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Those known to have served at RAF Marham during the Second World War 1939-1945. - Barber Frederick Edward. P/O. (d.12th Apr 1940)
- Bradbury Robert Thomas.
- Bruce Don. Sgt.
- Bull Peter Edward Tucker. P/O. (d.12th Apr 1940)
- Cox Ronald Harry. Sgt. (d.27th Jan 1943)
- Dodwell Ken James. Sqd.Ldr.
- Eades John Henry. Sgt. (d.22nd Feb 1941)
- Green Frederick George. Flt.Sgt. (d.27th Sep 1942)
- Hughes L. I..
- Juby Geoffrey William James. Sgt. (d.12th Apr 1940)
- Pearce Alan Sydney. Sgt. (d.12th Apr 1940)
- Phillips John Douglas. F/O. (d.12th December 1943)
- Rankin David Alexander. P/O. (d.12th Apr 1940)
- Reynolds Benjamin Frank. F/O. (d.12th December 1943)
- Sutton Austin Borden Rex. WO.
- Westcott Lionel Allen. LAC. (d.12th Apr 1940)
The names on this list have been submitted by relatives, friends, neighbours and others who wish to remember them, if you have any names to add or any recollections or photos of those listed,
please
Add a Name to this List
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Want to know more about RAF Marham? There are:114 items tagged RAF Marham available in our Library
These include information on officers, regimental histories, letters, diary entries, personal accounts and information about actions during the Second World War. |
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L. I. Hughes 38 Sqd My Uncle tells me he joined the RAF at Uxbridge then trained as a fitter's mate at Marham. In Nov 1940 he was put in a Navy ship, possibly Southampton, with a hundred or so other RAF personnel. They entered the Mediterranean. They were all told to go below while the ship engaged with the Italian fleet (at what came to be known as Spartivento), with an Italian ship that had bigger guns, (16"?). They could hear the shells overhead. His chums took a dim view of this it seems. Eventually, he tells me, he spent 4 yrs in Egypt as a mechanic and refuelling on different planes. He has endless stories and I'd like to give him some news of his old outfit.
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Robert Thomas Bradbury 115 Squadron My Dad, Robert Thomas Bradbury, served as an engineer with Bomber Command in 115 Squadron. He did his initial training at Cardington. He is second left on this picture which was taken at Marham in 1940. He transferred to Honeybourne at the end of 1941 and to Honley in 1943. The second picture was taken there and Dad is in the centre of the back row. It is labelled MU Honley 1944/45
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P/O. Frederick Edward Barber 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 he took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. The aircraft was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. All in the aircraft were killed.
Wditor's Note:- In April 1940 115 Squadron were operating out of RAF Marham, Norfolk. The full crew of the aircraft, a Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J, were: -
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004 (RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
They are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard.
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P/O. David Alexander Rankin 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 115 Squadron were operating out of RAF Marham, Norfolk. David Rankin took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. The aircraft was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. The full crew of the aircraft, a Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J, were killed, they are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard:
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004(RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
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Sgt. Alan Sydney Pearce 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 Alan Pearce took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J from RAF Marham, Norfolk was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. All in the aircraft were killed.
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004 (RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
They are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard.
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Sgt. Geoffrey William James Juby 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 Geoffrey Juby took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. Operating out of RAF Marham, Norfolk, Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. All in the aircraft were killed. They are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard.
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004(RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
Sgt Juby was the husband of Hilda Gladys Juby and the son of William Mark and Maud Juby.
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LAC. Lionel Allen Westcott 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 Lionel Westcott took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J operating out of RAF Marham, Norfolk was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. All in the aircraft were killed.
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004(RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
They are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard.
Lionel was the son of Leonard Edgar and Elsie Westcott of Pershore, Worcestershire.
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P/O. Peter Edward Tucker Bull 115 Squadron (d.12th Apr 1940) On 12th April 1940 Peter Bull took part in a raid on Stavanger, Norway. Operating out of RAF Marham, Norfolk, Vickers Wellington Mk1C, P9284, KO-J was the lead aircraft of 2nd section. It was shot down over Stavanger and crashed on top of a bakery. All in the aircraft were killed. They are all buried in the Stavanger (Eiganes) Churchyard.
- Pilot Officer 36223 Frederick Edward Barber, 26 years
- Pilot Officer 36180 David Alexander Rankin, (New Zealand) 25 years
- Sgt 580805 Alan Sydney Pearce, 20 years
- Sgt 514904 Geoffrey William James Juby, 28 years
- Leading Aircraftman 545537 Lionel Allen Westcott, 21 years
- Pilot Officer 76004 (RAFVR) Peter Edward Tucker Bull, 26 years.
Peter was the son of Walter William and Edith Bull of Potters Bar, Middlesex.
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Flt.Sgt. Frederick George Green 138 Squadron (d.27th Sep 1942) Fred Green joined the R.A.F in August 1938. After training as a Wireless Operator he joined 38 Squadron at RAF Marham, he completed two operational tours before being posted to No 11 O.T.U at RAF Bassingbourne.
On the 21st April 1942 he started his third tour with No 138 (Special Duty) Squadron based at RAF Tempsford.
On the 27th September 1942 while carrying out an S.O.E mission (code named Incomparable 1) to Belgium his aircraft which had been damaged by FLAK, crashed in a field in Northern France, sadly Fred and two other crew members, David Harrison Freeland the pilot, and Edmond George Hayhoe C/O pilot were killed in the crash.
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Sgt. John Henry Eades 115th Sqd. (d.22nd Feb 1941) Jack Eades was my mother's friend and she had a photograph of him in his flying gear, standing beside a Wellington bomber. In her jewellery box she kept an RAF sweetheart brooch. All mum ever told us was that he was killed in the war.
I have done some research and found the following information:
John (Jack) Henry Eades son of Henry and Amy Eades of Salisbury
died aged 20 on 22 February 1941 when he was part of the crew of a Wellington Bomber who went on a raid to Brest at 02.51 on that day. On returning to Marham they were diverted to East Winch in Norfolk at 08.30 and the plane crashed into a tree and burst into flames. All six crew were killed.
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Sgt. Ronald Harry Cox 105 Squadon (d.27th Jan 1943) Sergeant (Observer) Ronald Cox is buried in a joint grave in the Tveje-Merlose Churchyard in Denmark.
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Sqd.Ldr. Ken James Dodwell 115 Squadron Ken Dodwell was a Sergeant Navigator on Q Queenie Wellington X3662. Later Sqdr Ldr. Completed 30 operations with Pilot Brian Slade on Wellingtons 1941/2. He carried out a further 8 Operations on various aircraft including Lancasters.
The Navigator
The following memoirs resulted from a request from one of my Grandsons,
who asked me some 20 questions about my wartime service with Bomber
Command in the Royal Air Force. He told me that he needed help with a school
project which he was asked to carry out on the events of the Second World War.
As I pondered these questions, I thought that I could best help him by telling him
my story, or a part of it, as there was much more, of course.
As I write this, I shudder at the absolute reality and truth of the words which
fall upon the page. I do not know how we stood up to it. It was another world. A
far cry from the comparative easy life of today.
In all my six years in the R.A.F, I knew of only three young men who asked to see
the commanding officer to declare that they could not carry on flying. These men
were seldom treated well. They would be stripped of their rank and declared to
‘lack moral fibre,’ a dreaded three letters in the R.A.F.
I was sworn into the R.A.F in May 1940. Then, I was sent home to await a
vacancy on a training course. The training programme of the R.A.F. had expanded
somewhat since the outbreak of War in September 1939, but still had a long way
to go.
After an apprehensive wait, I was finally called back in October 1940 to attend
Initial Training Wing, or I.T.W. This was a six week course of general R.A.F
training.
After I.T.W I was posted to 3IANS, an air navigation school at Port Albert, near
Goderich, Ontario, Canada on the shore of Lake Huron. This trans-atlantic posting
was to avoid interruption from German bombing in the United Kingdom.
I must mention an impression that has always been with me. An impression
which has remained with me since that day in early January 1941, when we left
the port of Grenock on the western Scottish coast, near Glasgow. We proceeded
down the Clyde, on our vessel the Duchess of York, passing Dunoon and Rothsay
on your starboard side and then around the island of Arran and the Kintyre
peninsula. What struck me, was that it was a clear, sunny winter’s afternoon with
the sun shining on the heather that covered the mountainous Scottish landscape
as we passed.
The colours were amazing. Especially to a youngish twenty year old, whose world
traveling amounted to a few journeys south of The Wash, Kings Lynn and once to
Calais, France from Folkestone for the day. That was how it was in those days, and
there was certainly no money for foreign holidays or Gap Years!
Yes, what colours they were. Peach, and coral mixed with blue and yellow. I
imagined how very sad it would have been for earlier Scots emigrating to the new
world in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. How sad it would have
been to see this last glimpse of their beautiful homeland.
From Kintyre our ship took us to a position north of the Northern Irish coast and
then from there, into the silence of the Atlantic. We hoped that it would remain
silent, though we knew it could easily be broken by the ‘big bang’ of an enemy
torpedo, fired from an enemy U-Boat.
We did not need any reminding, my navigation course and I, who were sleeping on
hammocks slung below the water line.
I experienced my first adventure whilst crossing the Atlantic in the first week of
January 1941. There were gale force winds as our convoy made the crossing, with
one battleship in particular, the Repulse, some 400 yards ahead of us. The sea
was such, that we could see the Repulse from bow to stern at the same time, as
she rode the waves. In fact, we even had to heave to, or stop, not for the convoy
in general, but for the heavy Repulse as it battled the waves.
After about 500 miles, the Repulse and many of the destroyers left us. It was soon
after, that aboard our ship message spread of an apparent armory raid on the
Repulse by German prisoners of war who were onboard. One of them I remember
having been a U-Boat captain, and together they had decided to raid the armory
and attempt to take over the ship. Afterwards, they intended to signal for atlantic
U-Boats to come and rescue them. Fortunately for us, and many others in the
convoy, the ship’s crew were given some sort of warning and so were able to
negate the operation.
After an arduous journey, we landed at Halifax, Nova Scotia and boarded a train
for a four day journey to Toronto. It was on that train, that an enterprising
German officer and prisoner of war took advantage of the fading evening light,
and escaped at a small halt near the shore of the St. Lawrence River. He achieved
this with the help of two friends, who held up a blanket, pretending to shake and
fold it. The covered German officer was thus able to open a window and throw
himself out onto a snow drift. He was soon walking over the frozen river and
escaping into the United States of America, who were not yet involved in the War
and were thus neutral. There, he was able to contact a German Consulate, who
passed him down from America into Mexico where he caught a neutral ship back
to Germany.
Despite his escape, this story had a sad ending for the prisoner of war. Hitler was
so pleased to hear of his escape, that he sent him on a year’s tour, lecturing on
“how it was possible to escape.†The sad part being the year, he was sent to the
Russian front where he lost his life.
Ironically, his life as a prisoner of war in Canada would have been a soft touch.
There he would have experience wonderful food against a rationed Europe.
Maybe he was just a good nazi, or perhaps, there was a beautiful woman waiting
for him in Germany!
In those days, on twin engined heavy bombers, the navigator was also the
Bomb Aimer, so I was to take both courses. I was also taught to use a machine
gun from an open cockpit in a Fairy Battle aircraft, which greatly resembles a
large Hurricane aircraft, but with two seats and a sliding roof.
Initially, our course of trainee navigators comprised of twenty members, who were
not far from school-age. I had not been training for more than seven weeks when
the first serious accident occurred. In March 1941, Two Anson aircraft, each
carrying two of our trainee navigators, collided in mid-air. They were carrying out
a training exercise at the time, reporting what they could see in the docks of Lake
Huron.
It was during the course of this exercise, that it was thought that the pilots had
been blinded by the sun, with disastrous consequences. Four of our trainee
navigators were killed, and so our courses of twenty were now down to sixteen. It
was then, that the sixteen of us who remained, realised how dangerous flying was
in those days. The pressure to get as many people trained, as quickly as possible,
came with a tragic human cost.
Subsequently, there were many accidents at 31 Air Navigation School. For
example, during the following month, two of the surviving navigators were flying
through cloud in bad weather conditions, when they hit trees on a hillside. As a
result, both were seriously injured, but survived. Our class continued with only
fourteen of the original figure. A foreboding reminder to all of the survivors of
what was still to come...
Another incident stands out in my mind, when an aircraft landed on the ice of the
lake at night. It was thought at the time, that the crew attempted to walk to the
shore, but were tragically lost and never found.
We subsequently learnt, about six weeks later, that an airman from the Navigation
School had been walking along the shore of Lake Huron, when he noticed a large
ice flow near to the river mouth. Four men were encased in it.
He ran for help and a rope to secure the flow, but by the time he returned to the
site it had flowed past, drifting out to the middle of the lake. The men were never
found.
Interestingly, there was another occasion which could explain the loss of life
on Lake Huron during our training. The shear size of the lake meant that standing
on the shore was similar to being at a seaside. The nature of the nighttime
navigation exercise where the trainees were lost meant that it’s fate remained a
mystery. All that was found of the wreckage was a seat cushion.
A story which connected to this mystery was that reported by other pilots, who
had reported an occurrence when night-flying in this area of a detailed mirage of
the Port Albert airfield which they had mistaken for the true airfield.
A cottager living in the same area on the shore of Lake Huron reported he had
heard an Anson aircraft circling, and then heard the engines of the plane rev
down, as if the pilot were approaching to land. The result being that the pilot
thought he was lining up for the runway when in fact, he was headed straight for
the centre of the lake. The question of whether he had seen the mysterious
mirage remains a mystery.
My best friend during my training period in Canada was Arthur Sims, who
came from Bristol. He was 25 years old at the time, and I myself was a rather
young and naive 20 year old. I remember how he always said at the time that he
had to look after me. Arthur was a very academic chap and always top of the
class. He had the bottom bunk in our mess and myself the top. When I was posted
into O.T.U in Lossiemouth he was posted to Blenheim in Cambridgeshire. He was
killed soon after. It was the old story, he had hit a hill whilst coming down
through low cloud and mist on November 2nd 1941. I had just arrived at 115
Squadron and still have a letter from him written the day before November 1st. On
reflection, it was all incredibly sad.
Of the 20 men who made up my navigator course in Canada, having checked as
best I can, only three of us survived the war, including myself. Who said suicide
bombing is a 21st century expression?
After the Canadian training, we returned to England by sea. I clearly remember my
twenty-first birthday on 25th July 1941. We were just off Newfoundland with
icebergs in sight. I remember vividly coming up on deck and saying to myself
“happy birthday Ken, you are twenty-one years old today!†I was looking forward
to the luxury of two weeks leave, which was a wonderful thought, considering that
we had been given no time off during our training. The simple truth was that
navigators were in such short supply, and therefore urgently needed, that leave
from training was simply out of the question. After our leave, I was sent to the
Operational Training Unit in Lossiemouth, Scotland.
It was at O.T.U that we were crewed up. Pilots and navigators, wireless operators
and gunners. We were put into a room en masse and by chance crewed up by our
own choice. A very good selection process when you think about it, as we were
the men who would entrust each other with our lives.
The technique was to examine an individual and say, “he looks alright,†and “what
about joining us?†This was a process that was initiated by the Pilot and Navigator,
who had already decided to join each other. It must be remembered that at the
time, no one was conscripted into Air Crew, since everyone were volunteers.
I recollect that my pilot, Brian Slade, had put a year on his age to get into the
R.A.F and was therefore only seventeen years of age when accepted for pilot
training. He said when he joined the service that he was in fact eighteen years of
age, which at the time was the earliest age for entry. In fact, he was so young that
he didn’t even have a driving license yet. He’d been to grammar school and then
straight into the R.A.F, a fairly typical occurrence at the time.
I recall that the authorities tended not to ask too many questions if they thought
you were the right type and keen to fly.
Luckily, it turned out that Brian and I were a good combination, he with his flying
skills, and me with my newly acquired navigational skills. It must be remembered
that being a navigator at the time was extremely hazardous, since it meant
navigation in the pitch black of night, as all the lights were extinguished across
Europe. Furthermore, the situations was exacerbated in the early years of war due
to the fact that navigational aids were relatively primitive, or even non-existent.
Thus, hundreds of aircraft were lost through navigational errors in the early days
of the war. For example, errors often resulted from inaccurate meteorological
information being given, since the subject of meteorology was not an exact
science at the time. The subject still isn’t, may I add, in 2009, though certainly
much improved.
To illustrate the above point of how hazardous navigation was in the early years
of war, due to wrong weather forecasts, if a navigator was given westerly winds of
say 50 mph at 20, 000 ft, when in fact they were coming from the east, you would
be pointing the aircraft in the wrong direction. You could therefore be 100 miles
off your intended path of flight every hour. Aircraft were lost in the North Sea this
way, off the coast of Scotland, instead of returning to Norfolk where they were
based.
It was therefore the navigator’s task to determine this sort of error before it could
occur. This was difficult in the earlier days. The navigator could only determine
the error visually, by noticing for instance, where he was crossing the Dutch coast
in the black out. Another problem arising when needing to keep the radio silent,
otherwise we could give away our position to the enemy.
To omit the possibility of error, the navigator might note that the existing winds
had blown him 20 miles north. If so, he could then calculate by the solution of
triangles the true wind that had blown him there. If he missed his point, that is,
failed to map read accurately, then the resultant error would escalate and make
the situation even worse. When you are airborne, it was somewhat difficult to stop
and ask for directions, particularly when you have run out of petrol.
Fortunately for us, our 115 Squadron was the first to be fitted with the new
navigation aid, code name Gee. In the early days, ground position indicators
were not determined by the use of satellites, but were determined by timing high
frequency radio waves from that station to the aircraft. This was done
automatically, giving a very accurate fix near the stations, such as those at
Norfolk which deviated by a quarter or half mile or so over the Ruhr in Germany.
This was not comparable with Ground Positioning Indicators of today, but a
tremendous improvement to the accuracy of finding targets and the correct path
home. As a result, Gee must have saved the lives of many hundreds of aircrews.
As aforementioned, my early squadron was 115 at Marham, Norfolk which flew
Wellington Bombers. We were fortunate enough to get early delivery of the MK3
with new and more powerful engines. The MK1C engines were 1250 horsepower
each. The MK3 delivered 1800 horsepower each. This development was met with
relief from aircrew, whom having flown aircraft with the old MKC1 engines were
delighted at the prospect of being able to carry a full 4000lb bomb load and tank
of fuel (and at the same time being able to take off clear of the hedge at the end
of the runway with ease!)
I was operating with 115 Squadron from November 1941 to July 1942. I flew 30
operations with Brian Slade and a total of 38 by the end of the war.
What is not general known, was the fact that there was a lull in operation in
November and December 1941. Very few and selected targets were undertaken.
The reason for the lull were doubts by the hierarchy as to whether our bombing
strategy was a waste of resources. We were taking heavy losses for very little gain.
This was mainly due to the lack of navigational aids.
At 115 Squadron, following some six operations on Wellingtons with MK1C
engines, we attacked targets with the use of Gee, including Essen, Dusseldorf
and the docks at Emden, Bremen and Wilhelshaven. We operated against the
Krupps Arms factories many times.
In the May of 1942, as we are the first squadron with Gee we acted as the
original pathfinders; marking the very successful raid against Cologne. This was
the first bomb raid ever consisting of around 1000 aircraft.
Previously to that, on 12th February we had operated a daylight mission against
the German Battle Cruisers Schanhoist, Gresenau and Prince Eugene.We were the
only crew in the squadron to find them as the flying conditions were terrible.
We broke cloud over the Flak ship. The crew could hear us descending and began
firing at us. As soon as we broke cloud one of our engines was hit. Our bombs
missed by 25 yards. Had the cloud been absent, we could have dropped our Semi
Armour Piercing bombs from 6000 ft. The operation thus turned into a farce.
We made many more attacks on Essen. We also participated in three operations
dropping mines by parachute off the north German coast.
There were many missions that scared me in particular, mostly those to the Rhur
Industrial area. This was one of the most heavily defended areas in Germany,
known as the Rhur Valley. We nicknamed it happy valley. On five operations, one
after the other we returned with damage to the fuselage, mostly holes from
shrapnel with some holes very near to where I was sitting. One piece of shrapnel
embedded itself millimetres from where I was sitting. Had it continued a bit
further it would have pierced by backside and my body would have taken the full
force.
The worst operation over Essen was when we were ‘coned’ by all the searchlights.
It was when the master searchlight got you that you knew you were in trouble. All
the other searchlights would point at you, and then every gun in the area would
take aim. The good side to it was that most of the other bombers nearby would
get a free run and thank you later, if you made it back to base. The reality was
that most people who were coned were shot down. On this particular occasion,
Brian Slade took retaliatory action by throwing the aircraft all over the sky. We did
a severe corkscrew to deceived their radar, and continually changed height and
direction so that the shells burst where you were a moment before.
I would hear the shells, from my position on the aircraft, bursting above the noise
of the engines. During close-calls I could even smell the cordite from the
explosions all around me.
On reflection, one wonders who an aircraft could possible manage to escape such
a barrage when there were probably fifteen guns firing at us.
On another occasion, all but one of us were shot down on our return from Bremen
as we crossed the Dutch coast. Just as we were feeling that we were nearly home,
a German fighter shot out of the blue and we were attacked. It was a Junkers 88
with four cannons built into its nose. Soon, we had a small fire near the wireless
operator, who managed to put it out. The first burst of canon fire damaged our
hydraulic system. This put our rear turret out of action, thus rendering our four
rear machine guns useless. Furthermore, the undercarriage had dropped half way
down and the aircraft control surfaces were damaged.
The wireless operator sent out an SOS giving our position, as we could have fallen
into the North Sea at any time. I took up a position in the Astro Dome where I
could see what was going on. There, I spotted the JU88, which was about to make
another attack. He had to get his nose onto us and attack us on the beam since all
his guns were in the nose. My strategy was to decide when he was going to open
fire and then tell the pilot to turn into him. I would shout “turn now†at the critical
moment and the JU88 would flash past us, but could not get his sights on us. In
total, he made some four attacks and each time we turned into him just as I
thought he would open fire.
Luckily for us, Brian Slade saw some low cloud, then flew into it. We were able to
lose the JU88, but were now precariously only 100 ft above the sea and unable to
climb any higher. As the navigator, I was concerned about the cliffs on the East
Anglian coast, but fortunately we were heading straight for Norwich on a clear
path. We crossed the English coast where it was still dark, and where all our own
search lights would point their light in one direction, thus leading us into the
airfield. We managed to belly land without wheels at R.A.F Horsham near Norwich.
We landed at approximately 110 mph, but soon came to a stop with all the crew
braced for disaster.
When we had acknowledged our survival, we were taken to the Mess, given a
double brandy and discussed how incredibly lucky we were to have made it. Luck,
however may have only been a small part in it, for it was our experience and
training which was really tested and made all the difference in our success.
During the 30 operations that I took part in with 115 Squadron, we lost 29 crews.
In other words, the squadron was completely wiped out, twice. After eight months
we achieved the chilling and dubious distinction of being the first crew to finish a
tour of operations. Upon reflection, I realise how lucky we were. Though, as in
anything else, experienced counted to a great degree. We knew crews who were
lost on their first, second and third operations on many occasions.
After the tour of operation, I became a Navigation Instructor for 7 months, and
then was asked to take up a staff position at Three Group Headquarters with
responsibility for some 16 squadrons. As a result, my promotion was quick,
probably on the basis that they had decided I was executive manager material. I
was young, and could get things done. I was never afraid to take on more
responsibility. Sure enough, I was rapidly promoted to Squadron leader,
equivalent to a major in the Army, or lieutenant commander in the Navy. Hence, I
progressed from Sergeant to Squadron Leader in some eighteen months. In
peacetime, such promotion would take twelve to fourteen years, but of course it
was a bigger air-force then and we had to compensate for the terrible loss of life.
Later, I flew another 8 operations on Wellingtons and Lancasters. I was then a
Station Navigation Officer, though I was not part of a crew. I flew only when a
navigator was sick or when I wished to see what the new tactics were when
working on new target marking.
As Station Navigation Officer, Three Group HQ would give our time over target. I
would calculate the time it was going to take to target and then lay on the
operation for the squadron on the station. Working back from the target; Briefing
times, meal times, take off times etc. And of course, I would brief the navigators
on the route and defended areas to be avoided. Following an operation I would want to check the standard of navigation and that targets
were in fact reached, all by back-plotting and studying navigator’s logs and
plotting charts.
There were other close shaves before the end of the war. For instance, when flying
on a daylight raid in a Lancaster formation, the aircraft next to us received a
direct hit from Flak (88mm). I remember the aircraft was carrying something like
1500 galleons of high octane fuel and only 20 yards or so from us. As you can
imagine, the whole plane was on fire from front turret to rear turret in about 10
seconds. In fact, our wind tip flew through the burning petrol which had spilled
through the air.
We watched the burning Lancaster in horror as it went down, spinning out of
control and flying in circles. We were shouting “jump! Jump!†to the crew, but we
didn’t see a single one get out.
The fire would have killed them all before they had a chance to escape. If they
German flak shell had burst 20 yards to one side, it would have been us spiraling
uncontrollable to the ground. Such a sight was a reminder of how advanced the
German’s anti aircraft and naval gunnery was. To some, the best in the world.
Throughout my service with the R.A.F I flew with many different types of aircraft. I
was trained on Ansons and carried out my bombing and gunnery course on Fairy
Battles, which was like a large Hurricane with two seats. Then, I progressed onto
Wellingtons at Operational Training Unit. These aircraft, though relatively modern,
were worn out 1C’s and the new Wellingtons at 115 Squadron were met with great
relief. The Wellington III’s were new and more powerful.
As an instructor I flew in Stirlings, a strong aircraft which had been built by the
Short Company, who also built the Sunderland Flying Boat. The design however
did not work. The story being that the Stirling would not fit into the R.A.F
standard hanger, so they had had to cut off six feet of each wing, which ruined
the design. With bomb load and maximum fuel, the aircraft was failing to get
above 15,000 feet.
Then, of course, I flew in Lancasters, without doubt the best bombing aircraft in
the world. It could carry 12,000 lb of bombs.
I think every pilot and navigator would like to fly in Mosquito aircraft. It was a
small bomber, but also used as a fighter too. It could carry 4,000 lbs of bombs,
which was the same as the American B17. It was a beautiful aircraft and literally
built around two Rolls Royce Merlin engines.
When it was tested, the test pilot reported to the designers that it was faster than
the Spitfire. Consequently, weight was saved by the removal of any defensive
armament. This aircraft carried two crew members sitting side by side.
Well, in the middle of 1944, a pilot I knew earlier on 115 Squadron called on me
at Stradishall, where I was based Navigation Officer. He said what about you
joining me on Mosquitoes, flying for the Pathfinder Force.
If you joined this force, you would be permitted to keep your rank. My response
was, “Sure, when do we start?â€
I did not mention such a move to my Base Commanding Officer, Air Commander
Sylvester. Also, I first had to take a decompression test. This was a test in a
decompression chamber, as Mosquitoes sometimes flew above 30,000 ft and
atmospheric pressure is half of sea level at 18, 000 ft. In the chamber, I was taken
up to 40, 000 ft so that I could get an idea of what atmospheric pressure existed
at this height. I was on oxygen of course, but the pressure was literally pumped
out of the chamber. There was more pressure inside your body than outside. Most
aircraft today automatically even out the pressure to a reading of 6,000 ft, which
is more comfortable for passengers.
In short, after being in the chamber for about an hour and still at 40, 000 ft I
began to suffer with the bends and felt incredibly ill.
I spoke to the medical officer on the intercom, who looked at me through the
porthole. He saw me pale, beginning to sweat and slump in my seat. I told him
that I must lie down.
He took immediate action. He could not open the door to let me out as the
change of pressure would have killed me. So, he brought me down at the
maximum permitted amount at a rate of 8,000 ft per minute. So it took five whole
minutes to get me down to sea level pressure again.
As soon as I was out of the chamber, he laid me down and used his stethoscope.
Later he told me that my heart had all but stopped. Deadly nitrogen had entered
my blood stream, giving me the notorious bends.
As quick as a flash I was in an ambulance heading for Ely hospital where they kept
me on my back for seven days. In short, I had experienced an enforced heart
failure. The doctor was anxious because there had been an Air Ministry Order
issued a week before, telling of the death of an aircrew member in the
decompression chamber. Future precautions were advised.
You know, grandson, I believe that there are no coincidences. It was all meant to
be. If it was not intended that I should fly with that pilot on Mosquitoes, the later
medical board limited to me to flying below 40,000 ft. So you see, another
dangerous adventure successful traversed. Makes you think.
As you know, most of these aircraft carried the crew and myself on our bomb
raids. Some raids turned out to be more efficient than others, often this was
dictated by the weather. We flew in weather that would result in a cancellation in
peace time, so if enemy gunfire did not get us, there was a chance the weather
would instead.
As a navigator and bomb aimer, perhaps the raid I feel most proud of was one
against a target in Mannheim. It was a relatively long flight in those days.
Having navigated to within some 25 miles of the target, I took up my position
behind the bomb sight for the run in.
On the run in, our two gunners started shouting: “you’re wrong Ken, the target is
5 miles to starboard; the whole area is on fire!†To which I yelled back; "they’re
wrong!â€
By then I could see the outskirts of Mannheim coming into my bomb sight. I could
then see the river Rhine by the light of the moon, winding its way through the
suburbs. Strangely, I noticed that all of the searchlights were in the doused
position, or not shining upwards. They were making a dim circle around the
outskirts of this large city. And above all, there was no attacking gunfire. They
were giving us a free run not to expose their position. The enemy did not want to
disturb the mass of Bomber Command bombing their fire decoy in a forest
some 5 to 6 miles outside Mannheim!
The target came up, and still not a shot fired. As we were able to fly straight and
level, we took a perfect photograph.
When printed, this showed our bombs straddling the target area, which became
the only photography in the Squadron.
The next day came a new target briefing, and the Squadron Commander snarled,
“What happened to you lot over Mannheim last night? Fancy bombing a forest!†He
then told the rest of the squadron that there was only one photo from the whole
of 115 Squadron and out of some 400 aircraft of Bomber Command there were
only 9 photos of the target.
He then turned to Brian Slade and said, “Well done Slade!†Not a word to me.
There was a voice at the back of the briefing room, in a complaining tone that
said, “what about the Navigator?†I hope the Squadron Commander heard it. I
believe it was an Australian Rear Gunner.
Despite this, the Commander still said nothing to me. You see, it was still a Pilot’s
airforce, dating back to WWI and to between the wars. From this, you can
understand why the Navigators were accused of having a ‘union!’
Any Pilot would tell you, that when we were some 30 miles from a target, they saw
nothing below. Only the houses on fire some 40 miles ahead. That shows you how
high we were flying.
By the way, Sergeant Pilots and Sergeant Navigators were paid at the same rate.
The Wireless Operators and the Gunners were paid at a lower rate.
Over Mannheim, I reckon that I learn a life’s lesson. There were other times when
the Gunners reported actions by other aircraft which did not fall in with my own
calculations. The lesson was that if you play it safe, have things double checked,
stick to your result and don’t follow anybody else, you should be alright.
Having told of my many experiences in the R.A.F and some of them quite
frightening, I realise that I have failed to mention the most traumatic day of my
life.
It was the spring of 1942, when the U-Boats were winning the war of the atlantic.
We could see by the rate of merchant fleet sinking, that we would soon be short
of war materials, namely food. We were therefore in a desperate situation.
Remember that the U-Boat campaign had nearly starved us out and won the war
for the Germans in WWI.
In this situation, the Squadron Commander called Brian Slade and myself to his
office at about 10.30 am. He said that only nice aircraft in the whole of Bomber
Command had been chosen to carry out this particular mission, with only one
aircraft being chosen from 115 Squadron.
He said that he had personally chosen us, as though it was some sort of honour,
and informed us that it was a ‘Gong or Box Trip.’ In the R.A.F, this was slang for a
grim sentiment that you would either return and win a high decoration for
courage, or return in a coffin.
He then continued to tell us that we would be attacking the U-Boat pens in
Hamburg. Remember, these pens were the highly protected servicing depots for
U-Boats at the time.
We were told that we would be briefed to fly at 1500 ft, just north of the Frisian
Islands in northern Germany. As we approached the estuary of the River Elbe, we
were to follow the river into Hamburg at only 500 ft. Remember, the operation
would be in the pitch black of night, and of course, we were not reminded of the
Barrage Balloons which were released from barges on the river. To put the task in
perspective, this would be like flying at 500 ft at night up the River Thames to
bomb London’s Docklands. We had to fly low, as there was 30 ft of concrete to
break through on top of the pens. We would literally have to toss the bombs into
the entrance in order to be successful.
I can remember the Squadron Commander asking us, “Well? What do you think?†I
was the first to speak, and in true R.A.F tradition, I replied, “Well, we’ll have a go
sir.†Meanwhile, trying not to let on that we were scared stiff.
Anyway, we went to the general briefing, which was of course, top secret. We
would there discover that the main contingent of aircraft would be bombing at
15,000 ft above us. A somewhat bleak prospect for those aircraft trying to
complete the mission without being blown out of the sky by their own comrades.
The squadron crews were subsequently informed of the little party below them at
only 500 ft, and they responded by blowing through their teeth. As I mentioned, it
was top secret, and you could not imagine anyone talking. The silence spoke
volumes.
However, after the meeting, someone approached my girlfriend Jean, then a
member of W.A.A.F, and told her, “I wouldn’t like to be in your boyfriend’s shoes
tonight.†Thought not giving much detail away, even this was a risky comment to
make at a time when enemy spies were suspected of being in the vicinity.
A little later in the day, I spoke to Jean’s Flight Sergeant, and told him that I would
like to see Jean who would be working at the time. He seemed to understand my
reasoning, suspecting that something big was in the midst.
He allowed us to use his office. Jean came through the door and saw me standing
there. I told her that I had a very difficult operation that night, which we both
knew secretly knew meant that chances of my return were slim.
As you can imagine, it was a very sentimental moment between me and my future
wife. It was incredibly traumatic and surreal, the sort of scene you would expect
to find in a film or a novel.
After I bid Jean farewell, the day proceeded as normal. After the second briefing I
had an hour with my charts plotting our courses for the night.
Then, we went out to the aircraft, started the engines and taxied to the runway.
We were ready to go.
As we waited to receive the green light from the control tower for takeoff, we
suddenly received a red light instead. This informed us, that for some reason, the
operation had been cancelled.
Later on, we learned that there had been gossip in the local village of Marham.
Some of the details of the operation had been leaked. Therefore, there was a fear
that there might have been a German spy around, which meant that he could have
prepared the enemy to defend our attack in advance.
And so, we breathed again. I said it was the most traumatic day of my life,
because one of the worst parts of an operation was the time spent after the first
briefing, when you knew the target.
The day was then full of apprehension awaiting dusk and departure. In this
operation, the odds of surviving were small. To this day, I am thankful for that red
light.
As we did night operations, it was not so much how early we got up in the
morning to start the day, but a question of not getting much sleep. Many times
the first briefing for the night operation was say, 1 pm, the second roughly 3 pm,
then then the navigator would go to the navigation plotting room to mark the
route on his mercator chart (a plain chart on which we could more easily plot the
courses and work out the courses to steer.)
The motive for this was to try and fool the Germans as to which target we were
intending to bomb.
After the Navigator had completed his pre-flight planning there was a quick meal
and then out to the aircraft. Hence, the navigator was always busy while other
crew members were just kicking their heels waiting to go. Brian, the pilot, could
come into the plotting room and look over my shoulder to get the picture of the
route and where I had marked the flak or defended areas. The pilot and navigator
were always close and in constant touch with each other in the air via intercom. In
my case, Brian and I shared the same bedroom and so were pretty close friends.
The procedure was that we would take off for the target about one hour before
sunset, then down to Southwold in daylight, and then across the North Sea to the
Dutch Coast, hoping that by then it had become dark. We would have been
climbing since takeoff, and therefore may be at 10, 000 ft when we went over the
Dutch coast. Our very young Australian Rear Gunner would tell me when we had
cleared the Dutch coast. His name was Sam Lowry, and he was only 18 years old
when he came all the way from Australia to defend the mother land.
The pilot, my friend Brian Slade and the rear gunner Sam Lowry were both killed
about a year later. They were flying in different squadrons at the time, but were
killed within ten days of each other. Brian lost his life over Berlin and Sam lost his
whilst struggling to get back home on a damaged aircraft which crossed our
coast, but crashed about a mile from Exeter Airport whilst trying to land.
Our second pilot, Jack Reynolds was killed whilst we were still with 115 Squadron.
He was flying locally from Marham with two other second pilots, therefore still not
with their own crews. Sadly, they were lost in misty conditions and tried to come
down in cloud. They hit a 200 ft radio mast, resulting in their tragic deaths.
I carried Jack with the other members of the crew to his grave in Marham
Cemetery. You can see, therefore, that it was all a very dangerous business in
which we were in.
We often returned from an operation at 6 am following debriefing. Some had
breakfast, but I was often too tired and went straight to bed.
We would often be shaken by a batman at midday, only to be told that we are on
operations again that night. We rarely managed to get more than 5 hours sleep,
with the prospect of working throughout the night again. It was fortunate, then,
that we were young and determined!
The point which is not often appreciated was the fact that Bomber Command was
standing by every day of the war. If the weather was good enough, we would
attack the enemy. No other force did that.
Bomber Command, in total, lost some 55,000 aircrew. At an operation on
Nuremburg, on which I luckily was not flying, we lost some 650 men in one night.
You can contrast this with the fact that during the Battle of Britain, 500 pilots
were killed over the whole period of the battle, comprising the summer months of
1940.
Looking back, it was all such a great waste of life, and all very sad. None of my
close friends made it during the war. A few near friends perhaps, but not many. It
becomes even more sad as one gets older and can look at things with a more
mature and experienced perspective. History, certainly tends to repeat itself.
We can once again see politicians as they really are, not acting at the right time
until the problem is staring them in the face.
In retrospect, we can see that we did not prepare ourselves properly against Hitler
and the Nazis, who were obviously preparing for aggression long before the
outbreak of war.
There is only one thing to do if a nation has built up a huge army and airforce, as
the Germans had, and that was to use it.
Having retraced my own journey through the war, I must now mention my
W.A.A.F girlfriend, later my wife, who joined the squadron at Manham before I arrived.
On one occasion, the station air raid siren sounded and Jean hastened to the door
of her billet, when a bomb exploded near enough to knock her to the ground. She
got up, shook off the dirt and made for the air raid shelter.
It was soon after that the Marshal of the German Air Force changed his tactics and
started bombing London again. This was one of the German blunders of the war.
We were having difficulty repairing runways and had he decided to target the
airfields instead, we would not have been able to get our aircraft into the air.
He bombed London again because we bombed Berlin. He was thinking with his
emotions, and not his head.
In my opinion, the other great blunder of the German’s was the attack on Russia
with whom they had a non-aggressive pact. Had he used all those forces to attack
England after Dunkirk he would have overwhelmed us, and my grandchildren
today would be fluent in German.
Lets face it, we could do nothing when the three German pocket battleships
escaped from Brest and navigated the Straight of Dover. Our navy was too
spread out.
Of course, the only problem from my war service was my resulting deafness,
which was very noticeably experienced from my early thirties. I used a hearing aid
by the time I was forty years old. I saw an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist,
who it turned out was a Squadron Leader medical officer in the R.A.F during WW2.
He said I know why you have this problem... “noise from powerful aircraft
engines.â€
He said no more, only that the high frequency nerves of my ears had been
permanently damaged and that there was nothing to be done about it.
Eighteen years later a friend sent me a cutting from the Daily Mail, telling how it is
never too late. A Wellington pilot who was always overlooked for promotion at
work (he knew it was because of his deafness) had applied and received a war
disability pension.
Like the Wellington Pilot, I had never seen any publicity about such war
disabilities, but I immediately applied.
The authority said, “Why have you not applied before!?†I had been deaf for a long
time and nobody had even told me about this!
I was, of course, for a long time experiencing difficulty at work. It became quite a
strain.
Anyway, they were good enough to award me a 70% war disability pension.
But grandson, I’m still here at 89 years old. That makes you think. The pension
was not back dated.
Reading through my notes, it might appear that I’ve sounded a little frivolous
about all the death and destruction I experienced. Of course, this is and never was
the case.
We all lived with a stress and strain, and we did not show it to each other. Some
talked of getting the chop. This was dealt out by a little Gremlin who walked
along the wings of your aircraft and when your time came, he chopped off your
head.
I still think about those good friends of mine who were killed.
My friend during training, Arthur Sims, my 115 Squadron pilot Brian Slade, my
very young Australian rear gunner Sam Lowry and my second pilot Jack Reynolds.
Jack was an introvert, we never knew what he was thinking. He was still under
training, flying with us on some 7 operations.
I would have loved to have had these young men as my life long friends. They
were the best and as I said previously, were all volunteers. Only volunteers were
accepted as aircrew.
I cannot believe that they were lost forever. I do believe though, that there is
another plane. A spiritual plane that exists alongside our own. I’ve had
evidence of it during my long time on the planet. Some might call it, heaven.
Ken Dodwell
Squadron Leader R.A.F (retired)
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F/O. John Douglas Phillips 105 Squadron (d.12th December 1943) Flying Officer (Navigator) John Phillips was the Son of Vernon Cheveley Phillips and Frances Wylie Phillips of Wickford, Essex.
He was 21 when his plane was shot down by German flak. He is buried in the Herwijnen General Cemetery, Gelderland, Netherlands.
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F/O. Benjamin Frank Reynolds 105 Squadron (d.12th December 1943) Flying Officer (Pilot) Benjamin Reynolds was the son of Frank and Dorothy Reynolds, husband of Kathleen Brenda Reynolds of Cambridge.
He was 21 when his plane was shot down by German flak.
He is buried in the Herwijnen General Cemetery, Gelderland, Netherlands.
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WO. Austin Borden Rex Sutton 115 Squadron  Warrant Officer Rex Sutton, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, was a long-served Navigator who completed an early tour of operations in Wellingtons of No. 115 Squadron in 1940, his pilot, who had a tendency to remain over the target for up to three quarters of an hour to ensure accurate bombing, was awarded the D.F.M.
Rex Sutton was born in Nailsworth, Gloucestershire in September 1915, and enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve shortly before the outbreak of hostilities in September 1939. Having then qualified for his Air Observer's Brevet in February 1940, he commenced his operational career that July, when he was posted to No. 115 Squadron, a Wellington unit operating out of R.A.F. Marham.
Thus ensued a busy tour of operations, as a member of Pilot Officer Kirby's crew, commencing with strikes against the oil refinery at Gelsenkirchen on the 14th and the aerodrome at Diepholz on the 18th. July witnessed him participating in attacks on the railway junction at Soest, the oil refinery at Hamburg, and the chemical works at Monheim in July, while in August he was assigned to strikes against the docks at Hamburg, the aerodrome at the aptly named Bomblitz, the aircraft works at Gotha, the oil refinery at Bordeaux and the aircraft factory at Bernberg.
An attack against the gas works at Berlin having followed in August, Sutton was next present in sorties against the marshalling yards at Hamm and barges at Calais, the latter part of the Hitler's envisaged Operation Sealion. September also saw Sutton participating in three strikes against the docks at Le Havre and, more notably, another on the Air Ministry in Berlin. Having then completed three more sorties with Kirby, attacks against Calais, Cologne and Kiel in early October, Sutton moved to Sergeant P. S. Marriott's crew, the pilot was awarded the D.F.M. in March 1941, the recommendation citing that he sometimes remained over his target for three quarters of an hour in order to ensure the accurate bombing.
Thus such targets may have included the aluminum works at Grevenbroich and the hydrogenation plant at Gelsenkirchen, attacked on the 20th and 27th of the same month; or, more likely, the docks at Antwerp and Bremerhaven, and the Krupps works at Essen, all attacked over the coming weeks, so, too, in November, the docks at Hamburg and Flushing, Schipol aerodrome and the railway yards at Cologne. On the latter occasion, as described in an accompanying newspaper cutting, H.M. the King attended 115 Squadron's crew briefing, 'watched the pilots take off, saw them return, and assisted in the cross-examination of the pilots on their operations against the enemy.'
Rex ended his tour in December with a strike against the Royal Arsenal at Turin, was thereafter employed as an instructor, but he saw further action in May and June 1942 when, in common with other O.T.U. personnel, he was called upon to contribute to the famous 1,000 bomber raids on Cologne and Essen, though on the latter occasion his aircraft was recalled to base. He was demobilised in October 1945.
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