ordered the crew to crash landing positions and waited to come out of the cloud knowing we were too far from Britain to have any realistic hope of being rescued, except by the enemy if they were bothered, then prisoner of war camp. I said a quick prayer and he must have been listening for when we came out of the cloud the blue lights stopped flashing, the propellers un-feathered and I was able to restart the engines. The fighters had disappeared, I said another prayer of thanks and set course for home. We were too far out for a sea search, but there was never any lack of volunteers for sea search duty. I flew on two searches, one from Leconfield and one from Lossiemouth.

Returning from a bombing trip, we were picked up by a fighter. Our defence against this depended upon the bomb aimer or rear gunner spotting it before its first burst of fire. The Wellington could do a much tighter turn than any fighter so if I was informed where it was and when it turned to attack, I would turn towards it i.e. If it was coming from the left, I steep turned left, if from the right I steep turned right. The fighter could not turn fast enough to fire. After about three quarters of an hour, the fighter broke off (possibly due to lack of fuel) and I resumed course for home. The fighter had fired his guns a few times but I did not think he had hit us. Nevertheless, I called each of the crew in turn to ask if they were OK. The reply was 鈥淵es, skip鈥� until I called the rear gunner. 鈥淣o, skip, I think I have been hit, I can feel blood tricking down my leg鈥� Two of the crew were sent to get him out of the turret and on to the bed. They then carefully cut his trousers to examine the leg when they discovered the blood was brown. He was only seventeen.

I once came back with a lot of canvas torn away and a hole in the wing between the port engine and my seat that you could have put a dustbin through. Fortunately none of the controls or petrol pipes were damaged and I was able to bring the Wellington back.

My time of bombing was known as the 鈥淏attle of the Ruhr鈥�. It was said that the kids in Germany used to raise their hands and say 鈥淧lease may I leave the Ruhr?鈥�

I mentioned earlier the exact timing needed for a successful operation. I only remember it failing once. The target was Bochum, east of Essen, which necessitated the Wellingtons setting off one hour before the others. Unfortunately the weather clamped down and the op was cancelled before anyone else took off, the Wellingtons were not recalled. It was the most terrifying op of my life, everything as thrown at us, it was like riding a rocking horse all the way there and back.

One incident I shall always remember was coming back from a raid one night the fog came down and practically all aircraft were directed to a fog free aerodrome somewhere in Lincolnshire, I think it was Scampton. With so many aircraft waiting to land we were stepped up in heights of 500 feet, coming down 500 feet as each aircraft was landed until at 1000 feet it was your turn to land. I was circling at 5000 feet when an aircraft called in saying he was on three engines could he have priority. This was given and all others were told to maintain height until the three engines had landed. Almost immediately there was another call. 鈥淚 am on two engines can I have priority鈥� so the three engines was told to maintain height and the two engines was told to land. It was then discovered that the two engines was from our squadron, i.e. a Wellington pulling a fast one. He was severely reprimanded. Every time he came back after that he was told 鈥淵our turn to land is No.32鈥� As our squadron was comprised of 32 planes. He was always the last to land.

The amazing sequence to this happened some twenty odd years later when I visited the last Motor Show at Earls Court before it moved to Birmingham. I was wandering round the stands when I noticed a commissioner sporting a pair of wings and I struck up a conversation with him. We were reminiscing when he asked where I did my ops. When I replied Leconfield, I was flabbergasted when he burst out 鈥淵ou were not the so and so who landed on two engines, I was the bloke in the Stirling on three engines鈥�. I managed to convince him it was not me.

On another occasion, I air tested a Wellington after a servicing repair job. The CO called me into his office the next day and asked if I had been low flying on the air test. I, of course, denied this whereupon he produced two roasted seagulls asking how they could possibly have got into the engine cowling and warned me in future to do my low flying above the clouds. It did not matter if you hit a cloud.

Once when approaching the target, the bomb aimer鈥檚 oxygen tube froze up and it wasn鈥檛 until he started to use some foul language and tried to open the hatch so that he could get out and fight them for shooting at him I had to get the wireless/op to go down and restrain him whilst the navigator unblocked his oxygen supply. He quickly recovered and we were able to complete our bomb run. Not an emergency required when you were in the middle of their defences.

After I had done about 20 ops, it was decided to convert the squadron to 4 engine Halifaxes. However, it was decided that anyone with ten or less ops to do to complete a tour of 30 ops would press on and finish their tour. So I had a hectic time doing my last ten ops in a fortnight, 2 nights on, one night off, before the squadron was posted to a Conversion Unit. I was dog tired and even fell asleep one night coming back. Thereafter the bomb aimer sat beside me to nudge me if he thought I was dropping off. I taught him to land the aircraft should anything happen to me. I let him land it once!

My last operation was a mine laying trip off Holland. These were supposed to be comparatively easy ops and often given to crews for their last op if it was possible. The crew that took me on my first observation op did not return from their last op. I was lucky, I got back.

I once read a book of statistics on bombing, which stated that only 30% of air crews completed their first tour and only 20% completed their second tour. It set me thinking of my first tour and I could not remember a single crew completing a tour (apart from mine) whilst I was at Leconfield.

At Leconfield I was promoted to Flight Sergeant which leads me to the joke that anyone who showed any sign of baldness was addressed as Flt.Sgt. because his crown had come through,a crown badge was worn by this rank.

Before I leave Leconfield, I should mention the Decompression Chamber. On arrival, we had been warned of the danger of lack of oxygen when flying. To demonstrate this, about ten airmen were placed in the chamber and given specific tasks to do. For example one was given sheets of foolscap paper and asked to sign his name as many times as possible. All went well until he began to suffer from lack of oxygen when his signature became larger until he was using one sheet to write one signature. Four others were given a pack of cards and told to play pontoon. Their gambling became more erratic until the banker was forcing the others to twist whether they wanted to or not. Several airmen watched from outside and when the participants were taken out they would not believe what they had done. Everyone vowed never to forget their oxygen.

One crew came back reporting they had been severely attacked by fighters. The next morning some of us went to inspect the damage. The plane itself had been badly damaged but the amazing sight was the rear gun turret. The armour plating behind the rear gunner was like a knife throwing act, pock marked with bullets leaving the outline of the gunner with no bullet marks. The rear gunner, who was standing close to me examining the plane, had not been hit, he had a miraculous escape. When the realiazation sunk in, he collapsed in a dead faint. We could not revive him and carried him to the sick bay but he never recovered and died of shock.

One of the good thinks to come out of being on Ops was due to Lord Nuffield. He started a scheme whereby Operational Air Crew could have holidays at various hotels situated in Britain at his expense. Nell and I had two, one week in Borrowdale in the Lake District and one in Edinburgh.

Whilst on Ops we were given escape aids in case we were shot down and captured.
1. An escape food pack consisting of concentrated foods, and tablets to make the water drinkable.
2. A jacket button, the top of which unscrewed to reveal a compass.
3. Small elongated diamond shaped pieces of metal, ostensibly to be sewn at the back of buttons to save wear and tear on the cloth. In fact, when removed, there was a small indentation in the centre by which it could be balanced on a pencil point to become a compass.
4. A pipe which revealed a compass inside the stem when you removed the mouthpiece. It was of an enormous size, I could not imagine it fooling the Germans,
5. A tobacco pouch. Behind the linings was hidden a silk map, on one side Germany, on the other side France

The idea was to carry as many as possible in the hope that, during searches, one might be missed.
Last but not least, we were taught unarmed combat which might be needed to silence someone before he gave you away.

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