A Frightening Experience (written by W G Uprichard)
Title
A Frightening Experience (written by W G Uprichard)
Description
A flight through thunderstorm activity leading to structural damage.
Creator
Spatial Coverage
Language
Format
Seven printed sheets
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
BUprichardWGUprichardWGv5
Transcription
[underlined] A FRIGHTENING EXPERIENCE [/underlined]
I have headed this little story ‘A Frightening Experience’ because it was the only time during my flying career that I felt I was dealing with something which I had never experienced before – something completely beyond my control. I never had any idea such a thing could happen, after all I had been flying in night bomber aircraft for nearly 5 years before the war started, although I had little cloud-flying experience. We were always warned to keep out of clouds because the Heyford aircraft which I was flying in those years were not equipped with suitable or reliable blind flying instruments. We had no artificial horizon or blind flying panel such as were fitted in the Whitley aircraft; all we had in the Heyford were two spirit levels – one for horizontal flight to keep the aircraft flying on a level plane – the other spirit level was fitted in a vertical position which indicated the aircraft’s position, whether climbing or diving. But the ‘bubbles’ in the spirit levels were so sensitive they used to run wild. Anothef [sic] factor when night flying which we did on Tuesdays and Thursdays in peace time, was the whole countryside was lit up – the towns were easily visible and could be seen for miles, so also small villages, trains and motorcars on the roads with their headlights. All this light provided us with a natural horizon. In fact on our night flying cross country flights which took about 3 hours, we would normally leave Leconfield, fly S.W. to Bristol, then on to Southampton and finally set a northerly course home to Leconfield. I would be looking out for the great glow of the flames from the gigantic blast furnaces at Scunthorpe in
[page break]
– 2 –
Lincolnshire, which could be seen for nearly 20 miles. When I joined 51 Squadron at Dishforth I was one of the most experienced of the squadron pilots with over 1,000 hours flying. Now flying conditions had completely changed and the night flying and navigation would be infinitely more difficult – all Germany was ‘blacked out’ and we had no means of using our radio to get bearings or plot the position. ‘Radio silence’ was the order of the day, because if the German fighter aircraft heard you transmitting or using the radio they could take a bearing on you and were only too glad to shoot you down. We were permitted to use our radio once we had bombed the target, when our radio operator would send a signal to Dishforth giving the aircraft number i.e. ’L.5020 Bombs Gone 0350 hours’, that was all. Another exception was S.O.S. and also an ‘Emergency Signal’ (we are in distress and require assistance). So things weren’t too bad, I had a good aircraft, the Whitley V L. 5020, which had a good blind flying panel, no ‘bloody spirit levels’, with a real good artificial horizon which ‘showed me when we were the right way up’, two good Rolls Royce Merlin Engines and with a range of 10 hours I was quite content. I could fly happily in cloud for hours and apart from a little icing the only other problem was what sort of weather lies ahead? We could get no weather reports, so all we had to go by was what the weather was like on our outward trip to the target. If it was bad, with lots of cloud, then we would have to fly through it again on the way home. Aviators are an optimistic bunch and always hope that the weather will have improved on the homeward journey.
[page break]
– 3 –
But, on this occasion it didn’t, and if I remember rightly we lost three or four aircraft due to the weather on the particular flight.
We set off in L. 5020 in November 1940 our target was the Fiat Automobile Works in Turin, Italy where they were manufacturing tanks and other armaments. The weather wasn’t too bad when we started, though it was November, and one could say it wasn’t the best time of the year to cross the Alps, especially in an aeroplane. I had already done two previous trips to Italy, to Turin on the same target.
Because of the distance from Dishforth to Turin and as it was in a south-easterly direction, my Squadron and other squadrons in the raid, first flew to Abingdon in the afternoon, then we refuelled with full tanks and took off from Abingdon in the evening. As Turin lies to the S.E of Abingdon we set course across the Channel to Ostende, and once having pin-pointed ourselves on the Belgian coast it was our intention to set course for Geneva which was ‘Neutral’ and therefore fully lit up. This course would have taken us about 10 miles to the N.E of Paris, and had it been a good night we would have seen the industrial haze which usually envelopes all big cities, but the weather was not good. We did however, get a good check on the Belgian Coast and soon we were climbing steadily, approaching Dijon, when the weather began to deteriorate rapidly and we found ourselves in pretty thick cloud.
Since we had to get to 17,000 feet, our course taking us over the southern tip of Lake Geneva and then straight on to
[page break]
– 4 –
Mont Blanc with its 15,771 foot summit, we had been continuing our steady climb most of the time. But as we struggled through this cloud, I noticed ice beginning to appear on the windscreen and the occasional flashes of lightning were lighting up the clouds. The ice got progressively worse, spreading along the leading edges of the wings and the aircraft nose. At this point I switched on the de-icer system for wings and propellors. As we were now at 12,000 feet and still picking up ice it would have been foolish to have climbed a further 5,000 feet. I decided discretions was the better part of valour and I told the navigator to give me a south-westerly course in the direction of Lyons and lower ground. I descended to 6,000 feet in order to clear the ice. After about an hour I altered course due north to take me in the Paris direction and on to the Belgian coast. Suddenly, I saw these small, flickering, blue flames like firework sparklers, such as children hold in their hands, but the flames were pale blue in colour moving and jumping along the top of the leading edge of the wing on my side (i.e. port side). I drew the co-pilot’s attention to this and pointed to the wing tip on his side (i.e. starboard) and sure enough there they were. At this time the flashes of lightning were becoming even more frequent and the cloud was constantly being lit up, and I could tell by the aircraft’s movement that we were in an electrical storm. I looked at the blue fire on this wing and noticed it was now half way along both my wing sides and the co-pilot’s. I then told the radio operator to reel in his aerial and switch off the radio.
Soon after this the tail gunner called me up and said he
[page break]
– 5 –
had the same little blue flames playing around outside on his machine gun barrels. I told him just to hold on, and not to worry as both the co-pilot and myself had a similar display on the wings! I was beginning to feel a little concerned for when I checked the wing again the flickering flames were almost covering the leading edge of each of the mainplanes and were approaching the engine nacelles. The lightning outside was still flashing furiously. After another 10 minutes of this I was beginning to worry as to what the outcome would be. I thought to myself, ‘I’m just sitting here like Mr. Micawber – just “waiting for something to turn up”,’ and as the flames were on the propellors and these were revolving around like one of those Catherine Wheel fireworks which the children pin on shed doors on Guy Fawkes night. They were in fact dancing around the lower part of my windscreen in front of my eyes. I was now really concerned, for I was sure if this would continue we would surely ‘blow up’ – and so I said a very serious prayer. I knew this sparking was due to the aircraft absorbing the electricity generated from the storm and although the aircraft is bonded to ensure that no sparking should take place within the aircraft – I had my doubts.
I looked out again and the aeroplane looked really ghostly. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and a loud explosion or detonation after which I was momentarily blinded and quite unable to see the instruments. I was sure something had blown my back side off, so I moved my legs and they worked all right, likewise my arms and body seemed O.K., but then I was conscious
[page break]
– 6 –
of the high screaming note of the engines. Though still unable to see the instruments I knew we must be diving, so I throttled back, straining my eyes to see the instruments. They gradually came back into focus, and I realised we were in a steep diving turn, and the compass was well off course. I gently pulled back on the controls and straightened the aircraft up and when I looked outside the lights had gone.
I knew we had suffered a very high discharge of electricity from some part of the aircraft but I did not know from where.
After this, Chappell, the navigator, was looking over my shoulder – his seat was at his navigator’s table behind me, so I said to him in a quiet voice, and as calmly as possible, ‘Chappell, put an entry in the log that we have been caught in a severe electrical storm and suffered a heavy discharge from some part of the aircraft.’ – and this was Chappell’s reply, as he turned his head round to look me in the face – ‘You’re a cool bastard you are!’
We then set course for Antwerp, and as I had bombed Antwerp on a previous occasion I thought it would be a good idea to drop our bombs and incendiaries there in accordance with M.O.P.A. (Military Objective Previously Attacked). We never brought our bombs home since there was always some target to bomb including S.E.M.O (Self Evident Military Objective).
[page break]
– 7 –
In spite of all our fears and difficulties we got home O.K., and the following morning when I visited the hanger both the 3-bladed propellors had been removed. The tips of all three blades of the propellor on my side (port) were missing to a depth of 2” as if someone had cut them off with a welding torch. Strange to say, the starboard propellor blades were not affected. When the technician took me over to have a look at the wing tips, they both looked as if someone had been belting them with a very large hammer.
I was amazed to see the tips burnt off the 3 blades, and yet the propellors being very delicately balanced gave no indication of rough running. It must have been a very powerful discharge to melt cast aluminium propellor tips.
Nowadays you will see on most aircraft that special discharge cords are fitted to the trailing edge of the wings, usually two on each side, to encourage the high voltage to discharge through them thus preventing a build-up of a high voltage charge in the aircraft. Now that aircraft are flying in all weathers and at all heights, St. Elmo’s fire as it is called, is a common phenomenon and causes no problems.
But in these early wartime aircraft there was no such protection, and it was a very different story, causing the problems and the anxiety which I have described.
I have headed this little story ‘A Frightening Experience’ because it was the only time during my flying career that I felt I was dealing with something which I had never experienced before – something completely beyond my control. I never had any idea such a thing could happen, after all I had been flying in night bomber aircraft for nearly 5 years before the war started, although I had little cloud-flying experience. We were always warned to keep out of clouds because the Heyford aircraft which I was flying in those years were not equipped with suitable or reliable blind flying instruments. We had no artificial horizon or blind flying panel such as were fitted in the Whitley aircraft; all we had in the Heyford were two spirit levels – one for horizontal flight to keep the aircraft flying on a level plane – the other spirit level was fitted in a vertical position which indicated the aircraft’s position, whether climbing or diving. But the ‘bubbles’ in the spirit levels were so sensitive they used to run wild. Anothef [sic] factor when night flying which we did on Tuesdays and Thursdays in peace time, was the whole countryside was lit up – the towns were easily visible and could be seen for miles, so also small villages, trains and motorcars on the roads with their headlights. All this light provided us with a natural horizon. In fact on our night flying cross country flights which took about 3 hours, we would normally leave Leconfield, fly S.W. to Bristol, then on to Southampton and finally set a northerly course home to Leconfield. I would be looking out for the great glow of the flames from the gigantic blast furnaces at Scunthorpe in
[page break]
– 2 –
Lincolnshire, which could be seen for nearly 20 miles. When I joined 51 Squadron at Dishforth I was one of the most experienced of the squadron pilots with over 1,000 hours flying. Now flying conditions had completely changed and the night flying and navigation would be infinitely more difficult – all Germany was ‘blacked out’ and we had no means of using our radio to get bearings or plot the position. ‘Radio silence’ was the order of the day, because if the German fighter aircraft heard you transmitting or using the radio they could take a bearing on you and were only too glad to shoot you down. We were permitted to use our radio once we had bombed the target, when our radio operator would send a signal to Dishforth giving the aircraft number i.e. ’L.5020 Bombs Gone 0350 hours’, that was all. Another exception was S.O.S. and also an ‘Emergency Signal’ (we are in distress and require assistance). So things weren’t too bad, I had a good aircraft, the Whitley V L. 5020, which had a good blind flying panel, no ‘bloody spirit levels’, with a real good artificial horizon which ‘showed me when we were the right way up’, two good Rolls Royce Merlin Engines and with a range of 10 hours I was quite content. I could fly happily in cloud for hours and apart from a little icing the only other problem was what sort of weather lies ahead? We could get no weather reports, so all we had to go by was what the weather was like on our outward trip to the target. If it was bad, with lots of cloud, then we would have to fly through it again on the way home. Aviators are an optimistic bunch and always hope that the weather will have improved on the homeward journey.
[page break]
– 3 –
But, on this occasion it didn’t, and if I remember rightly we lost three or four aircraft due to the weather on the particular flight.
We set off in L. 5020 in November 1940 our target was the Fiat Automobile Works in Turin, Italy where they were manufacturing tanks and other armaments. The weather wasn’t too bad when we started, though it was November, and one could say it wasn’t the best time of the year to cross the Alps, especially in an aeroplane. I had already done two previous trips to Italy, to Turin on the same target.
Because of the distance from Dishforth to Turin and as it was in a south-easterly direction, my Squadron and other squadrons in the raid, first flew to Abingdon in the afternoon, then we refuelled with full tanks and took off from Abingdon in the evening. As Turin lies to the S.E of Abingdon we set course across the Channel to Ostende, and once having pin-pointed ourselves on the Belgian coast it was our intention to set course for Geneva which was ‘Neutral’ and therefore fully lit up. This course would have taken us about 10 miles to the N.E of Paris, and had it been a good night we would have seen the industrial haze which usually envelopes all big cities, but the weather was not good. We did however, get a good check on the Belgian Coast and soon we were climbing steadily, approaching Dijon, when the weather began to deteriorate rapidly and we found ourselves in pretty thick cloud.
Since we had to get to 17,000 feet, our course taking us over the southern tip of Lake Geneva and then straight on to
[page break]
– 4 –
Mont Blanc with its 15,771 foot summit, we had been continuing our steady climb most of the time. But as we struggled through this cloud, I noticed ice beginning to appear on the windscreen and the occasional flashes of lightning were lighting up the clouds. The ice got progressively worse, spreading along the leading edges of the wings and the aircraft nose. At this point I switched on the de-icer system for wings and propellors. As we were now at 12,000 feet and still picking up ice it would have been foolish to have climbed a further 5,000 feet. I decided discretions was the better part of valour and I told the navigator to give me a south-westerly course in the direction of Lyons and lower ground. I descended to 6,000 feet in order to clear the ice. After about an hour I altered course due north to take me in the Paris direction and on to the Belgian coast. Suddenly, I saw these small, flickering, blue flames like firework sparklers, such as children hold in their hands, but the flames were pale blue in colour moving and jumping along the top of the leading edge of the wing on my side (i.e. port side). I drew the co-pilot’s attention to this and pointed to the wing tip on his side (i.e. starboard) and sure enough there they were. At this time the flashes of lightning were becoming even more frequent and the cloud was constantly being lit up, and I could tell by the aircraft’s movement that we were in an electrical storm. I looked at the blue fire on this wing and noticed it was now half way along both my wing sides and the co-pilot’s. I then told the radio operator to reel in his aerial and switch off the radio.
Soon after this the tail gunner called me up and said he
[page break]
– 5 –
had the same little blue flames playing around outside on his machine gun barrels. I told him just to hold on, and not to worry as both the co-pilot and myself had a similar display on the wings! I was beginning to feel a little concerned for when I checked the wing again the flickering flames were almost covering the leading edge of each of the mainplanes and were approaching the engine nacelles. The lightning outside was still flashing furiously. After another 10 minutes of this I was beginning to worry as to what the outcome would be. I thought to myself, ‘I’m just sitting here like Mr. Micawber – just “waiting for something to turn up”,’ and as the flames were on the propellors and these were revolving around like one of those Catherine Wheel fireworks which the children pin on shed doors on Guy Fawkes night. They were in fact dancing around the lower part of my windscreen in front of my eyes. I was now really concerned, for I was sure if this would continue we would surely ‘blow up’ – and so I said a very serious prayer. I knew this sparking was due to the aircraft absorbing the electricity generated from the storm and although the aircraft is bonded to ensure that no sparking should take place within the aircraft – I had my doubts.
I looked out again and the aeroplane looked really ghostly. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and a loud explosion or detonation after which I was momentarily blinded and quite unable to see the instruments. I was sure something had blown my back side off, so I moved my legs and they worked all right, likewise my arms and body seemed O.K., but then I was conscious
[page break]
– 6 –
of the high screaming note of the engines. Though still unable to see the instruments I knew we must be diving, so I throttled back, straining my eyes to see the instruments. They gradually came back into focus, and I realised we were in a steep diving turn, and the compass was well off course. I gently pulled back on the controls and straightened the aircraft up and when I looked outside the lights had gone.
I knew we had suffered a very high discharge of electricity from some part of the aircraft but I did not know from where.
After this, Chappell, the navigator, was looking over my shoulder – his seat was at his navigator’s table behind me, so I said to him in a quiet voice, and as calmly as possible, ‘Chappell, put an entry in the log that we have been caught in a severe electrical storm and suffered a heavy discharge from some part of the aircraft.’ – and this was Chappell’s reply, as he turned his head round to look me in the face – ‘You’re a cool bastard you are!’
We then set course for Antwerp, and as I had bombed Antwerp on a previous occasion I thought it would be a good idea to drop our bombs and incendiaries there in accordance with M.O.P.A. (Military Objective Previously Attacked). We never brought our bombs home since there was always some target to bomb including S.E.M.O (Self Evident Military Objective).
[page break]
– 7 –
In spite of all our fears and difficulties we got home O.K., and the following morning when I visited the hanger both the 3-bladed propellors had been removed. The tips of all three blades of the propellor on my side (port) were missing to a depth of 2” as if someone had cut them off with a welding torch. Strange to say, the starboard propellor blades were not affected. When the technician took me over to have a look at the wing tips, they both looked as if someone had been belting them with a very large hammer.
I was amazed to see the tips burnt off the 3 blades, and yet the propellors being very delicately balanced gave no indication of rough running. It must have been a very powerful discharge to melt cast aluminium propellor tips.
Nowadays you will see on most aircraft that special discharge cords are fitted to the trailing edge of the wings, usually two on each side, to encourage the high voltage to discharge through them thus preventing a build-up of a high voltage charge in the aircraft. Now that aircraft are flying in all weathers and at all heights, St. Elmo’s fire as it is called, is a common phenomenon and causes no problems.
But in these early wartime aircraft there was no such protection, and it was a very different story, causing the problems and the anxiety which I have described.
Collection
Citation
WG Uprichard, “A Frightening Experience (written by W G Uprichard),” IBCC Digital Archive, accessed May 14, 2026, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/collections/document/44440.