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DISCLAIMER

This contribution to WW2 People’s War was received by the Action Desk at ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Norfolk. The story has been written and submitted to the website by Rosalie Davis Gibb (Volunteer Story Gatherer) with the full permission and on behalf of Del Hobbs.

As second pilot when Ken Potts made a crash landing at Withern, Lincs, I had a clear view of what happened. I believe what transpired that day endorsed the old adage ‘Don’t push your luck’.

We were not scheduled to fly that day, so our regular aircraft ‘the Winsome Waaf’ (MZ794) was allocated to another crew. However, we were nearing the end of our tour of ops and wanted to cram in the trips so we could finish. We got ourselves onto the battle order and the spare MZ758. Over the target, visibility was clear with light anti-aircraft fire. I dropped the stick of bombs onto the runway, but then discovered the bomb doors wouldn’t close. The hydraulics had been hit. Neither could we raise them manually. So they hung down causing a considerable drag on the aircraft.

This was aggravated by one of the engines also being hit, so that had to be feathered. Consequently, we started to lose height. Then the boost started to drop off on the other engines — so we lost height faster. Crossing the North Sea we were very low as, by then, we had lost the second port engine. It was only due to the pilot, Ken Pott’s, magnificent skill that the plane stayed aloft. There was little power coming from the remaining two engines. By this time I’d moved into the second pilot’s seat. From this vantage point, I watched a tree appear on the horizon and slowly move to starboard, across at an angle, just missing the tip of the port wing. It was raining so fortunately the ground was soft. The bomb doors, still dangling below in a vertical position, proved to be an efficient brake, digging into the muddy field. On impact the nose of the aircraft broke off and wheat sheaves and muddy earth rushed through the opening. I thought later that we had contributed to the English harvest that year!

By the time of impact we’d managed to feather the remaining engine, so presumably the propellers also helped to retard our forward slide. The collapsible seat I was sitting on had bent, jamming it, thus preventing the normal exit for Ken and I out of the rear hatch. But, with the nose off, we just walked through the front. Our courageous wireless operator, Wilf Patey, re-entered the aircraft via the same route to dismantle the smouldering batteries which, if left, could have caused a fire and possibly an explosion. The bomb doors also acted as a bridge across the drain as we all trudged in sheepskin-lined flying boots through torrential rain and muddy fields to the village for help. Those lovely folk gave us shelter and the local constable rode up to assist us on his bike.

Initially, we did ‘push our luck’ but later our luck held, added to which Ken Potts’ incredible flying enabled six of us to continue living for many years. Often, in later years, I wondered how the rest of the crew must have felt, back in the crash positions, not being able to see what was going on. Not a pleasant experience.

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