大象传媒

I volunteered to join the RAF when I was I8 in 1941and was posted to Canada where I did my pilot training. In 1943 I was sent to Italy for an operational tour on Wellingtons in Bomber Command.

Conditions in Italy were very poor. My crew of 5 were housed in one tent about 15 x 10 feet long with no groundsheets. There were no showers and toilets were empty oil drums. There was only Marsala wine to drink, and the food was very basic rations eg bacon from a tin which was 90% fat, eggs and bread. We managed to rig up some 鈥榖eds鈥� using bomb fin protectors which enabled us to stow our kit bags underneath them. Most of the squadron was made up of Aussies.

My crew were Jimmy Lane - the Navigator; Howell John - the Bomb Aimer; Bert Lambert - Wireless Operator/Air Gunner; and David Clarke - Rear Gunner. There were no co-pilots in those days.

The following 4 examples were the type of operations we were tasked with.

1. On 1st July 1944 six aircraft were despatched to drop mines in the River Danube at 200 feet south of Belgrade at night. The Germans were using the river to despatch supplies by barge to their front line positions, and the blocking of the river could stop or delay their plans. This type of operation could only be successfully carried out during a moon period, when the river could be seen, and pilots could line up for a successful run into the target. This operation was successful. There was no opposition, and all aircraft returned to base safely. On the 30th July the operation was repeated, but this time the Germans were ready for us, having positioned 88 mm guns on either side of the river plus a Hawser (a thick metal cable) across the river. At 200 feet the aircraft had no chance and the first two were shot down. Seeing this I dropped my mines early and, remembering something my instructor told me, I slammed down 15 degrees of flap just before I reached the enemy positions, and at the speed I was running in at, the aircraft went up like a lift, and I got away with it. Some time later at a rest camp I met the pilot of the first aircraft who had been shot down. He had got out of the aircraft, swam to the riverbank, and was eventually picked up by a partisan group who helped him return to his unit in Italy, via Turkey.

2. On April 19th 1944 having attacked a target at Piombino, Northern Italy, I was turning for home when David Clarke, the rear gunner, shouted 鈥淛unkers 88 approaching from starboard high, shall I open fire?鈥� For a split second I thought 鈥渃ould it be one of ours?鈥�, then decided to tell the rear gunner to open fire. He immediately replied that he had hit the enemy, and fire was seen coming from the cockpit area. As he did not see the Junkers 88 hit the sea, we could only count this 鈥榢ill鈥� as a probable. However, it really was a feather in David鈥檚 hat.

3. Oil wells were one of the main targets and at the de-briefing the intelligence officer could not understand how we had, what in effect was, a double exposure of the target which showed two identical lines of oil wells very close together. Further examination showed another aircraft had obtained exactly the same photograph. It was deduced that we must have both been running into the target at exactly the same height, speed and heading probably only a few feet apart, wingtip to wingtip, and had not seen each other, which probably was the explanation - no lights were displayed on the aircraft for obvious reasons. How close can you get, one touch and we would all have had it!

4. About this time the squadron received some 5,000 pound bombs. They were so large that the bomb doors had to be removed and a single bomb was strapped to the aircraft with a cable. I had the doubtful honour of being the first to drop one, the target being the Ploesti Oil Refinery, close to Bucharest in Romania. A large raid was organised in the direction of Bucharest. About 50 miles from that target I was briefed to break off on my own, taking the enemy by surprise and bomb Ploesti with this super bomb. I dropped the bomb from about 8000 feet and was completely taken by surprise when the blast from the bomb blew my aircraft vertically upwards with a crack like thunder. I managed to regain control and return to base not knowing the result of the raid, due to cloud over the target. You see nobody knew the effects of this new weapon in our theatre of operations at that time. It was all trial and error.

After we completed 40 sorties we could go home. The relief that we all felt when the wheels touched the runway safely for the last time was incredible, and as I rolled to stop and turned into the Dispersal Area the whole crew cheered. I remember thanking the ground-crew who had serviced the aeroplanes so conscientiously, they also cheered us. I had seen many an airman cry if 鈥榟is鈥� aircraft did not return.

We packed our kit bags and were transported to the railway station in Naples. On arrival a young Army officer who was the R.T.O. (Rail Travel Officer) issued me with two tins of bully beef and three packets of biscuits, which were just like dog biscuits 鈥� five to a pack. These rations were for the five of us. He explained that our journey would last about three hours, but for security reasons he could not reveal our destination..

When the train arrived I could not believe it 鈥� we were herded into cattle trucks which had not been cleaned of straw and cattle dung. Soldiers form the front line of all nationalities were already aboard. We thought for three hours we could put up with the awful conditions, but little did we know that this journey was to take three days, the destination being Tarranto, which was in fact about three hours by train. What we eventually discovered from the train driver, an Italian, was that the train had the lowest priority and as he arrived at each halt, or small station, the engine was uncoupled and used to shunt trucks from one siding to another, sometimes for hours. The routing took us along the coast for much of the way, where we endeavoured to keep clean, by stripping off, and going for a swim. Food now became a problem because sharing two tins of bully beef and fifteen biscuits between five did not go far. Eventually Jimmy Lane and I went in search of food when we arrived at Salerno Station. This had been the scene of the allied landings and the entire town was in ruins. The population had fled northwards, the place was dead. On our way back to the train an old woman appeared, and sold us one egg for three cigarettes. The problem was how to cook it. I remembered a desert survival film I had seen, and suggested we bury it in the sand. After 15 minutes or so we dug it up, and halved it. It was cooked to perfection (one hard boiled egg), we did not have the heart to tell the others. For the rest of the journey we had to survive on our canteens of water, which we had fortunately filled in Naples. On the second day I started to itch very badly all over my chest and arms. My right arm became very swollen and in general I did not feel at all well.

Eventually we arrived at the port of Tarranto and were taken aboard a naval vessel which I think was a Destroyer. Altogether I suppose there were about 200 of us and it was clear to the Medics that we were all lousy. We had to stay on deck, our clothes were taken away and de-loused, and we lined up around the deck for medical inspection. I was told I had septic scabs and my arm was infected with a horsefly bite. The treatment was simple, when my turn came a matlo (Navy term for a sailor) Medical Orderly said 鈥淪orry made but I鈥檝e got to open up those sores. Shall I do it, or do you want to do it?鈥� I let him do it. I held onto an overhead rail, while he used what I can best describe as a scrubbing brush, to open up the sores, and then with what looked like a bucket of whitewash he brushed the open sores with a large soft brush. Next came my arm which was treated with a poultice of boiling paste which was slapped onto my arm. That was the worst part. How I didn鈥檛 cry out I don鈥檛 know, but in front of all the others you just couldn鈥檛. I have to say the Navy were fantastic. Some of us had a hammock, but most had to sleep on deck. Fortunately it was a warm night. The food was excellent. After a few days at sea I felt better, the itching stopped and my arm healed.

We docked at Alexandria and were transported to a transit camp at Helioperlas, near Cairo. It was here that my commission came through.

I arrived home in need of a long leave to recover from the responsibilities and experiences of the previous year. While on leave I learnt I had been awarded the D.F.M. (Distinguished Flying Medal).

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