大象传媒

This story was sent to me by Stan Bradford, DFM, whom I met at a Squadron reunion.

After a somewhat action-packed period of training, we were posted to 57 Squadron at Scampton (moved to East Kirkby on completion of a new base), also the base of 617 Squadron, the famous Dambusters.

After a brief settling-in period, we found ourselves on Battle Orders. On the night of the 27 August 1943 we were briefed for an attack on Nuremburg. We took off at 21.00 hours and proceeded slowly to gain our operation height of 20,000 feet. It wasn't long before tension was increased by a large thump; fortunately for us, all our power units continued to function correctly. It was discovered on return that we had picked up a seagull in our airtakes, a christening that will always remain uppermost in my memory.

During the operation we were attacked by German night fighters on several occasions. Between the rear-gunner and myself, in the mid-upper position, we bagged a ME109 and a JU88. Worse was to come: we managed to get in the way of flak, which seriously affected our navigational equipment. Our navigator put his training to good use and read the stars for guidance. Believing that we were approaching the English coast, our skipper started to use the May Day distress call when suddenly all hell was let loose. We had strayed over the Channel Islands, which were under German control; fortunately our distress signal was picked up by RAF Exeter and we were escorted by a Typhoon fighter plane to the runway where we landed on two engines owing to lack of fuel. We returned to East Kirkby the next day with a battered Lancaster.

Within 72 hours we were at it again, this time flying over Berlin in the first of that winter's onslaught by Bomber Command. We continued to survive numerous trips, including a hit from bombs dropped by a Lancaster above us while carrying out a raid on Berlin (in which 420 Lancasters released a total of 1,356 tons of bombs). Then another slight hiccup occurred: after being attacked by fighters, our skipper was (again) a little bit hard on the controls and we were completely turned upside down, fully loaded with the night's bombs. Losing 10,000 feet we went on and gained a maximum height of 19,000 feet before bombing.

On our penultimate trip, our fourteenth time to Berlin, we hit serious trouble. It was the night of big winds and this seriously affected navigation. Having been blown considerably off-course, we found ourselves over the most heavily protected area of Germany, the dreaded Rhur valley. It wasn't long before we were coned by searchlights for 35 minutes. Miraculously, our skipper threw the plane about in all directions and we escaped, at a price: we had used up a lot of fuel and we had to choose whether to get back on course or return via the North Sea and risk ditching the plane. Once again, we were fortunate and made it back to RAF Coltishall with a minimum of fuel.

Wondering if our luck would last one more time, you can imagine our feelings when on the 30 March 1944 we were briefed to carry out a raid on a place where we had already been fortunate to survive: yes, Nuremburg, where Bomber Command suffered its heaviest defeat, losing 96 bombers and 672 aircrew. I was only 20 years old when we made it back.

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