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N1408 and the attack on oil refineries at Hanover, 18/19th May1940

By
Donald J.R. Wilson

After breakfast, we all wandered down to the "Flights" and made our way to the Fight notice board where our superiors would inform us of the tasks we had to carry out on that particular day. It was with some excitement and anxiety that the crews of the aircraft (including N 1408) were instructed to assemble at the Station Operations Room at 11.30hrs, for a briefing on the night's operation. Flying personnel were not permitted to leave the station prior to any incursion over enemy territory. Nor could they telephone or communicate in any way with the outside world, not even with next of kin. Security was very necessary, as any leakage could jeopardise the whole operation, and forewarn the enemy of our intentions.

The usual information at the briefing was distributed to flying personnel. The Met. Officer advised us of probable wind speed and direction, over the entire course, while the Operations Officer would suggest best possible tracks in order to avoid "Flak belts" defending such towns as Bremen and South of Hamburg. Between the briefing and time of "take off", air crews could choose how to spend the time writing letters, reading, sleeping etc.

N1408 took off at 20.20hrs and headed for Flamborough Head where we altered course for the target area. We observed the usual ritual of looking back at the beautiful sight of the setting sun, slowly disappearing over the horizon, doubtless wondering if we would see the friendly coast again in a few hours time.

The target was approximately five hundred miles from base, so we had to replace two of the 500lb bombs with an additional fuel tank. We therefore carried two 500 pounders and six 250lb bombs. Fortunately for me, the Air/Observer had most to do during the flight, which successfully prevented thoughts of the coming battle, and possible consequences. Before darkness fell I dropped an aluminium sea marker, a box of aluminium powder, which spread over the waves on contact with the sea. I then checked the aircrafts drift with the tail drift sight, to calculate the wind speed and direction. It is of course an absolute necessity in successful air navigation. We had a further two checks to ensure we were flying on the correct course. After dark we dropped a flame float and again checked the drift. The flashing beacon was on.

Terschelling Island was a more efficient method of calculating our position, and it was comforting to see it on the starboard side.

After crossing the North German Coast, I am sure everyone felt the tension as the odd searchlight swept across the dark evening skies, vainly trying to pin point us for the local AA Flak batteries. We reached the Hanover area a little after ETA, probably due to a change in wind speed. Hanover was clearly recognisable but it was much more difficult to find the target. I confess we spent at least ten minutes circling the town trying to locate the oil refineries, with its roadway, railway lines and canal.

Much to our astonishment, we had so far encountered only minimal opposition, and were able to position ourselves for a bombing run. Having completed the drill and released the cargo, I did not experience the usual buffeting which happens when the heavy bombs leave the aircraft. I personally did not see any bombs dropping, nor did the tail gunner see any explosions. I was assured by other members of the crew that the task was completed, and we set course for Dishforth.

I still worried about the possibility of landing with bombs aboard and asked the Captain if I could test the bomb compartments to ensure that all had gone. The result of the tests was devastating, as all the bombs were still in place. It was then that we discovered a fault in the bomb release mechanism but we were able to repair it on the spot. The Captain decided that we had enough time and fuel to return for a second attack and safely make our way home, having completed the task and set course for base. As we left the target, the RA Flak defences opened up and we received the first hit while the second pilot and I were in the well of the aircraft. The shell ruptured the oil pipeline carrying power from the port Merlin to the front gun turret, showering us with oil. This was warm and of the consistency of blood, and as the blast had propelled us with some force against the fuselage, it was only too easy to believe that we had sustained some injury. Having cleaned our faces with the silk inner lining of our flying gloves, we were very relieved to find oil, not blood.

We returned to our respective crew positions and almost immediately we sustained further, and much more serious hits which, as before, threw us violently against the side of the aircraft. We were somewhat dazed, but when we recovered and looked across the cabin, I saw this pale face with a silly grin, looking past a pile of shredded metal, which had been our transmitting and receiving sets. Shrapnel also destroyed part of my navigation table, and two slits on the outside of my Irvine trousers and a small cut on my neck showed just how close I was to meeting the man with the scythe. The Merlin engines appeared to have escaped serious damage, but the aircraft was almost impossible to hold on course because of damage. The Captain warned us that he couldn't carry on much longer, and ordered us to don our parachutes.

Soon after he told us to abandon the aircraft. I reached the trapdoor first, but stood aside to let the second pilot get out, but he said I should "jump". A few seconds later, the skipper smartly disappeared through the escape hatch, and I quickly followed him. As soon as I was clear, I pulled the ripcord and my parachute opened instantly. My descent now seemed painfully slow, especially as the AA fire continued to spiral upwards towards us. The shells came up in groups of five, indicating that they were probably 30 or 40mm calibre. I was completely unprepared for a landing and, on hitting the ground, my knees buckled and hit my chest so violently, that I temporarily lost consciousness. I awakened, gasping for breath, not understanding what had happened. My parachute and harness were pulling at my body, so I quickly pressed the release disk and gathered together the folds of the parachute. I remembered emergency instructions to hide the equipment if possible, and get as far away as possible from the crash site, the area where the Germans would search for survivors. Having deposited my equipment in a ditch at the edge of the field, I ran away until I collapsed, exhausted behind a hedge.

It was only then that I checked direction, to discover that I was running eastwards into Germany. It was indeed fortunate that I retraced my steps to where I had landed, because on the ground was a bright red notebook containing codes for the day and other secret information. I really felt physically sick, knowing that, had the Germans recovered it, they would have been able to intercept and decipher all radio communications for the following twelve hours. I sat down and tore every page into pieces smaller than postage stamps and threw them into the wind. I then started the impossible task of trying to reach friendly forces, which unfortunately were several hundred miles to the West. I felt alarmed but somewhat proud of myself in successfully evading an army group in "skirmishing order", accompanied by dogs, obviously looking for me. This was however only a temporary success, because I was discovered and captured by troops of a local AA battery.

I could readily understand that I would not be the most popular person in the region;
as of course, we were always accused of bombing civilians. Rough handling by my captors was luckily avoided by the swift intervention of a Luftwaffe Officer who was driving past in a Volkswagen. He searched me for weapons and ordered me into his car. He explained that according to the News, the raid in which I took part had allegedly killed a hundred civilian workpeople in the adjoining village, hence the hostile reception!

This lieutenant drove me to the Artillery Headquarters and took me to the forces' kitchen, where he spread black bread with margarine and blood sausage. He also handed me the remainder of the loaf, saying that it might be a long time before I got anything to eat - his assumption was correct.

I arrived by train at Frankfurt-on-Maine railway station guarded by four Luftwaffe soldiers and a sergeant. Crossing the railway square, a crowd of women had gathered who proceeded to spit at me and call me rude names. I was more than grateful to have five guards to keep me from harm. Some of my comrades who were shot down in the Ruhr towns were unfortunate enough to be caught by lynching mobs and left hanging from streetlights.

Dulag Luft was the reception Centre for all Air Force Prisoners of War, and initially we were housed in prison cells with only a small window out of reach from the floor. Accommodation was warm enough, but the wooden bench on which we slept was hard and uncomfortable. Food was inadequate but much better than what we were given later in permanent camps. I was interrogated every day and told that if I didn't give the information they wanted, they would not inform my wife that I was still alive. I carried on giving only name, rank and number, until one wonderful day, a Swiss Doctor from the International Red Cross, Geneva saw me as he passed my cell door, and asked the Commandant for permission to interview me. That was granted, and I told him of the "blackmail" my interrogators were employing. He asked the Commandant if he could photograph me in the prison yard. Subsequently the Doctor kindly sent a copy to my wife to prove that I was still alive.

DJR Wilson, 580878. Air/Ops. A & B Flights, 51 Squadron, 4 Group, Bomber Command.

Pr-BR

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