大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Marie on behalf of Sqn. Ldr. George Glenn and has been added to the site with his permission. Sqn. Ldr. Glenn fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Christmas Past

Christmas 1941 and the Battle of the Atlantic was at its height. While Britain's very life-line was in severe danger of being cut by Hitler's U Boats, two of Germany's most powerful warships lay in the dockyard at Brest, waiting their chance to sneak out into the Atlantic to wreak havoc amongst our convoys.

The Royal Air Force had been keeping up constant attacks by day and night on the pocket battle cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, trapped in Brest, and it was this blockade from the air which had prevented the two ships from escaping. However, the heavy defences at Brest, supplemented by the anti-aircraft guns of the two warships, made Brest a "hot target" but there was the possibility that unless heavier and more accurate raids were made. the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau would slip out of Brest and escape into the Atlantic.

December 23rd, 1941. 1600 hours, RAF North Luffenham. The tannoy announces "all aircrews of No. 144 Squadron are to report to the main briefing room at 1830 this evening". This meant that something special was on as Ops for the night had already been cancelled due to inclement weather.

In the aircrew rest room. conjectures about the reason for this Special Tannoy call were rife. Was it to be another raid on the Big City. as Berlin was known or a daylight attack somewhere in the Ruhr? Or another massive daylight formation attack on the warships in Brest? Had they escaped and were they heading up Channel? The only people on the station to know were the Commanding Officer and probably the Squadron Commander. The rest of us would find out soon enough.

After tea in the mess. followed by a game of snooker, I walked over to the Operations Block with "Dusty" Miller my navigator and met the rest of my crew, already in the briefing room. No one had a clue what it was all about and we were relieved when the Station Commander entered the briefing room at 1825 accompanied by our Squadron Commander.

As we all stood, silence filled the room, except for the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and the footsteps of the two senior officers as they walked to the front of the room where a huge map of Europe filled the entire end wall. "Sit down everybody." The C.O. motioned to us as he sat in his usual manner on the edge of the briefing room table, throwing his hat onto a vacant chair.

"I'll come straight to the point. Its those two ships again. There are indications that they might try to slip out of Brest and we've got to stop 'em. Tomorrow! We only want three aircraft from your Squadron so I suggest names are drawn out of my hat. Squadron Leader B. has already written your names on pieces of paper, so I'll put them in my hat here and ask him to draw out three. Incidentally, I understand no other squadrons are involved in this operation - so good luck!"

This was a tense moment for all of us. I could feel my heart beat heavily as the CO held up his hat and the Squadron Commander took out the first piece of paper. Not mine this time! A second piece of paper was drawn out and as it was unfolded, I had the feeling my name was on it. This was it! I heard my name read out loud. I was to be one of the lucky ones! Little did I know at that moment the task which we were to be detailed to carry out the next day. After the third name was drawn, the CO told the remainder of the Squadron to return to their respective messes. "And keep your mouths tightly shut" he added. "Not a word to anyone about this; it's absolutely top secret! "

The three air crews were briefed by the CO for the raid. It was to be a low level, daylight attack on the Gneisenau at Brest. We were to take off before dawn from our base in Rutland and fly to Start Point in Devon. There we would rendezvous, formate and fly in loose formation to the target. The met. forecast gave us complete cloud cover all the way across the Channel; height of cloud base about 500 feet. It was vital to have this cloud to hide us from enemy fighters, the greatest danger for our comparatively slow Hampden bombers. At that stage of the war, no fighter cover was provided for the smaller, daylight raids.

An unpleasant moment of the briefing occurred when intelligence informed us that barrage balloons were known to be flying in the target area, but how many they did
not know. Complete radio silence was to be maintained during the entire flight out and back. Our briefing completed, the three navigators got together and worked out their courses, ET A's, etc. before we returned to the mess at 2100 hours for a late supper.

Take off was in the dark the following morning, into heavy rain and with low visibility. At Start Point conditions were better, although visibility was only a mile or so. Rendezvous with the other aircraft was at 0900 but after circling for 20
minutes with no sign of anyone else, I took the decision to head south for Ushant, the final turning point before the target. Little did we know that our radio receiver was out of order. We did not therefore receive the general recall put out by Bomber Command. We were the only aircraft to set out across the Channel that morning to attack the Gneisenau in Brest.

We flew at 600 feet, in cloud, and thanks to skillful navigation by "Dusty" Miller, broke cloud over the top of Ushant, right on schedule. No opposition came from
below as we turned onto an easterly heading for the final run up to Brest and the target. Everything seemed so peaceful down there. I could hardly believe our luck.
My optimism was short lived. As we approached the outskirts of the town the German anti-aircraft guns opened up and a fierce barrage was concentrated on us, the
one and only aircraft that had dared to venture over this heavily defended port.

With less than a mile to reach the target, I suddenly felt the aircraft swerve violently, almost out of control, as full rudder and aileron seemed to have no effect. We had struck a barrage balloon cable with our port wing. Within a few seconds the aircraft was back under control, the cable automatically sliced through, thanks to the device on the leading edge of the wings designed for precisely that purpose.

Thirty seconds later we were over the target and the bomb aimer released the 19001b,armour piercing bomb. The intense anti-aircraft fife was bouncing the Hampden about like a cork and it was almost impossible to maintain control, let alone see if we had hit the target. A tremendous bang near the tail caused the nose of the aircraft to drop. I thought we'd had it. Slowly, the battered kite responded to the control column and the nose lifted. It seemed a very long time indeed before we were once again over open country, clear of enemy guns. At last the infernal noise of bursting shells and the smell of cordite was left behind. It was all over - except for getting home.

The aircraft was extremely sluggish and slow to respond to the controls. It was clear that the tail elevators had been damaged by flak, as fore and aft movement of the control column had little effect. Gradually, we climbed into the base of the cloud and with throttles wide open, put as much distance as possible between ourselves and Brest in the shortest possible: time.

Maintaining a steady height was no easy task. We were in and out of cloud, one moment climbing, the next diving until eventually we turned north and headed for the nearest airfield on the south coast of England. The battered old bomber struggled on towards Cornwall and in less than an hour, the welcome sight of the coast brought sighs of relief all round. A few minutes later we were making a circuit of Predanack airfield, on the Lizard Peninsula. The approach and landing were a hair raising business with the damaged elevator but we made it down, on the right runway, without too much of a bounce. The relief of being on the ground once again was tremendous; everyone was talking at once.

Flight Lieutenant Pichel-Juan, the lower gunner, slapped me on the back and congratulated me on getting the aircraft back safely. Sergeant McDonald, wireless operator and Sergeant Ekin, upper gunner, were grinning with the end of anxiety while "Dusty" Miller just stood there with a large smile on his face.

They sent an aircraft down from North Luffenham that afternoon to take us back to base. On arrival we were told to report to the C.O. who wanted to let us know of his personal pride and to congratulate us on the raid. He told me to stay behind when the others left his office as he wanted to inform me personally that my commission had come through, pre-dated to the 17th December, 1941 and that I was to attend the Christmas Eve party in the Officer's Mess that evening. I seem to remember that it was a very good party!

Footnote:

The C.O. (Station Commander) was Group Captain "Gus" Walker, subsequently Air Chief Marshal Sir Augustus Walker.

Wording of letter dated 3rd January, 1942 from Air Officer Commanding No. 5 GroUpt Air Marshal J. C. Slessor addressed to Pilot Officer G. H. W. Glenn, D.F.C., No. 144 Squadron Royal Air Force Station North Luffenham:

Dear Glenn,
A line to send you my best congratulations on your "immediate" D.F .C. which His Majesty has approved for your very gallant daylight attack on Brest. The way you pushed in at low level in the face of such heavy fire was in keeping with the best
traditions of Bomber Command. Well done.
Yours sincerely t

signed J. C. Slessor

Wording of a Postagram dated 1st January 1942 from Air Marshal A. E. C. Peirse, the Commander-iD-Chief, Bomber Command:

My warmest congratulations on the award of your Distinguished Flying Cross.

Signed:

A. E. C. Peirse Air Marshal

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