The Enthusiastic Young Padre (written by W G Uprichard)

The Enthusiastic Young Padre (written by W G Uprichard)

Details of an operation over Mannheim with an unexpected visit of a padre prior to take off.

Seven printed sheets

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[underlined] THE ENTHUSIASTIC YOUNG PADRE [/underlined]

This is strange title to give to any story. It was not because the padre gave me a long sermon or tried to convert me to better ways. No! It was just a few words and a handshake, but I was overcome by a terrible feeling that this was surely going to be my last trip.

I was posted to No. 51 Squadron RAF Dishforth (Yorkshire) for my tour of operations. The Squadron was equipped with Whitley V Night Bomber Aircraft and I arrived in July 1940. I was at that time a fully qualified Night Bomber Aircraft Captain with over 1000 hours flying, all in night bombers. I settled down quite happily in the Squadron, and I did a couple of raids with my Squadron Commander, Squadron Leader Willy Tait to convince him of my capability, then I was off on my own with my own crew and a brand new aircraft Whitley V No. L5020.

After a few weeks on the Squadron, I was in the crew room one morning working out with my crew our routes and electing [sic] our maps and courses for the evening raid which was to bomb the industrial plant at Manheim [sic] in Southern Germany. This raid on Mannheim in late December 1940 was my last raid but one, so naturally I was looking forward to a change of scene as I was almost at the end of my operational tour. We were smoking and chatting to each other and having a cup of coffee with the other crews, when suddenly the Padre appeared. He was a middle aged person of about 38 years and was called the

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Rev. Gerald Wright. It was his custom to visit the crew in the mornings about once a fortnight just to have a quick chat with the crews and meet the newcomers. Imagine my surprise when he came over to me and said “Hello! I hear your name is Uprichard”. During the course of our chat he told me that while he was a lecturer at Trinity University, Dublin, he had met my brother Horace, who was doing a Divinity Course at Trinity, and who played Rugby for the University. He was surprised when I told him Horace was also a Padre somewhere in France. I met him many times afterwards on his routine visits and we both enjoyed each other’s company. He would ask me about the different trips, and would usually greet me when he visited us, with “Where are you off to tonight, Will?” Unfortunately, Padre Wright was posted to a new unit some time in early December and I never saw him again. I was very sorry to see him go, for he was a link with home and I missed talking to him over a cup of coffee.

Well, we had the usual briefing for the Mannheim raid in the afternoon, I went home and had tea with my wife at Stump Cross Farm, where we lived, and then at about 6pm I headed to the airfield to prepare for our take off which was about 1915 hours.

I have already explained in a previous story the briefing routine, and also our transport arrangements to get out to our aircraft which of course was at dispersal on the airfield perimeter. We all got into the Leyland lorry with the

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tarpaulin roof, about 20 of us, ie 4 crews, and when the driver shouted out for P for Paddy 5020! myself and crew got out and in the darkness walked over to the aircraft where the two airmen were standing by with the battery starter.

I started to carry out my pre-flight check, checking the controls, checking the bombs and incendaries [sic] containers in the bomb bay, the rest of the crew were putting on flying kit and stowing our meagre rations. I was walking round the aircraft with a small electric torch when I suddenly heard the noise of a motor vehicle. I could see the two dim headlights, some of the crew went towards it to stop it before it got too close to the aircraft. This was most unusual. I thought perhaps our sortie to Mannheim was probably cancelled, or maybe a change of target. Then a voice called “Skipper”. So I went over. I saw 3 or 4 people standing together in the darkness and as I approached, I said, what the hell is going on! and one of the airmen stood me to one side and said, “Skipper, it’s the Padre”. I shone my little torch light around and the Padre came forward. He has his clerical collar and his Air Force great coat on and he only looked about 20 years. He held out his hand saying: “Good morning, Skipper. I have come to wish you a safe trip and a safe return and God bless you”. He had already shaken the hands of the other members of my crew with the same blessing and he departed in his jeep, leaving the crew with astonished

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looks on their faces and caused them to say “What’s going on Skipper?” I was dumfounded for a moment. However I told them to forget it. He was just being a little over-conscientious – but I was worried.

I got into the aircraft and the crew followed, and I started up the engines. It took about 10 minutes to warm up the engines thoroughly, so I had time to think about this sudden Padre visit, and I had this feeling of extreme apprehension and foreboding that this was going to be Paddy Uprichard’s last flight. Then I began to wonder how this terrible disaster was going to happen. The time had come to check the engines which I did with great care and I waved the chocks away. The two airmen on the ground flashed the torches in recognition, and we were on the way to the taxiing post. The take off was the most hazardous part of the journey with a ton of bombs and containers full of incendaries [sic] and over 700 gallons of petrol. I should really have to watch this very carefully. When we got clearances for take off I went as far back as possible from No.1 flare to give myself plenty of room and opened up the throttles. We always had a long run down the flare path to get speed to lift this heavy load into the air. We were soon airborne and on our way to Mannheim. The next thing that was on my mind was the Dutch coast when we would be changing course and where the German flights were patrolling. I called up the tail gunner to keep a good lookout. I also put the co-pilot in the front gun and told him to keep awake – he said “What for, Skipper?”

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and I replied that the Padre didn’t Bless him for nothing. Anyway, the weather was good and we got to Mannheim in good time – I was not taking any chances here. I had been to Mannheim before. It was a large industrial centre of heavy engineering so I went up to 8000 feet and although they were still managing to get their Anti Aircraft fire up there, it did not cause us too much trouble. Nevertheless, Mannheim was a very heavily defended town. We dropped our bombs, and we were soon on our way home.

Then I thought of those fighter boys waiting for us on the Dutch coast, so I kept at 8000 feet and we got through safely. Next came the North Sea – Heavens! engine failure! I’ll come down in the drink – in the darkness we could never hope to land on the water – we would probably nose in! – finish! and in December!

This was a terrible flight and although we were getting nearer home, every minute I was still certain in my own mind that we would not make it. So many thoughts were passing through my mind. I remembered my mother who was a very religious woman saying to me when I was a small boy – whenever Jesus wants you, he will call for you, for he has then got a place for you in Heaven. I assumed that this young Padre was giving me a message indicating that I was being called, and with my Protestant Irish upbringing, I would have to go, but I just was not very keen. In fact, I was doing all I could to prevent it.

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We were approaching the English coast now and I am making a special effort to keep clear of that Balloon Barrage at Hull and over the Humber Estuary. The time has come to lose height – Dishforth Airfield will soon be in view. I can see the Red flashing beacon, which is placed 5 miles from the airfield to guide us home. Now all I have got to do is land. Surely I can land this thing without killing everybody. Well, I finally did, but when I got my flying kit off and walked up to the HQ for debriefing, the Commanding Officer of the Station, Group Captain K E Ward, was waiting for all the crews as they returned. I knew the Group Captain very well. He was my Squadron Leader when I was a Sergeant/Pilot at Boscombe Down. He approached me and said “Had a good trip Uprichard?” I said “Sir! That was the most terrible flight I ever had – I was quite sure my time had run out and that I was never going to return, all because of that damned enthusiastic Padre” and I told him the story.

The Group Captain gave the young Padre a sever [sic] talking to and told him in future he must confine his visits and blessings to the crews not on the airfield at night time but in their crew rooms in the mornings during working days.

What a time to Bless us just prior to take off, with all the pressures and problems of bomb, petrol, ammunition, Anti Aircraft fire and bad weather. Surely the Padre must know that there is a time and place for everything.

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It will always be beyond my comprehension how he came to be driving his jeep round the perimeter track at night, with so many aircraft in the vicinity, bearing in mind there were no special taxi lanes as it was an all-grass airfield and no runways as there are today.

Perhaps the title should have been rewritten “The Thoughtless and Misguided Padre”!