大象传媒

Pembroke Dock was home to 228 Squadron, RAF Coastal Command. From the quayside could be seen a row of Sunderland flying boats moored to buoys across the water at Milford Haven. Each flying boat had its own letter of identification. My job was to check the daily orders posted in the Mess with the availability of Captains followed by the letter of the allotted aircraft. A dinghy tied up beside the quay would be waiting with its Marine section driver to take me to my boat and off we would speed.

Approaching the aircraft from aft with engine throttled back the dinghy glided under the wing to the forward door, just above sea level. I would hop aboard with my tool box and Avometer into the anchor room; the dinghy would speed away. The anchor room housed a winch with chain which ran out over the bows and was shackled to a cable attached to the buoy. Another cable was shackled to a ring welded to the bows. The anchor room also housed 4 fixed machine guns and the front turret which had 2 guns and could be wound back giving access to the moorings.

Moving aft through a door into the wardroom there was a bunk on each side. Through another door was the galley where flying rations could be cooked and hot drinks prepared. The galley had opening hatches on both sides with mountings for a single Lewis gun at each hatch. Stairs led up from here to the flight deck and bridge. Still going aft another door opened into the bomb room; a cavernous space two floors high. At the top were the bomb racks holding eight depth charges. A door on each side, next to the bomb racks, dropped down when required and the bombs slid out on tracks under the wings. The fuselage tapered back aft from here to the 4-gun turret. On the way was a work bench with vice, gyro compass and various pyrotechnic devices. My task was up the stairs where most of the crew would be stationed. As a qualified Wireless Mechanic I was the only crew member who did his own daily inspection.

Reaching the top of the stairs I passed the metal boxes housing the centimetre radar equipment. Signal pulses were fed out from them to rotating dishes in pods under the wings. Next were the batteries, lead/acid accumulators vital to almost all the equipment in the aircraft. Finally I arrived at the Wireless Operator`s station immediately behind the Pilot on the Port side. Opposite, across the gangway, was the Navigator`s table and above was the Astrodome. The radio equipment used battery power and to test it I climbed out through the Astrodome to open a flap in the starboard wing which gave access to a single cylinder petrol engine driving a dynamo, called a Chore Horse. Like a lawn mower it started with a pull rope and kept the batteries topped up. They were my greatest worry as, unlike ground based aircraft, they were used to start the engines; always the starboard inner first as it drove the aircraft`s generator.

Having checked everything it was time to go ashore. The procedure was to flash a Morse D towards the quayside with an Aldis lamp. If a dinghy driver was awake and not in the NAAFI, or distracted in any other way, he would set out to rescue me.

Eventually take-off time would become known and the run-up sequence began. First we togged up in warm flying gear and the crew tucked in to fried bacon and eggs. As in WW1 troops were given rum, and a prisoner about to be executed was offered a meal of his choice. They wanted us to die happy! Then to the Ops Room for briefing. On one wall was a map of the British Isles and France down to Spain which covered all the German U/boat bases; Brest, Lorient, St Nazaire, La Palice and Bordeaux, from where they set out on the nefarious business in the Atlantic; each crewed by 4 Officers, 10 Petty Officers and 30 seamen. Over 1,400 U/boats were built of which 754 were sunk, mostly with all hands. Of around 30,000 members of the U/Bootwaffe 27,491 perished. By 1945 the life of a U/boat was measured in weeks.

A red tape was pinned on the map in the Ops Room showing the route out and the patrol area over the sea marked by a rectangular box, or it might be a sweep, just straight out and back. We once escorted a huge convoy of 67 M/Vs (Merchant Vessels), a fantastic sight; once the seaward screen to a battleship persuading the Germans to leave Brest; and once as escort to an old French cruiser, Jean d`Arc, ferrying the expatriate French government back home after the liberation of Paris. Another time we searched for the dinghy of a downed Beaufighter off Bordeaux, but sadly never found. Mostly it was the boring box, nothing but sea and more sea.

The wall map also showed the positions of "Friendly Units", usually an escort of 3 frigates permanently on station to respond to U/boat sightings as well as doing their own sweeps. Friendly Units was the official term but on one occasion a Sunderland arrived at a convoy and was promptly shot down by the "friendly" Royal Navy escort.

The Pilots and Navigator went into a huddle over Longitude and Latitudes; the Wireless Ops got their canvas bag (weighted so that it would sink)with the day`s call signs of other Squadrons and the daily code book. Equipped in mind and body we waddled off to the quayside and then by dinghy to the allotted boat. There were usually about 11 in the crew although it had been known, after a couple of hours in flight, to meet a stranger on board!

Our various duties were organised in shifts. Two Gunners did hourly shifts in the rear turret and the two Engineers did hourly shifts in the nose turret or watching their dials, petrol gauges, cylinder head temperatures, etc. The Navigator worked at his chart the whole time aided by the spare Pilot if necessary. The three Wireless Operators did an hour in the mid-upper turret, an hour as Wireless Operator and only half an hour on the Radar. In 1943 Radar was the very latest invention. The concept is still the same today with a rotating beam in circular display which lights up a "blip" when a reflecting object is detected. The bearing and distance can immediately be read off. For a large object, such as a ship or the coastline, it had a range of 70 miles or so. Half-hourly shifts were necessary due to the soporific effect and eye strain of watching the display.

The mid-upper turret was only exciting on practice exercises when an air to sea attack on a previously dropped flame float could result in the sea around it boiling from the 40 rounds per second striking it. On patrols any movement of the turret brought invective from the bridge as, being asymmetrical, it caused the aircraft to yaw (a movement off course).

Before the Normandy landings it was possible to encounter up to 8 Junkers 88s from Kampgeschwader 40 based near Lorient, but on a few occasions they found to their cost that a lone Sunderland was not easy pickings. The Luftwaffe was under pressure from all fronts so these were withdrawn after June 1944.

The Wireless Operator`s radio was tuned to our controlling station at Plymouth from where the call sign, QA1, was sent out every 15 minutes and, rarely, calling an aircraft with instructions to divert to an alternative base due to bad weather. Other aircraft could sometimes be heard sending sighting reports of enemy units. The positions would be passed to our Navigator in case they were in our area. Otherwise it was just a case of listening to silence.

Five crew members had outside vision. The 3 turrets and two pilots divided up the area around as their special search areas so that all 360 degrees were covered. At night the only eyes were provided by the Radar. The Rear Gunner had another duty which was to check the wind. He dropped a flame float, aimed his turret at it and read off the angle from the dead astern position. This enabled the Navigator to calculate the wind strength. The drift of an aircraft was essential to Dead Reckoning Navigation.

An average patrol lasted 12-13 hours, occasionally 15, then back to base. After alighting on the water it remained to moor up to a buoy. The procedure was for the aircraft to approach slowly against the tide with only the inner engines running and throttled right back so that the duty bod in the bows of the dinghy could hook a floating loop attached to the buoy. Too fast an approach resulted in the buoy passing down the side of the aircraft with the boat hook until its attaching rope broke! The driver`s parentage and new first name echoed around the Haven. Otherwise the loop was quickly slipped over the aircraft`s bollard whilst carefully keeping the fingers still attached to one`s hand. The anchoring cables then had to be hauled up and shackled. Then ashore for more eggs, bacon and bed.

Whilst the great majority of crews never experienced it, the standard mode of attack on a U/boat was to descend from the normal patrol height of 1500 feet to about 50 feet, as depth charges are comparatively thin skinned and would break up if dropped from a height. Ideally, four would be dropped, two on each side. If the U/boat remained surfaced the odds on the outcome were about even. They had superior fire power to the shorter range of our 303s. At night magnesium flares were dropped down a chute, igniting on the way, to illuminate suspect targets. They did not work too well on the one occasion we needed them.

In spite of the monotony there was always the anticipation and latent excitement that something might happen. At least we had the satisfaction of keeping the b------s submerged and unable to attack our ships.

On 9th May 1945 we finally saw a real U/boat. It was the first to surrender and was flying a white flag. We escorted it in the direction of port until two Royal Navy ships arrived. One was the Amethyst, famous for the Yangtze River incident. As a final gesture we did a low level beat up of the U/boat. The lead weights on the end of our 250 ft trailing aerial struck the conning tower inches from a deck officer`s head. I know this to be true as I have since corresponded with him!

Perhaps there are people who did not know that boats could fly; they probably never will again.

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