Lancaster crew at war
Title
Lancaster crew at war
Description
Memoirs of Eric Baldwin and Tom Gummersall of 467 Squadron RAAF RAF Waddington. Eric Baldwin recounts several of his experiences as a mid upper gunner including flying in the wrong direction due to compass problems, parts falling off his aircraft on taxi out, experiences on other operations to Germany. Concludes with anecdote about off duty incident.
Follows "The ups and downs of a Bomber Crew" - Tommy Gummenrsall his story. List his crew 'Frank York bomb aimer, Tom Gummersall pilot, Jack Clemons flight engineer, W H Todd flight engineer , Les Chalcroft navigator, Stuart Anders wireless operator, Eric Baldwin and Wally Bradbury air gunners'. Provides details and experiences of operations to Walcheren Island, a 4000 lb cookie falling out of bomb-bay of parked aircraft, engaging night fighters on operation to Giessen. Experiences on operation of Politz. Includes citation for Distinguished Fly Cross for Tom Gummersall and a list of their 33 operations.
Follows "The ups and downs of a Bomber Crew" - Tommy Gummenrsall his story. List his crew 'Frank York bomb aimer, Tom Gummersall pilot, Jack Clemons flight engineer, W H Todd flight engineer , Les Chalcroft navigator, Stuart Anders wireless operator, Eric Baldwin and Wally Bradbury air gunners'. Provides details and experiences of operations to Walcheren Island, a 4000 lb cookie falling out of bomb-bay of parked aircraft, engaging night fighters on operation to Giessen. Experiences on operation of Politz. Includes citation for Distinguished Fly Cross for Tom Gummersall and a list of their 33 operations.
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Spatial Coverage
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Twenty-two page printed document
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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.
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Identifier
EBaldwinER-GummersallTBaldwinER-GummersallTv1
Transcription
LANCASTER CREW AT WAR
ERIC BALDWIN & TOM GUMMERSALL
[underlined] 467 SQUADRON [/underlined]
[Squadron badge]
R.A.A.F.
RAF WADDINGTON
LINCOLN
1943 – 1945
[underlined] FRONT COVER [/underlined]
Crew of PO-K 467 Sqn RAF Waddington
Back Row – Wally Bradbury – Jack Clemons – Stuart Anders – Eric Baldwin
Front Row – Frank York – Tommy Gummersall – Les Chalcroft
Lancaster PO-K 467 Sqn – Air and Ground Crew Checking Aircraft
Lancaster PO-K 467 Sqn with Kangaroos and Bombing Raids
[page break]
[italics] Transcribers Note;
As a member of the City of Lincoln Aircrew Association it came to my attention that Eric Baldwin had, once before, had these notes typed up. He had subsequently loaned the booklet to another, whom he cannot remember, and unfortunately they had not been returned. I managed to obtain a copy of the handwritten notes and spent several hours typing them up (and re-typing them when I lost 5 pages in a computer glitch!) then arranging them into a book format. This I consider, a small price to pay for the dept we all owe. [/italics]
Kenneth E Moore
Flight Lieutenant
Royal Air Force
Born 1958
[page break]
[underlined] Eric Baldwin’s Notes [underlined]
Returning from a raid to Politz, we had completed our bomb run, but met lots of German fighters waiting for us plus ack-ack shelling as we came away from the target. From our corkscrew evasive action, it must have toppled our giro compass, for instead of being on our homeward course we were flying in the wrong direction to the course given by Navigator to the skipper, until the compass settled down. Then suddenly the Bomb Aimer discovered we had two bomb hang-ups and the bomb doors would not close fully.
Breaking radio silence we were given orders to divert to Lossiemouth in Scotland. The decision to land with the bombs on board, rather than bail out, was discussed by all the crew and agreed. We landed safely amid lots of panic among the crew and also the service personnel on the aerodrome. Stayed overnight and the ground crew working on the aircraft safely remover the bombs and we returned to Waddington the next day.
On another occasion we just taxiing for take off and with my mid upper guns pointing to the rear, as routine, I noticed the port rudder had fallen off. I yelled over the intercom to the skipper and we managed to abort “take off” and headed for dispersal. The ground crew spent time reassuring us, that they could not have seen that the bolts holding the rudders were worn and weak. All the same, in about 5 minutes we would have been airborne losing a rudder, there was a good chance we would have crashed with a full load of fuel and bombs on board. But as “luck” would have it they found a replacement aircraft and we took off about 40 minutes late, and we somehow got permission to fly to France over London and meet up with our squadron with the help of a Mosquito aircraft which flew alongside us and, waggling his wings indicated that he wanted us to follow him to join the formation. There was a sight to behold with “gaggles” of 60 to 100 planes as far as the eye could see. The reason was for a special operation to bomb the hell out of the Germans in the ‘Battle of the Bulge’. When I saw the film ‘The Battle of the Bulge’ with Humphrey Bogart and the Americans winning the battle, I was sure that could not have done it without the RAF and in some way, a little help from PO-K.
On a raid to the Mittelland Canal we had a ‘second dickie’ pilot with us on his first operation as we had progressed to a senior crew status. All went well, the weather over the target was clear and the canal was breeched. On the return leg, planes started going down left, right and centre so we were extremely vigilant and then our skipper decided to air his knowledge and explain to our ‘second dickie’ pilot about the use of ‘scarecrow weapons’ by the Germans to give the impression that lots of planes were being shot down, to scare us, but that he knew all about them and not to worry. This was completely wrong as 5 Group lost 13 planes that night out of a force of 165. So our skipper did not offer his experienced knowledge freely again as we could not confirm any sighting of ‘scarecrows’.
During an early evening raid on Duren we were just short of the target when the Pathfinder, who was acting as “Master of Ceremonies” called us down from 16 000ft to 10 000ft to get below the cloud level. When we broke through at 10 000ft we thought there was something wrong as there were only about a dozen planes at this level so we thought we must have been one of the first to arrive and the rest were on their way down. We were close to the target when I saw a load of bombs come through the base of the cloud heading for a Lancaster that was about 300 yards ahead of us. I started yelling corkscrew but we were on our bombing run and the Bomb aimer was staying on the intercom saying ‘steady, steady, right a bit, steady – bombs gone’. The Lancaster in front was hit by the bombs falling from above and there was a fierce explosion as the plane’s own fuel tanks and bomb load blew up and I remember seeing the starboard wing being blown off the plane which
[page break]
was replaced by a cloud of black smoke as we flew through it with the bombs from above still falling all around us. A 4000lb bomb passed so close I could almost have touched it. Only a few moments ago there had been a Lancaster with seven men on board as the shock waves hit us. We did not get any explanation as to why the other bombers did not come down to 10 000ft as instructed by the Master Bomber.
Here is a story not directly about our bombing raids, but the German reactions to our attacks and how they would respond on occasions against us. It was customary on the nights we were not flying to adjourn to the Waddington village pub, The Horse and Jockey, together with our ground crew with whom we were very friendly. On this occasion, after a long session, we staggered from the pub. Tommy, our skipper and Paddy our engineer, managed to separate themselves from the rest of the crew as we headed back to the aerodrome. Our Lancaster’s were just returning from a raid and we had be warned, for some time, that enemy planes could follow the bomber stream back to England and attack our planes as they landed. On this night as we were in two separate groups one of our planes passed overhead and we could see an enemy fighter positioning himself behind for an attack. We could see the tracer bullets going towards the bomber and we were shouting from the ground below, to no avail. Then another fighter started shooting up the aerodrome and Paddy and our skipper raced towards the control tower where there were guns mounted and somehow fired a few shots going everywhere but not hitting the enemy fighter. The rest of the crew, myself included, reached the aerodrome and were suddenly confronted with the fire tender being driven by the commanding officer. He ordered us to climb onto the running boards to be driven to the bomb dump as the enemy fighters has started a fire among the incendiary store. With the help of the C.O. we started throwing them away from the main explosive bomb racks as fast as we could. Next day, at the main parade of all station personnel, the C.O. praised the efforts of the Gummersall (our skipper) crew as we stood in line, dishevelled and unshaved with hangovers from the night before, trying very hard to look like heroes, to all those present.
It must be remembered, that this was our night off flying and really not at war, dodging anti-aircraft fire and cannon shells as we did during our many raids. We did not have to stick our necks out trying to save the station bomb dump, but we did this as the crew of PO-K.
[page break]
[underlined] The Ups and Downs of a Bomber Crew
Tommy Gummersall – his story. (1993)
The PO-K saga. From September 1944 to April 1945 [/underlined]
Cast:
Frank York – Australian, Bomb Aimer, at 32 was the eldest of the crew. A cool and calm father figure, especially to me. Lecturer at the New South Wales Department of Agriculture.
Tom Gummersall – Australian, Pilot, at 20 years of age was the youngest of the crew and had the responsibility to see that everyone of the crew wore their winter underwear and put on their anti-freeze cream. Did his best but was not outstanding in leadership material.
Jack Clemons – English, 23 years, Flight Engineer, a permanent member of the RAF. Transferred to flying duties and was with us on our first 10 trips until he contracted pneumonia. He collapsed on a raid to Dortmund-Ems. At the time of writing the author had just resumed contact with him after 45 years.
W.H. Todd – Paddy Todd, Irish, Flight Engineer, another permanent RAF member. He replaced Jack Clemons and completed 24 trips with us. His brogue was so thick that every time he asked a question I could only nod and say ‘Yes’. As luck would have it I seem to have given him the right answer every time.
Les Chalcroft – Australian, Navigator, 28 years. In civilian life he was a manager for Niall Products in New Zealand. He was rather brilliant and became excitable at times. He did no [sic] enjoy bombing raids. He would come out from behind his blackout curtain to see what it was like over the target, said ‘Jesus Christ!’ and disappeared back to his navigating position never to re-appear again for the rest of the tour.
Stuart Anders – Australian, Wireless Operator, 23 years, steady and reliable. He was the only WOp on the squadron to receive a change of wind direction for a target area despite severe electrical interference. We are still close after 50 years.
Eric Baldwin – Australian, 24, Mid Upper Gunner and:
Wally Bradbury – Australian, 26, Rear Gunner. Eric and Wally were inseparable. I really do not remember how I picked them for my crew. I think they picked me, not because I was a good catch, but because they were told that as soon as they had a pilot they could go on leave. I have never regretted their choice for they were excellent gunners. They were rebellious and would not accept authority. Being leader of the crew, any strife they caused then C.O.s would come down on my head.
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter One [/underlined]
[underlined] To Bomb or not to Bomb? [/underlined]
It all started on the evening of my Aunty Denise’s birthday – 26th September 1944. I was on the list to participate in the raid against Karlsruhe as a second pilot to Flying Officer Layton. The position of second pilot was created to give novice pilots target experience. The trip was exciting but uneventful. The real excitement came a number of days later when as a new crew we were listed for an attack on Walcheren Island. I wasn’t too worried as we had already been on an attack to Walcheren Island, knocking a hole in the dyke wall that surrounded the island and so let the ocean in and in the process flood the island and deny its use to the retreating Germans. It turned out to be a very quiet and successful attack; we breached the dyke and so flooded a large area of the island. I always felt sorry for the little boy who put his finger in a hole in the dyke wall and saved the island. Here was I smashing a great gap in the dyke and it wouldn’t matter how many fingers the boy had now, he wouldn’t be able to save the dyke.
This time the target was changed; instead of the dyke wall it was to be anti-aircraft gun emplacements on the isthmus that protruded from the island. They were opposite the mainland where Canadians had established a beachhead to harass the retreating Germans, but from where the Germans on the island could lower the barrels of their guns and cause havoc on the beachhead across the narrow strip of water separating the island from the mainland. Our job was to take out the guns. There was only one flaw with the plan, some bright spark in the planning section of the Air Ministry had decided that it would be an excellent idea if we attacked in a formation known as line astern. I think his mother must have been frightened by an old sea captain fro [sic] line astern belongs to the Navy. We were to fly just short of the target then form up line astern on the Flight Commander, all nicely behind each other with about 50ft or 60ft below the plane in front. We did this without too much trouble, the leader at 6000ft and us, as the junior crew, at the end of the line at 5500ft or thereabouts. It looked good on paper but in practice it didn’t work, I was lucky to manage 5000ft.
When we were lined up we proceeded to the target area, I had a great view of the formation, with all the planes holding position more or less until the leading plane reached the target area and the Germans let him have the lot. The poor bagger could not hold position and dropped down, his slipstream hitting No2 in the formation. No 2 did some crazy aerobatics and his slipstream caught No 3. No 3 then dropped down and his slipstream played havoc with No 4 and so it went on down the line until it got to yours truly at the end. What with the anti-aircraft fire and the wild manoeuvres because of the slipstream instead of going through the target at 5500ft I most vividly remember seeing 3300ft on the altimeter as we went through the target. I do not remember where the rest of the formation had got to. The next thing that registered on my shell-shocked brain was that of flat green fields as we flew over the middle of Walcheren Island. It was so peaceful and quiet that I would have been quite content to stay in the same spot for the rest of the war. That is, until Frank’s calm slow voice over the intercom, informing me of the fact that we were just coming up to a hospital and why didn’t we drop the rest of the bombs on it? I looked out and sure enough a building with a big red cross on it was just passing below us. Next moment Les’ very excited voice came on stating the fact that we couldn’t bomb hospitals as it was against the Geneva Convention, or some such thing. I told Les that Frank was only joking and anyway we had passed the hospital.
[page break]
But it was Franks comment about the ‘rest of the bombs’ that brought me back to reality with a shock. We were to drop half our bombs, then stay in formation and make a second bombing run on the target dropping the other half. The only trouble was that the rest of the formation had stuck to the plan and here we were left on our lonesome in the middle of Walcheren Island. I was waiting fo [sic] a sound from the rest of the crew wanting to discuss the wisdom of making a second bombing run but there was only a very painful silence. So figuring that I must be the only coward on board I turned the plane around and headed back to the starting point of out [sic] bombing run. I lined the plane up and with my head down I headed for the target. I remember thinking that with any luck the rest of the squadron would have knocked out most of the guns. Some hope! The Germans threw everything but the kitchen sink at us and I am more than sure that I saw that go flying past the cockpit. The next minute or so we were through and after checking that everyone was alright I turned the plane around and headed as fast as I could back to England.
On the way back I started thinking that we must be in for some praise about what a good job we had done and how we had hung in there as a crew and seen it through, except for a few moments of doubt about myself which I was sure would disappear with experience. It only remained to get back to base an [sic] relate our experiences to the rest of the squadron and even if we were not welcomed as heroes, at least to congratulate us for a job well done. Upon landing we had a welcoming committee consisting of a senior pilot who considered the plane that we were flying as belonging to him, and here was this novice letting the Germans blast holes all over it. He took me around poor PO-K and showed me all the holes in the bomb bay doors and the fuselage. Even though I pointed out that most of the 64 holes would only take a finger, with a few where you could put a fist and one or two that would take your head, it meant that he would have to fly a strange plane whilst PO-K was patched up, everybody seemed to agree with him and our apologies didn’t seem to make any difference. So it was a very subdued novice pilot who fronted up at the Mess that evening with very little conversation being directed his way. Luckily things changed as the senior pilot finished his tour and over the months I became a more senior pilot myself and PO-K gradually became mine and no novice pilot was game to damage him.
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Two [/underlined]
[underlined] Run Rabbit Run. [/underlined]
One afternoon about two or three weeks later we were briefed for a raid, I cannot remember where it was but I remember the rest of details very well. We had just been dropped at the dispersal area by the truck and being a little bit early walked over to the plane that was still in the process of being bombed up. The six 1000lb and six 500lb bombs were already hanging in their positions in the bomb bay of the plane. It only required the 4000lb ‘cookie’ to be slotted into the space left among the other bombs to complete the bombing up. We were all standing around, just trying to keep out of the way of the armourers, the cables were attached to the ‘cookie’ and it was being hauled up into position when there was a jarring noise and a yell. I looked up and saw the ‘cookie’ falling from the bomb bay and landing on the tarmac with a sickening thud. I gave Frank and Stuart at least two or three yards start, but after about fifty yards, even though I was hampered by carrying a parachute which, in my panic, I had never thought of dropping I was a good five or six yards in front when the thought hit me that it hadn’t gone off. I stopped, and the sight that met my eyes was of people running everywhere plus others lying in any shallow depression in the ground or behind any small rise. Then, there was Wally and Eric peering over one of the landing wheels at the ‘cookie’ on the ground in front of them. But worst of all was the sight of the armourers rolling all over the place laughing their heads off. They were the only ones that knew that the ‘cookie’ was not armed!
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Three [/underlined]
[underlined] Round and Round the Roaring Flames the Ragged Rascals Ran [/underlined]
On the 6th of December, on a trip to Giessen, I was sitting back as relaxed as I could be, heading for the target that the Pathfinders had marked. The first wave had started bombing, everything was as bright as day. I could make out other bombers in the bomber stream through the searchlights on the clouds and the flames already started. Then there on our port side was this FW 190, a single engine night fighter, 50 feet away just below us and travelling parallel. He hadn’t seen us but we had all seen him. Stuart, Eric and myself were deciding whether Eric should have a go at it or leave it alone and maybe he might find someone else to get excited about. Just then, he turned his head and saw us, he was out of there fast. He sat about 800yds astern but didn’t attack at once. He was waiting for us to drop out [sic] bombs knowing that our bombs could blow him up if he attacked and shot us down. We figured that we had an old hand waiting to have a go at us, we decided to carry on as if we hadn’t noticed him and a [sic] soon as we had dropped our bombs, go into our corkscrew defence to port which if we surprised him, just a little bit, would make his first attacking angle too sharp and maybe we might be able to get away. Not that a bomber is any match for a fighter but we had previously been attacked by a JU-88 twin-engine night fighter and had beaten it off with a ‘damaged’ claim to our credit.
All this had been agreed upon in a matter of seconds. I wondered if we were not being too blasé or over-confident and if we got out of this I thought to have a chat to the boys about over-confidence, not that we ever lowered our guard but sooner or later we must be on the receiving end. I was brought up with a start as Frank started his bombing run, after a series of ‘left, left, steady, s-t-e-a-d-y’, ‘bombs away’. On ‘bombs away’ I put PO-K into a dive to port saying ‘Down port’ and at the same time reaching for the lever to close the bomb doors. The only ones speaking were Wally, Eric and myself. Wally and Eric were carrying on a running conversation about distances and angles to aim their guns. I don’t remember the correct sequences, but say, when I put the plane into ‘Down port’ Wally and Eric knew that they had to aim their guns at the one o-clock position. ‘Up port’ was four o-clock, ‘Up starboard’ was seven o-clock and ten o-clock coincided with ‘Down starboard’. All this was to take the guesswork out of aiming their guns and send the bullets on the right trajectory to hit the enemy plane. I was doing my corkscrew and heading for the cloudbank below as fast as I could when the FW-190, with smoke and flames pouring out of it, beat me to it. Quite a number of other planes saw it disappear into the clouds. When we got back to base we claimed ‘destroyed’ but as nobody had seen it hit the ground we were only awarded a ‘probably destroyed’. Still I was very proud of Wally and Eric, who were armed with only .303s and a range of 300yds against the fighters 20mm cannon armament and 600yds range, we all agreed that they did a marvellous job and I never did get around to delivering my ‘over-confidence’ speech.
But we were not out of the woods yet. Getting a course from Les to head for home I set it on the compass. I put down the fact that we had to fly over the target again to the evasive action with the enemy fighter that must have taken us to the other side of the target. It wasn’t until Les wanted to know why we were wandering all over the sky that it dawned on me that I had been over energetic in my evasive manoeuvres and this had ‘toppled’ the compass. While it was settling down I had been following it and flown in a half circle. Setting a new course on the compass we once again flew through the target area but the searchlight crews, anti-aircraft guns and enemy fighters must have gone home. I think they must have got tired of us fooling around and had given us away as a bad job.
[page break]
For me I was very glad that at last we had worked out which way was home
[underlined] Chapter Four [/underlined]
[underlined] Some You Win, Some Just Disappear [/underlined]
Some time later we were down for an attack on Politz that was on oil refinery on the German-Polish border. It was an uneventful trip out, though quite long, with little opposition. Over the target they had one gun and about 50 searchlights that upset me no end. Once they locked onto you they made you feel quite alone and vulnerable. We had just dropped our bombs and I was sitting there minding my own business and contemplating the long trip home when this bloody big hole appeared through the cowl covering the port inner engine, which immediately gave up the ghost. Down to three engines we slowly limped back home and arrived there a good hour and a half to two hours late. I cannot remember if they had our fried egg waiting for us or not? The next day I found that my shirt, socks and underwear were missing. Items like this, when roughed up a bit and taken to the quartermaster’s store, if lucky, could be replaced with new articles. I must have been a bit luckier than most because for weeks later people kept turning up with pieces of my clothing saying that they had ‘turned up with their laundry’
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Five [/underlined]
[underlined] Humphrey, PO-K and Crew [/underlined]
We had just started taxiing out for take off when there was a yell from Eric that the port rudder had just fallen off! On the ground there was pandemonium with the ground crew blaming themselves. We spent a great deal of time reassuring them that they couldn’t have seen that the bolts holding the rudder were weak. All the same, in another 15-20 mins we would have taken off. Being just àirborne and losing a rudder there was a fair chance that we would have crashed. With a full load of bombs on board it would have taken an awful lot of work to find us.
But as luck would have it there was a spare plane already bombed up which we were transferred to as soon as possible. As fast as everybody was [sic] were well and truly late. Somehow permission had been granted for us to take a short cut and fly to France over London to meet up with the Squadron. We flew over London, which was something special, as nobody was allowed anywhere near it. Over France it was a sight to behold, as far as the eyes could see there were formations (or as we knew them ‘gaggles’) in groups of 60 to 100 planes. After flying up to a couple of formations to check their squadron letters with no luck, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, I was just about ready to give up and just join up with one of the nearest formations when a Mosquito aircraft flew over, and waggling his wings, indicated he wanted us to follow him. After diving under half a dozen or so formations he led us to our squadron where we made room for ourselves and we were on our way.
I forget to tell you at the start that all these planes were going to bomb the hell out of the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. Sometime later I saw a film on the Battle of the Bulge with Humphrey Bogart and the Americans had him winning the battle. But I am sure he couldn’t have done it without the RAF and PO-K, or at least its crew.
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Six [/underlined]
[underlined] What Goes Up Must Come Down [/underlined]
A few weeks before Arnhem, we were down for a fighter affiliation exercise, where a Spitfire or Hurricane would attack us and we would take evasive action. The results would be examined later as we both would be armed with camera guns. On this exercise we had about six or eight paratroopers coming along for flying experience. As mentioned earlier the Arnhem invasion had not yet taken place. We met the Spitfire above the clouds at about 12 000ft and started our corkscrew manoeuvres. All was going fine but on the top of the ‘Up starboard’ section of the corkscrew the airspeed fell off too sharply (I had not allowed for the extra weight and the change in the centre of gravity of the plane that the paratroopers had made). We stalled and plunged down in a dive so steep that the airspeed indicator went straight round to 360 m.p.h. and stopped at the pin; it couldn’t go any further. I was pulling back on the control column with all my might, to no avail, I also put my feet on the instrument panel and pushed with my feet, it still made no difference, just then Jack wound back on the tail trim for the elevators and we came out of the dive. If it weren’t for Jack we would all have perished. Les reckoned we had 10 to 12 seconds left before we would have hit the ground. Back through the cloud we hurtled to the surprise of the Spitfire pilot who couldn’t work out what had happened to us. I didn’t enlighten him but we finished the rest of the exercise very gingerly. I often wondered how many of those paratroopers survived the Arnhem fighting not knowing how close to death they were with me.
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Seven [/underlined]
[underlined] Don’t Worry – They Are Scarecrows [/underlined]
For weeks before the raid the intelligence people had been telling us that the Germans had invented a new weapon nicknamed ‘Scarecrow’. It was a psychological weapon which when fired at the bomber stream exploded and fell to the ground in flames and was supposed to look like a plane being shot down. On the evening of the 21st February 1945 we were on the list for an attack on the Mittelland Canal. We had a Flying Officer (F/O) Hudson on board as ‘second dickie’ so you can see we had progressed to a senior crew status by this time.
F/O Hudson and I went back a long way in Air Force terms, we had done our initial training together. We were still together on the same course flying Hirraways (?) at Deniliquin. One of the highlights of our training at Deniliquin was the inspection of the bombing range, which consisted of the outline of a ship in white painted sandbags. We were walking over the range, which was covered in the remains of thousands of practice bombs. I was walking along with Hudson and a chap called Kirkpatrick in the middle of us. As I remember it was Kirkpatrick who picked up the front end of a practice bomb, at the same time Hudson picked up the tail fin section of the bomb. He then proceeded to screw them together. ‘How about that? They fit’ he remarked, then tossed it over his shoulder. The following explosion was exceptionally loud and Hudson and Kirkpatrick collapsed on the ground. I stayed upright but staggered around a bit. A truck was brought up and we were all bundled in and taken to the hospital on the base. Hudson and Kirkpatrick were in a mess and were hospitalised. I had about a dozen small pieces of shrapnel taken from my legs and allowed to go. Hudson recovered after about six months but Kirkpatrick was invalided out of the Air Force. Being six months ahead of Hudson when we met again I took him on his first trip.
As I was saying before I got diverted with the Hudson explanation. We were on an attack to the Mittelland Canal. All went well, the weather over the target was clear and the canal was breached. Everything was going along just fine until on the return leg of the trip planes started going down left, right and centre. We doubled our under aircraft search but when we didn’t find any enemy aircraft underneath, not relaxing our search, I decided to air my knowledge about the German’s use of ‘Scarecrow’ weapons for the benefit of Hudson. I explained that even though they looked like planes being shot down it was more likely to be the German’s use of ‘Scarecrow’ weapons and were supposed to upset us psychologically. ‘Not a worry’ I said. Whether it was our vigilance with our under aircraft search or just pure luck, we didn’t get attacked. Planes still kept going down all around us and as for my superior knowledge? It turned out to be 100% wrong. No 5 Group, which was us, lost 13 planes that night out of a force of 165 and F/O Hudson never asked me for any more advice. As a matter of fact I don’t remember him ever speaking to me again and I never did see a ‘Scarecrow’ in action:
[page break]
[underlined] Chapter Eight [/underlined]
[underlined] Bombs Away! or I’m Not That Keen On Soup! [/underlined]
I always thought that the rudder falling off – Duren – and the Battle of the Bulge, were all on the same raid. But Stuart has it down in his logbook that Duren was the raid where we were the target. Stuart is most likely to be right for he wrote an article about our raid on Duren for the Victorian Railways Institute magazine just after we came back to Australia. I am only going by my memory and my memory could have played up after Duren.
It was a daylight raid and we were just short of Duren. The Pathfinder, who was acting as ‘Master of Ceremonies’ (we were very advanced at this stage of the war) called us down from 15 000ft to below the cloud level at 10 000ft. When we broke through the cloud at 10 000ft I immediately thought that something was wrong as there were only about a dozen planes at that level. I thought that we must have been one of the first to arrive and the rest were on their way down. We were getting close to the target when I saw a load of bombs come through the base of the cloud heading for the plane that was about 800 yards ahead of me. Next thing that happened was that Eric and Stuart started yelling at me, one to go to port the other to go to starboard. Not knowing which way to go I froze on the control column. Then the bombs falling hit the plane ahead of us. There was a fiery explosion, as the planes own bombs blew up. I still remember seeing the starboard wing being blown off the plane, which had been replaced by a cloud of black smoke as a result of the explosion. The wing fell like an autumn leaf to the ground. From the shouts coming from Eric and Stuart the bombs falling on us passed that close that they could make out letters painted on them, with a 4000lb bomb coming so close that Eric felt he could have reached out and touched it.
I flew through the black cloud of smoke that a few moments ago had been a Lancaster with seven men on board. A few bumps where the shock waves hit us then, as in a daze, I heard Frank’s voice over the intercom saying ‘steady, steady, right, a bit more right’, ‘s-t-e-a-d-y’, ‘bombs away’. I never did find out why the rest of the planes didn’t come down and I was too upset to ask many questions. All I do know is that it was about a week before I could get a spoonful of soup to my mouth without spilling it everywhere.
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[underlined] Chapter Nine [/underlined]
[underlined] Ten And A Half Hours To Nowhere [/underlined]
We were Off to see Father Christmas at the North Pole or rather we were going to Trondheim in Norway which was 64 degrees north, only four or five degrees short of the Arctic Circle. I was quite excited by the prospect for it had us flying at 60ft above the North Sea so we wouldn’t be picked up by the German Wurtzburg radars. This legalised low flying appealed to me immensely although I wasn’t too sure If I would feel the same after four or more hours of it.
It was in the early afternoon when we started and it was getting close to dusk when we reached the point where we had to start climbing over the land. Then, loud and clear over the earphones came a voice belonging, I would say, to one of the Pathfinders. He was broadcasting to anyone listening – our target – what height we were to bomb – course we were to take to the target – what exactly our target was (submarine pens) and how we were not allowed to drop our bombs if there was a chance of Norwegians being killed. With his transmit button pushed to the ‘On’ position nobody else could transmit and tell him to shut up! As a result the Germans were ready for us when we reached Trondheim. They had laid a smoke screen all over the submarine pens and the amount of anti-aircraft fire they put up was amazing. I had never seen so much tracer arcing across the target at our
bombing height.
The Pathfinders were down amongst all that mess trying to mark the target. It was a terrifying thought that they might soon might [sic] start calling us down to have a go at bombing. I couldn’t see how we could do it. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of stooging around in wide circles over the target they found that they couldn’t mark the target. If we did start bombing without the target being properly marked then bombs might go astray and kill Norwegians, which they were most desperately against doing. So in the finish they decided to call it off and send us home.
‘Go Home!’ It sounded just right to me but as Les informed us not too much later that if we wanted to make home we would have to drop our bombs in the North Sea, which we did. Some time later he further informed us that we could not make home and that it would be advisable to head for the nearest aerodrome which turned out to be Lossiemouth at the top of Scotland, so it was agreed. That was a long trip back to Lossiemouth with the petrol running low and the feeling of loneliness in the darkness. It all depended on Les to get us to this strange aerodrome, which he did – right on the button. Now it was my turn, to land us at this aerodrome, which turned out to be easier than I thought it would. The aerodrome was covered with snow and the runway made a straight black line on it even though the runway disappeared into the sea at one end, Lossiemouth being a seaplane aerodrome. We landed without too many hassles and were taken to a dispersal area, then after debriefing we were taken to the Mess. It was good to relax in the warmth of the fire and over a beer wonder about the ten and a half hours of getting nowhere.
In the morning a young WRAF driver took us out to PO-K. Having some time to spare I decide to hop over the aerodrome fence and on to a road running past the ‘drome to have a bit of a look around. After walking a few hundred yards to the top of a rise all that was visible was a very barren land, strewn with boulders, and some very hardy but miserable looking sheep all covered with snow. I was quite content to turn around and go back to the plane. What I couldn’t get over was that people lived and worked here. It was simply
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amazing.
I never did hear what happened to the Pathfinder that caused all the trouble, most likely a rap on the knuckles that is if they ever found out who it was. One more thing, with all that roaming around the skies near the Arctic Circle I never did see Santa Claus nor his sleigh, let alone reindeers flying through the sky pulling it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t exist!
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[underlined] Chapter Ten [/underlined]
[underlined] All You Need is Luck, Luck and More Luck [/underlined]
Towards the end of our tour we were returning from a raid and still well and truly over Germany when we saw this strange phenomenon on the ground in the darkness ahead, a searchlight was going in a 360 degree circle level with the ground. My first reaction was that the war must be over and they had forgotten to tell us, then following on from that, that somehow this was a trap. Then wishing we had a bomb left in the bomb bay so we could give them some hurry-up. ‘Check that out’ said Frank ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’. I agreed I hadn’t and put PO-K into a tight turn above it. After circling above it for a few more minutes everybody gave up trying to guess what it was and we headed for home. At debriefing later that night we explained to the Intelligence Officer what we had seen and what we had done. ‘You must be the luckiest crew in bomber Command’ he said ‘What you were circling around was a night fighter assembly beacon’ he said in disbelief ‘You must have dodged them or they were away attacking someone else. Very lucky’ He couldn’t get over it and broke off the debriefing to tell the other intelligence officers. They all agreed ‘Very lucky’, ‘Very lucky’ over and over again.
Looking back over my time with the Air Force I can see that I had all the ingredients of an accident waiting to happen. The only thing I had in my favour was incredible luck and a crew that more than made up for my stupidity. With luck and all of them looking after me we got through.
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[underlined] Chapter Eleven [/underlined]
[underlined] I Enter the ‘Hall of Fame’ [/underlined]
One last story and I am going to ‘blow my own trumpet’ this time as it is the only time that I did anything that the rest of the Squadron wasn’t able to do. We had just returned to base and found it all fogged in with all the Squadron’s planes circling around unable to land. As luck would have it I was the only one circling above the fog layer. I remember we were at 1600ft while the rest of the Squadron were in the fog at 1000ft unable to see a thing whereas I could make out the layout of the drome, perimeter track and runways by looking directly down. The rest were trying to look through the fog and failing to make out anything.
Attempt after attempt was made with nobody being able to land. I received permission to try and land and, being able to see the layout of the ‘drome, did my usual landing circuit procedures making sure I stood well back at the funnel entrance to the landing runway. Then, making very sure I had the runway exactly lined up I let myself down into the fog flying by the gyrocompass with Les calling out the airspeed and height. We hit the runway right on the nose, apart from a small adjustment on landing. It was with more than a little pride I was able to interrupt the calls from the other planes, asking for a diversion to another ‘drome, with my transmission of ‘PO-K, clear of runway’.
The reason why the control tower persisted with the landings was that Air Vice Marshall Wrigley was waiting for a plane to land so he could have the film of the bombing results developed. This was to see if we had destroyed the target or if they needed to send another force back that night to finish the job off. I am happy to say that we had breached the target, which was the Ems-Weser Canal, vital to the Germans at that time as the only means of getting supplies through to their troops. The trains, trucks and other means of transport being completely wiped out by Fighter Command aircraft of the Air Force and American Air Force.
A sequel to this story was the fact that on the white washed wall of the urinal of th [sic] ‘Horse and Jockey’ pub in Waddington village was the phrase in pencil – ‘Gummersall is a know-all bastard’ showing that somebody didn’t appreciate my marvellous effort. Knowing how many times these old pubs get renovated, it could still be there!
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[underlined] Chapter Twelve [/underlined]
[underlined] Unsung Heroes [/underlined]
This story is one where I don’t take centre stage. It was customary on the nights that we weren’t on the list for a raid to adjourn to the Waddington village pub ‘The Horse and Jockey’ together with our ground crew, with whom we were very friendly. After a number of drinks, the sergeant in charge of the ground crew, who was also an Australian and also named Tom, would demand that he and I change tunic jackets, whereon he would move around the pub, dancing with various lasses, trying to impress them with his new uniform. On this occasion, after we staggered from the pub I somehow managed to separate myself from the rest of the crowd and wandered back to the aerodrome on my own.
Our planes were just returning from the raid and we had been told for sometime that the enemy fighters would try and follow the bomber stream back to England and attack out [sic] planes as they were landing. On this night, as I wandered back to the ‘drome, one of our planes passed overhead and I could see an enemy fighter positioning himself for an attack from behind. ‘Weave you fool, weave’ I cried out at the top of my voice. I could see tracer fire from the fighter going towards the bomber as I danced and screamed from the road below. Then another enemy fighter started shooting up the aerodrome. I hurried to the control tower and there found Paddy, who was as drunk as I was if not worse, firing the machine gun that was one of two positioned either side of the tower, with bullets flying everywhere. ‘Where are the rest of the boys?’ I shouted. ‘Gone with the CO to the bomb dump’ he screamed ‘The bastards have set it on fire’. From the stories the boys told me later, the CO took the fire tender with PO-K’s crew standing on the sides. When they arrived at the bomb dump, the enemy fighter had started a fire amongst the incendiaries, which with the CO helping, they started throwing them away from the main explosive bomb racks.
Next day at the main parade of all the members of the station, the CO praised the efforts of the Gummersall crew who were standing in line dishevelled and unshaven with hangovers from the night before, trying very hard to look like heroes, which they were. The thing that must be remembered is that this was their night off and they were not really at war. After dodging anti-aircraft fire and cannon shells from night fighters, they did not have to stick their necks out trying to save the Station bomb dump on their night off! Some people might cruelly say it was done as a spur-of-the-moment thing from under an alcoholic haze. I prefer to think of it as just another way that the crew of PO-K won the war – definitely – UNSUNG HEROES!
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[underlined] Chapter Thirteen [/underlined]
[underlined] Epilogue [/underlined]
Though it may seem from these writings that PO-K and ourselves won the war, don’t forget that the war had been going on for just over five years and thousands of very brave men had lost their lives before we arrived at Waddington to do our bit. The bravest men in my opinion, not that all the airmen, especially those who had died, were not brave but the bravest of the brave were the first aircrews who flew in antiquated planes facing losses of 60-70% in 1939-41. It wasn’t until 1942-3 that we started to get on top of the Germans even though our losses were still very high. In 1944-5 we were really dishing it out to them. It has been worked out that more tons of bombs were dropped in 1944 than in the whole of the war until then, owing to the fact that more planes were getting through as the opposition got weaker and weaker.
All I can say is that I am very glad that I was too young to be in the war any earlier as I am sure that I wouldn’t have been emotionally strong enough to have been able to stand up to the stress.
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Seal of the Governor General Commonwealth of Australia
[underlined] HONOURS AND AWARDS [/underlined]
[underlined] DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS [/underlined]
[underlined] FLYING OFFICER THOMAS ALBERT GUMMERSALL [/underlined]
[underlined] (428308) [/underlined]
[underlined] CITATION [/underlined]
Flying Officer GUMMERSALL has completed a large number of operational sorties.
In OCTOBER, 1944, he was detailed for an attack against FLUSHING. His aircraft was damaged by anti-aircraft fire over the target but, nevertheless, he made a second bombing run and successfully completed his task. On two other occasions, his aircraft has been attacked by enemy fighters, but each time he has beaten them off.
This officer’s cool courage in the face of the enemy has inspired confidence in his crew.
[italics] Authors note:
This medal, although made out to me, is a disgrace, as it should have been given to all of PO-K’s crew. I have informed the rest of the crew of my feelings on this subject and have awarded each of them a seventh part of this medal, which I am please to say they have accepted. [/italics]
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[underlined] [a] DATE [b] TARGET FOR TONIGHT [c] AIRCRAFT [d] COMMENTS [underlined]
[a] 6.10.44 [b] Bremen [d] F/O Gummersall. T.A. 2nd pilot with F/L Broad.
[a] 7.10.44 [b] Walcheren Dyke [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11.10.44 [b] Flushing [c] LM100 PO.D
[a] 14/15.10.44 [b] Brunswick LM100 PO.D
[a] 19/20.10.44 [b] Nurnberg [c] NG197 PO.G
[a] 23.10.44 [b] Flushing [c] DV396 PО.В
[a] 6/7.11.44 [b] Ems Wesser [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11/12.11.44 [b] Harburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 16.11.44 [b] Duren [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 21/22.11.44 [b] Ladbergen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 23/24.11.44 [b] Trondheim [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 26/27.11.44 [b] Munich [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 4/5.12.44 [b] Heilbronn [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 6/7.12.44 [b] Giessen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 8.12.44 [b] Urft Dam [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 27.12.44 [b] Rheydt [c] PB762 PО.B
[a] 30/31.12.44 [b] Houfalize [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 1.1.45 [b] Ladbergen [c] PD362 PO.Y
[a] 13/14.1.45 [b] Politz [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 14/15.1.45 [b] Mersburg [c] LM677 PO.V
[a] 16/17.1.45 [b] Brux [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 1/2.2.45 [b] Siegen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 2/3.2.45 [b] Karlsruhe [c] NG196 PO.R
[a] 14/15.2.45 [b] Rositz [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 19/20.2.45 [b] Bohlen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 21/22.2.45 [b] Gravenhorst [c] ME487 PO.H
[a] 24.2.45 [b] Ladbergen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 5/6.3.45 [b] Bohlen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 7/8.3.45 [b] Harburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11.3.45 [b] Essen [c] NN805
[a] 16/17.3.45 [b] Wursburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 4.4.45 [b] Nordhausen [c] RP139
[a] 6.4.45 [b] Limuiden [c] RF139
A428308 Thomas Albert Gummersall. DFC and crew posted to 467 Sq 25.9.44.
Completed 33 ops by 8.5.45.
On their first solo op attacking the Walcheren Dyke the A/C was hit by flak but then made a second run over the target to successfully hit the aiming point. On two occasions, the crew had successfully beat off determined fighter attacks.
ERIC BALDWIN & TOM GUMMERSALL
[underlined] 467 SQUADRON [/underlined]
[Squadron badge]
R.A.A.F.
RAF WADDINGTON
LINCOLN
1943 – 1945
[underlined] FRONT COVER [/underlined]
Crew of PO-K 467 Sqn RAF Waddington
Back Row – Wally Bradbury – Jack Clemons – Stuart Anders – Eric Baldwin
Front Row – Frank York – Tommy Gummersall – Les Chalcroft
Lancaster PO-K 467 Sqn – Air and Ground Crew Checking Aircraft
Lancaster PO-K 467 Sqn with Kangaroos and Bombing Raids
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[italics] Transcribers Note;
As a member of the City of Lincoln Aircrew Association it came to my attention that Eric Baldwin had, once before, had these notes typed up. He had subsequently loaned the booklet to another, whom he cannot remember, and unfortunately they had not been returned. I managed to obtain a copy of the handwritten notes and spent several hours typing them up (and re-typing them when I lost 5 pages in a computer glitch!) then arranging them into a book format. This I consider, a small price to pay for the dept we all owe. [/italics]
Kenneth E Moore
Flight Lieutenant
Royal Air Force
Born 1958
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[underlined] Eric Baldwin’s Notes [underlined]
Returning from a raid to Politz, we had completed our bomb run, but met lots of German fighters waiting for us plus ack-ack shelling as we came away from the target. From our corkscrew evasive action, it must have toppled our giro compass, for instead of being on our homeward course we were flying in the wrong direction to the course given by Navigator to the skipper, until the compass settled down. Then suddenly the Bomb Aimer discovered we had two bomb hang-ups and the bomb doors would not close fully.
Breaking radio silence we were given orders to divert to Lossiemouth in Scotland. The decision to land with the bombs on board, rather than bail out, was discussed by all the crew and agreed. We landed safely amid lots of panic among the crew and also the service personnel on the aerodrome. Stayed overnight and the ground crew working on the aircraft safely remover the bombs and we returned to Waddington the next day.
On another occasion we just taxiing for take off and with my mid upper guns pointing to the rear, as routine, I noticed the port rudder had fallen off. I yelled over the intercom to the skipper and we managed to abort “take off” and headed for dispersal. The ground crew spent time reassuring us, that they could not have seen that the bolts holding the rudders were worn and weak. All the same, in about 5 minutes we would have been airborne losing a rudder, there was a good chance we would have crashed with a full load of fuel and bombs on board. But as “luck” would have it they found a replacement aircraft and we took off about 40 minutes late, and we somehow got permission to fly to France over London and meet up with our squadron with the help of a Mosquito aircraft which flew alongside us and, waggling his wings indicated that he wanted us to follow him to join the formation. There was a sight to behold with “gaggles” of 60 to 100 planes as far as the eye could see. The reason was for a special operation to bomb the hell out of the Germans in the ‘Battle of the Bulge’. When I saw the film ‘The Battle of the Bulge’ with Humphrey Bogart and the Americans winning the battle, I was sure that could not have done it without the RAF and in some way, a little help from PO-K.
On a raid to the Mittelland Canal we had a ‘second dickie’ pilot with us on his first operation as we had progressed to a senior crew status. All went well, the weather over the target was clear and the canal was breeched. On the return leg, planes started going down left, right and centre so we were extremely vigilant and then our skipper decided to air his knowledge and explain to our ‘second dickie’ pilot about the use of ‘scarecrow weapons’ by the Germans to give the impression that lots of planes were being shot down, to scare us, but that he knew all about them and not to worry. This was completely wrong as 5 Group lost 13 planes that night out of a force of 165. So our skipper did not offer his experienced knowledge freely again as we could not confirm any sighting of ‘scarecrows’.
During an early evening raid on Duren we were just short of the target when the Pathfinder, who was acting as “Master of Ceremonies” called us down from 16 000ft to 10 000ft to get below the cloud level. When we broke through at 10 000ft we thought there was something wrong as there were only about a dozen planes at this level so we thought we must have been one of the first to arrive and the rest were on their way down. We were close to the target when I saw a load of bombs come through the base of the cloud heading for a Lancaster that was about 300 yards ahead of us. I started yelling corkscrew but we were on our bombing run and the Bomb aimer was staying on the intercom saying ‘steady, steady, right a bit, steady – bombs gone’. The Lancaster in front was hit by the bombs falling from above and there was a fierce explosion as the plane’s own fuel tanks and bomb load blew up and I remember seeing the starboard wing being blown off the plane which
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was replaced by a cloud of black smoke as we flew through it with the bombs from above still falling all around us. A 4000lb bomb passed so close I could almost have touched it. Only a few moments ago there had been a Lancaster with seven men on board as the shock waves hit us. We did not get any explanation as to why the other bombers did not come down to 10 000ft as instructed by the Master Bomber.
Here is a story not directly about our bombing raids, but the German reactions to our attacks and how they would respond on occasions against us. It was customary on the nights we were not flying to adjourn to the Waddington village pub, The Horse and Jockey, together with our ground crew with whom we were very friendly. On this occasion, after a long session, we staggered from the pub. Tommy, our skipper and Paddy our engineer, managed to separate themselves from the rest of the crew as we headed back to the aerodrome. Our Lancaster’s were just returning from a raid and we had be warned, for some time, that enemy planes could follow the bomber stream back to England and attack our planes as they landed. On this night as we were in two separate groups one of our planes passed overhead and we could see an enemy fighter positioning himself behind for an attack. We could see the tracer bullets going towards the bomber and we were shouting from the ground below, to no avail. Then another fighter started shooting up the aerodrome and Paddy and our skipper raced towards the control tower where there were guns mounted and somehow fired a few shots going everywhere but not hitting the enemy fighter. The rest of the crew, myself included, reached the aerodrome and were suddenly confronted with the fire tender being driven by the commanding officer. He ordered us to climb onto the running boards to be driven to the bomb dump as the enemy fighters has started a fire among the incendiary store. With the help of the C.O. we started throwing them away from the main explosive bomb racks as fast as we could. Next day, at the main parade of all station personnel, the C.O. praised the efforts of the Gummersall (our skipper) crew as we stood in line, dishevelled and unshaved with hangovers from the night before, trying very hard to look like heroes, to all those present.
It must be remembered, that this was our night off flying and really not at war, dodging anti-aircraft fire and cannon shells as we did during our many raids. We did not have to stick our necks out trying to save the station bomb dump, but we did this as the crew of PO-K.
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[underlined] The Ups and Downs of a Bomber Crew
Tommy Gummersall – his story. (1993)
The PO-K saga. From September 1944 to April 1945 [/underlined]
Cast:
Frank York – Australian, Bomb Aimer, at 32 was the eldest of the crew. A cool and calm father figure, especially to me. Lecturer at the New South Wales Department of Agriculture.
Tom Gummersall – Australian, Pilot, at 20 years of age was the youngest of the crew and had the responsibility to see that everyone of the crew wore their winter underwear and put on their anti-freeze cream. Did his best but was not outstanding in leadership material.
Jack Clemons – English, 23 years, Flight Engineer, a permanent member of the RAF. Transferred to flying duties and was with us on our first 10 trips until he contracted pneumonia. He collapsed on a raid to Dortmund-Ems. At the time of writing the author had just resumed contact with him after 45 years.
W.H. Todd – Paddy Todd, Irish, Flight Engineer, another permanent RAF member. He replaced Jack Clemons and completed 24 trips with us. His brogue was so thick that every time he asked a question I could only nod and say ‘Yes’. As luck would have it I seem to have given him the right answer every time.
Les Chalcroft – Australian, Navigator, 28 years. In civilian life he was a manager for Niall Products in New Zealand. He was rather brilliant and became excitable at times. He did no [sic] enjoy bombing raids. He would come out from behind his blackout curtain to see what it was like over the target, said ‘Jesus Christ!’ and disappeared back to his navigating position never to re-appear again for the rest of the tour.
Stuart Anders – Australian, Wireless Operator, 23 years, steady and reliable. He was the only WOp on the squadron to receive a change of wind direction for a target area despite severe electrical interference. We are still close after 50 years.
Eric Baldwin – Australian, 24, Mid Upper Gunner and:
Wally Bradbury – Australian, 26, Rear Gunner. Eric and Wally were inseparable. I really do not remember how I picked them for my crew. I think they picked me, not because I was a good catch, but because they were told that as soon as they had a pilot they could go on leave. I have never regretted their choice for they were excellent gunners. They were rebellious and would not accept authority. Being leader of the crew, any strife they caused then C.O.s would come down on my head.
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[underlined] Chapter One [/underlined]
[underlined] To Bomb or not to Bomb? [/underlined]
It all started on the evening of my Aunty Denise’s birthday – 26th September 1944. I was on the list to participate in the raid against Karlsruhe as a second pilot to Flying Officer Layton. The position of second pilot was created to give novice pilots target experience. The trip was exciting but uneventful. The real excitement came a number of days later when as a new crew we were listed for an attack on Walcheren Island. I wasn’t too worried as we had already been on an attack to Walcheren Island, knocking a hole in the dyke wall that surrounded the island and so let the ocean in and in the process flood the island and deny its use to the retreating Germans. It turned out to be a very quiet and successful attack; we breached the dyke and so flooded a large area of the island. I always felt sorry for the little boy who put his finger in a hole in the dyke wall and saved the island. Here was I smashing a great gap in the dyke and it wouldn’t matter how many fingers the boy had now, he wouldn’t be able to save the dyke.
This time the target was changed; instead of the dyke wall it was to be anti-aircraft gun emplacements on the isthmus that protruded from the island. They were opposite the mainland where Canadians had established a beachhead to harass the retreating Germans, but from where the Germans on the island could lower the barrels of their guns and cause havoc on the beachhead across the narrow strip of water separating the island from the mainland. Our job was to take out the guns. There was only one flaw with the plan, some bright spark in the planning section of the Air Ministry had decided that it would be an excellent idea if we attacked in a formation known as line astern. I think his mother must have been frightened by an old sea captain fro [sic] line astern belongs to the Navy. We were to fly just short of the target then form up line astern on the Flight Commander, all nicely behind each other with about 50ft or 60ft below the plane in front. We did this without too much trouble, the leader at 6000ft and us, as the junior crew, at the end of the line at 5500ft or thereabouts. It looked good on paper but in practice it didn’t work, I was lucky to manage 5000ft.
When we were lined up we proceeded to the target area, I had a great view of the formation, with all the planes holding position more or less until the leading plane reached the target area and the Germans let him have the lot. The poor bagger could not hold position and dropped down, his slipstream hitting No2 in the formation. No 2 did some crazy aerobatics and his slipstream caught No 3. No 3 then dropped down and his slipstream played havoc with No 4 and so it went on down the line until it got to yours truly at the end. What with the anti-aircraft fire and the wild manoeuvres because of the slipstream instead of going through the target at 5500ft I most vividly remember seeing 3300ft on the altimeter as we went through the target. I do not remember where the rest of the formation had got to. The next thing that registered on my shell-shocked brain was that of flat green fields as we flew over the middle of Walcheren Island. It was so peaceful and quiet that I would have been quite content to stay in the same spot for the rest of the war. That is, until Frank’s calm slow voice over the intercom, informing me of the fact that we were just coming up to a hospital and why didn’t we drop the rest of the bombs on it? I looked out and sure enough a building with a big red cross on it was just passing below us. Next moment Les’ very excited voice came on stating the fact that we couldn’t bomb hospitals as it was against the Geneva Convention, or some such thing. I told Les that Frank was only joking and anyway we had passed the hospital.
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But it was Franks comment about the ‘rest of the bombs’ that brought me back to reality with a shock. We were to drop half our bombs, then stay in formation and make a second bombing run on the target dropping the other half. The only trouble was that the rest of the formation had stuck to the plan and here we were left on our lonesome in the middle of Walcheren Island. I was waiting fo [sic] a sound from the rest of the crew wanting to discuss the wisdom of making a second bombing run but there was only a very painful silence. So figuring that I must be the only coward on board I turned the plane around and headed back to the starting point of out [sic] bombing run. I lined the plane up and with my head down I headed for the target. I remember thinking that with any luck the rest of the squadron would have knocked out most of the guns. Some hope! The Germans threw everything but the kitchen sink at us and I am more than sure that I saw that go flying past the cockpit. The next minute or so we were through and after checking that everyone was alright I turned the plane around and headed as fast as I could back to England.
On the way back I started thinking that we must be in for some praise about what a good job we had done and how we had hung in there as a crew and seen it through, except for a few moments of doubt about myself which I was sure would disappear with experience. It only remained to get back to base an [sic] relate our experiences to the rest of the squadron and even if we were not welcomed as heroes, at least to congratulate us for a job well done. Upon landing we had a welcoming committee consisting of a senior pilot who considered the plane that we were flying as belonging to him, and here was this novice letting the Germans blast holes all over it. He took me around poor PO-K and showed me all the holes in the bomb bay doors and the fuselage. Even though I pointed out that most of the 64 holes would only take a finger, with a few where you could put a fist and one or two that would take your head, it meant that he would have to fly a strange plane whilst PO-K was patched up, everybody seemed to agree with him and our apologies didn’t seem to make any difference. So it was a very subdued novice pilot who fronted up at the Mess that evening with very little conversation being directed his way. Luckily things changed as the senior pilot finished his tour and over the months I became a more senior pilot myself and PO-K gradually became mine and no novice pilot was game to damage him.
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[underlined] Chapter Two [/underlined]
[underlined] Run Rabbit Run. [/underlined]
One afternoon about two or three weeks later we were briefed for a raid, I cannot remember where it was but I remember the rest of details very well. We had just been dropped at the dispersal area by the truck and being a little bit early walked over to the plane that was still in the process of being bombed up. The six 1000lb and six 500lb bombs were already hanging in their positions in the bomb bay of the plane. It only required the 4000lb ‘cookie’ to be slotted into the space left among the other bombs to complete the bombing up. We were all standing around, just trying to keep out of the way of the armourers, the cables were attached to the ‘cookie’ and it was being hauled up into position when there was a jarring noise and a yell. I looked up and saw the ‘cookie’ falling from the bomb bay and landing on the tarmac with a sickening thud. I gave Frank and Stuart at least two or three yards start, but after about fifty yards, even though I was hampered by carrying a parachute which, in my panic, I had never thought of dropping I was a good five or six yards in front when the thought hit me that it hadn’t gone off. I stopped, and the sight that met my eyes was of people running everywhere plus others lying in any shallow depression in the ground or behind any small rise. Then, there was Wally and Eric peering over one of the landing wheels at the ‘cookie’ on the ground in front of them. But worst of all was the sight of the armourers rolling all over the place laughing their heads off. They were the only ones that knew that the ‘cookie’ was not armed!
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[underlined] Chapter Three [/underlined]
[underlined] Round and Round the Roaring Flames the Ragged Rascals Ran [/underlined]
On the 6th of December, on a trip to Giessen, I was sitting back as relaxed as I could be, heading for the target that the Pathfinders had marked. The first wave had started bombing, everything was as bright as day. I could make out other bombers in the bomber stream through the searchlights on the clouds and the flames already started. Then there on our port side was this FW 190, a single engine night fighter, 50 feet away just below us and travelling parallel. He hadn’t seen us but we had all seen him. Stuart, Eric and myself were deciding whether Eric should have a go at it or leave it alone and maybe he might find someone else to get excited about. Just then, he turned his head and saw us, he was out of there fast. He sat about 800yds astern but didn’t attack at once. He was waiting for us to drop out [sic] bombs knowing that our bombs could blow him up if he attacked and shot us down. We figured that we had an old hand waiting to have a go at us, we decided to carry on as if we hadn’t noticed him and a [sic] soon as we had dropped our bombs, go into our corkscrew defence to port which if we surprised him, just a little bit, would make his first attacking angle too sharp and maybe we might be able to get away. Not that a bomber is any match for a fighter but we had previously been attacked by a JU-88 twin-engine night fighter and had beaten it off with a ‘damaged’ claim to our credit.
All this had been agreed upon in a matter of seconds. I wondered if we were not being too blasé or over-confident and if we got out of this I thought to have a chat to the boys about over-confidence, not that we ever lowered our guard but sooner or later we must be on the receiving end. I was brought up with a start as Frank started his bombing run, after a series of ‘left, left, steady, s-t-e-a-d-y’, ‘bombs away’. On ‘bombs away’ I put PO-K into a dive to port saying ‘Down port’ and at the same time reaching for the lever to close the bomb doors. The only ones speaking were Wally, Eric and myself. Wally and Eric were carrying on a running conversation about distances and angles to aim their guns. I don’t remember the correct sequences, but say, when I put the plane into ‘Down port’ Wally and Eric knew that they had to aim their guns at the one o-clock position. ‘Up port’ was four o-clock, ‘Up starboard’ was seven o-clock and ten o-clock coincided with ‘Down starboard’. All this was to take the guesswork out of aiming their guns and send the bullets on the right trajectory to hit the enemy plane. I was doing my corkscrew and heading for the cloudbank below as fast as I could when the FW-190, with smoke and flames pouring out of it, beat me to it. Quite a number of other planes saw it disappear into the clouds. When we got back to base we claimed ‘destroyed’ but as nobody had seen it hit the ground we were only awarded a ‘probably destroyed’. Still I was very proud of Wally and Eric, who were armed with only .303s and a range of 300yds against the fighters 20mm cannon armament and 600yds range, we all agreed that they did a marvellous job and I never did get around to delivering my ‘over-confidence’ speech.
But we were not out of the woods yet. Getting a course from Les to head for home I set it on the compass. I put down the fact that we had to fly over the target again to the evasive action with the enemy fighter that must have taken us to the other side of the target. It wasn’t until Les wanted to know why we were wandering all over the sky that it dawned on me that I had been over energetic in my evasive manoeuvres and this had ‘toppled’ the compass. While it was settling down I had been following it and flown in a half circle. Setting a new course on the compass we once again flew through the target area but the searchlight crews, anti-aircraft guns and enemy fighters must have gone home. I think they must have got tired of us fooling around and had given us away as a bad job.
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For me I was very glad that at last we had worked out which way was home
[underlined] Chapter Four [/underlined]
[underlined] Some You Win, Some Just Disappear [/underlined]
Some time later we were down for an attack on Politz that was on oil refinery on the German-Polish border. It was an uneventful trip out, though quite long, with little opposition. Over the target they had one gun and about 50 searchlights that upset me no end. Once they locked onto you they made you feel quite alone and vulnerable. We had just dropped our bombs and I was sitting there minding my own business and contemplating the long trip home when this bloody big hole appeared through the cowl covering the port inner engine, which immediately gave up the ghost. Down to three engines we slowly limped back home and arrived there a good hour and a half to two hours late. I cannot remember if they had our fried egg waiting for us or not? The next day I found that my shirt, socks and underwear were missing. Items like this, when roughed up a bit and taken to the quartermaster’s store, if lucky, could be replaced with new articles. I must have been a bit luckier than most because for weeks later people kept turning up with pieces of my clothing saying that they had ‘turned up with their laundry’
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[underlined] Chapter Five [/underlined]
[underlined] Humphrey, PO-K and Crew [/underlined]
We had just started taxiing out for take off when there was a yell from Eric that the port rudder had just fallen off! On the ground there was pandemonium with the ground crew blaming themselves. We spent a great deal of time reassuring them that they couldn’t have seen that the bolts holding the rudder were weak. All the same, in another 15-20 mins we would have taken off. Being just àirborne and losing a rudder there was a fair chance that we would have crashed. With a full load of bombs on board it would have taken an awful lot of work to find us.
But as luck would have it there was a spare plane already bombed up which we were transferred to as soon as possible. As fast as everybody was [sic] were well and truly late. Somehow permission had been granted for us to take a short cut and fly to France over London to meet up with the Squadron. We flew over London, which was something special, as nobody was allowed anywhere near it. Over France it was a sight to behold, as far as the eyes could see there were formations (or as we knew them ‘gaggles’) in groups of 60 to 100 planes. After flying up to a couple of formations to check their squadron letters with no luck, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, I was just about ready to give up and just join up with one of the nearest formations when a Mosquito aircraft flew over, and waggling his wings, indicated he wanted us to follow him. After diving under half a dozen or so formations he led us to our squadron where we made room for ourselves and we were on our way.
I forget to tell you at the start that all these planes were going to bomb the hell out of the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. Sometime later I saw a film on the Battle of the Bulge with Humphrey Bogart and the Americans had him winning the battle. But I am sure he couldn’t have done it without the RAF and PO-K, or at least its crew.
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[underlined] Chapter Six [/underlined]
[underlined] What Goes Up Must Come Down [/underlined]
A few weeks before Arnhem, we were down for a fighter affiliation exercise, where a Spitfire or Hurricane would attack us and we would take evasive action. The results would be examined later as we both would be armed with camera guns. On this exercise we had about six or eight paratroopers coming along for flying experience. As mentioned earlier the Arnhem invasion had not yet taken place. We met the Spitfire above the clouds at about 12 000ft and started our corkscrew manoeuvres. All was going fine but on the top of the ‘Up starboard’ section of the corkscrew the airspeed fell off too sharply (I had not allowed for the extra weight and the change in the centre of gravity of the plane that the paratroopers had made). We stalled and plunged down in a dive so steep that the airspeed indicator went straight round to 360 m.p.h. and stopped at the pin; it couldn’t go any further. I was pulling back on the control column with all my might, to no avail, I also put my feet on the instrument panel and pushed with my feet, it still made no difference, just then Jack wound back on the tail trim for the elevators and we came out of the dive. If it weren’t for Jack we would all have perished. Les reckoned we had 10 to 12 seconds left before we would have hit the ground. Back through the cloud we hurtled to the surprise of the Spitfire pilot who couldn’t work out what had happened to us. I didn’t enlighten him but we finished the rest of the exercise very gingerly. I often wondered how many of those paratroopers survived the Arnhem fighting not knowing how close to death they were with me.
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[underlined] Chapter Seven [/underlined]
[underlined] Don’t Worry – They Are Scarecrows [/underlined]
For weeks before the raid the intelligence people had been telling us that the Germans had invented a new weapon nicknamed ‘Scarecrow’. It was a psychological weapon which when fired at the bomber stream exploded and fell to the ground in flames and was supposed to look like a plane being shot down. On the evening of the 21st February 1945 we were on the list for an attack on the Mittelland Canal. We had a Flying Officer (F/O) Hudson on board as ‘second dickie’ so you can see we had progressed to a senior crew status by this time.
F/O Hudson and I went back a long way in Air Force terms, we had done our initial training together. We were still together on the same course flying Hirraways (?) at Deniliquin. One of the highlights of our training at Deniliquin was the inspection of the bombing range, which consisted of the outline of a ship in white painted sandbags. We were walking over the range, which was covered in the remains of thousands of practice bombs. I was walking along with Hudson and a chap called Kirkpatrick in the middle of us. As I remember it was Kirkpatrick who picked up the front end of a practice bomb, at the same time Hudson picked up the tail fin section of the bomb. He then proceeded to screw them together. ‘How about that? They fit’ he remarked, then tossed it over his shoulder. The following explosion was exceptionally loud and Hudson and Kirkpatrick collapsed on the ground. I stayed upright but staggered around a bit. A truck was brought up and we were all bundled in and taken to the hospital on the base. Hudson and Kirkpatrick were in a mess and were hospitalised. I had about a dozen small pieces of shrapnel taken from my legs and allowed to go. Hudson recovered after about six months but Kirkpatrick was invalided out of the Air Force. Being six months ahead of Hudson when we met again I took him on his first trip.
As I was saying before I got diverted with the Hudson explanation. We were on an attack to the Mittelland Canal. All went well, the weather over the target was clear and the canal was breached. Everything was going along just fine until on the return leg of the trip planes started going down left, right and centre. We doubled our under aircraft search but when we didn’t find any enemy aircraft underneath, not relaxing our search, I decided to air my knowledge about the German’s use of ‘Scarecrow’ weapons for the benefit of Hudson. I explained that even though they looked like planes being shot down it was more likely to be the German’s use of ‘Scarecrow’ weapons and were supposed to upset us psychologically. ‘Not a worry’ I said. Whether it was our vigilance with our under aircraft search or just pure luck, we didn’t get attacked. Planes still kept going down all around us and as for my superior knowledge? It turned out to be 100% wrong. No 5 Group, which was us, lost 13 planes that night out of a force of 165 and F/O Hudson never asked me for any more advice. As a matter of fact I don’t remember him ever speaking to me again and I never did see a ‘Scarecrow’ in action:
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[underlined] Chapter Eight [/underlined]
[underlined] Bombs Away! or I’m Not That Keen On Soup! [/underlined]
I always thought that the rudder falling off – Duren – and the Battle of the Bulge, were all on the same raid. But Stuart has it down in his logbook that Duren was the raid where we were the target. Stuart is most likely to be right for he wrote an article about our raid on Duren for the Victorian Railways Institute magazine just after we came back to Australia. I am only going by my memory and my memory could have played up after Duren.
It was a daylight raid and we were just short of Duren. The Pathfinder, who was acting as ‘Master of Ceremonies’ (we were very advanced at this stage of the war) called us down from 15 000ft to below the cloud level at 10 000ft. When we broke through the cloud at 10 000ft I immediately thought that something was wrong as there were only about a dozen planes at that level. I thought that we must have been one of the first to arrive and the rest were on their way down. We were getting close to the target when I saw a load of bombs come through the base of the cloud heading for the plane that was about 800 yards ahead of me. Next thing that happened was that Eric and Stuart started yelling at me, one to go to port the other to go to starboard. Not knowing which way to go I froze on the control column. Then the bombs falling hit the plane ahead of us. There was a fiery explosion, as the planes own bombs blew up. I still remember seeing the starboard wing being blown off the plane, which had been replaced by a cloud of black smoke as a result of the explosion. The wing fell like an autumn leaf to the ground. From the shouts coming from Eric and Stuart the bombs falling on us passed that close that they could make out letters painted on them, with a 4000lb bomb coming so close that Eric felt he could have reached out and touched it.
I flew through the black cloud of smoke that a few moments ago had been a Lancaster with seven men on board. A few bumps where the shock waves hit us then, as in a daze, I heard Frank’s voice over the intercom saying ‘steady, steady, right, a bit more right’, ‘s-t-e-a-d-y’, ‘bombs away’. I never did find out why the rest of the planes didn’t come down and I was too upset to ask many questions. All I do know is that it was about a week before I could get a spoonful of soup to my mouth without spilling it everywhere.
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[underlined] Chapter Nine [/underlined]
[underlined] Ten And A Half Hours To Nowhere [/underlined]
We were Off to see Father Christmas at the North Pole or rather we were going to Trondheim in Norway which was 64 degrees north, only four or five degrees short of the Arctic Circle. I was quite excited by the prospect for it had us flying at 60ft above the North Sea so we wouldn’t be picked up by the German Wurtzburg radars. This legalised low flying appealed to me immensely although I wasn’t too sure If I would feel the same after four or more hours of it.
It was in the early afternoon when we started and it was getting close to dusk when we reached the point where we had to start climbing over the land. Then, loud and clear over the earphones came a voice belonging, I would say, to one of the Pathfinders. He was broadcasting to anyone listening – our target – what height we were to bomb – course we were to take to the target – what exactly our target was (submarine pens) and how we were not allowed to drop our bombs if there was a chance of Norwegians being killed. With his transmit button pushed to the ‘On’ position nobody else could transmit and tell him to shut up! As a result the Germans were ready for us when we reached Trondheim. They had laid a smoke screen all over the submarine pens and the amount of anti-aircraft fire they put up was amazing. I had never seen so much tracer arcing across the target at our
bombing height.
The Pathfinders were down amongst all that mess trying to mark the target. It was a terrifying thought that they might soon might [sic] start calling us down to have a go at bombing. I couldn’t see how we could do it. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of stooging around in wide circles over the target they found that they couldn’t mark the target. If we did start bombing without the target being properly marked then bombs might go astray and kill Norwegians, which they were most desperately against doing. So in the finish they decided to call it off and send us home.
‘Go Home!’ It sounded just right to me but as Les informed us not too much later that if we wanted to make home we would have to drop our bombs in the North Sea, which we did. Some time later he further informed us that we could not make home and that it would be advisable to head for the nearest aerodrome which turned out to be Lossiemouth at the top of Scotland, so it was agreed. That was a long trip back to Lossiemouth with the petrol running low and the feeling of loneliness in the darkness. It all depended on Les to get us to this strange aerodrome, which he did – right on the button. Now it was my turn, to land us at this aerodrome, which turned out to be easier than I thought it would. The aerodrome was covered with snow and the runway made a straight black line on it even though the runway disappeared into the sea at one end, Lossiemouth being a seaplane aerodrome. We landed without too many hassles and were taken to a dispersal area, then after debriefing we were taken to the Mess. It was good to relax in the warmth of the fire and over a beer wonder about the ten and a half hours of getting nowhere.
In the morning a young WRAF driver took us out to PO-K. Having some time to spare I decide to hop over the aerodrome fence and on to a road running past the ‘drome to have a bit of a look around. After walking a few hundred yards to the top of a rise all that was visible was a very barren land, strewn with boulders, and some very hardy but miserable looking sheep all covered with snow. I was quite content to turn around and go back to the plane. What I couldn’t get over was that people lived and worked here. It was simply
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amazing.
I never did hear what happened to the Pathfinder that caused all the trouble, most likely a rap on the knuckles that is if they ever found out who it was. One more thing, with all that roaming around the skies near the Arctic Circle I never did see Santa Claus nor his sleigh, let alone reindeers flying through the sky pulling it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t exist!
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[underlined] Chapter Ten [/underlined]
[underlined] All You Need is Luck, Luck and More Luck [/underlined]
Towards the end of our tour we were returning from a raid and still well and truly over Germany when we saw this strange phenomenon on the ground in the darkness ahead, a searchlight was going in a 360 degree circle level with the ground. My first reaction was that the war must be over and they had forgotten to tell us, then following on from that, that somehow this was a trap. Then wishing we had a bomb left in the bomb bay so we could give them some hurry-up. ‘Check that out’ said Frank ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’. I agreed I hadn’t and put PO-K into a tight turn above it. After circling above it for a few more minutes everybody gave up trying to guess what it was and we headed for home. At debriefing later that night we explained to the Intelligence Officer what we had seen and what we had done. ‘You must be the luckiest crew in bomber Command’ he said ‘What you were circling around was a night fighter assembly beacon’ he said in disbelief ‘You must have dodged them or they were away attacking someone else. Very lucky’ He couldn’t get over it and broke off the debriefing to tell the other intelligence officers. They all agreed ‘Very lucky’, ‘Very lucky’ over and over again.
Looking back over my time with the Air Force I can see that I had all the ingredients of an accident waiting to happen. The only thing I had in my favour was incredible luck and a crew that more than made up for my stupidity. With luck and all of them looking after me we got through.
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[underlined] Chapter Eleven [/underlined]
[underlined] I Enter the ‘Hall of Fame’ [/underlined]
One last story and I am going to ‘blow my own trumpet’ this time as it is the only time that I did anything that the rest of the Squadron wasn’t able to do. We had just returned to base and found it all fogged in with all the Squadron’s planes circling around unable to land. As luck would have it I was the only one circling above the fog layer. I remember we were at 1600ft while the rest of the Squadron were in the fog at 1000ft unable to see a thing whereas I could make out the layout of the drome, perimeter track and runways by looking directly down. The rest were trying to look through the fog and failing to make out anything.
Attempt after attempt was made with nobody being able to land. I received permission to try and land and, being able to see the layout of the ‘drome, did my usual landing circuit procedures making sure I stood well back at the funnel entrance to the landing runway. Then, making very sure I had the runway exactly lined up I let myself down into the fog flying by the gyrocompass with Les calling out the airspeed and height. We hit the runway right on the nose, apart from a small adjustment on landing. It was with more than a little pride I was able to interrupt the calls from the other planes, asking for a diversion to another ‘drome, with my transmission of ‘PO-K, clear of runway’.
The reason why the control tower persisted with the landings was that Air Vice Marshall Wrigley was waiting for a plane to land so he could have the film of the bombing results developed. This was to see if we had destroyed the target or if they needed to send another force back that night to finish the job off. I am happy to say that we had breached the target, which was the Ems-Weser Canal, vital to the Germans at that time as the only means of getting supplies through to their troops. The trains, trucks and other means of transport being completely wiped out by Fighter Command aircraft of the Air Force and American Air Force.
A sequel to this story was the fact that on the white washed wall of the urinal of th [sic] ‘Horse and Jockey’ pub in Waddington village was the phrase in pencil – ‘Gummersall is a know-all bastard’ showing that somebody didn’t appreciate my marvellous effort. Knowing how many times these old pubs get renovated, it could still be there!
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[underlined] Chapter Twelve [/underlined]
[underlined] Unsung Heroes [/underlined]
This story is one where I don’t take centre stage. It was customary on the nights that we weren’t on the list for a raid to adjourn to the Waddington village pub ‘The Horse and Jockey’ together with our ground crew, with whom we were very friendly. After a number of drinks, the sergeant in charge of the ground crew, who was also an Australian and also named Tom, would demand that he and I change tunic jackets, whereon he would move around the pub, dancing with various lasses, trying to impress them with his new uniform. On this occasion, after we staggered from the pub I somehow managed to separate myself from the rest of the crowd and wandered back to the aerodrome on my own.
Our planes were just returning from the raid and we had been told for sometime that the enemy fighters would try and follow the bomber stream back to England and attack out [sic] planes as they were landing. On this night, as I wandered back to the ‘drome, one of our planes passed overhead and I could see an enemy fighter positioning himself for an attack from behind. ‘Weave you fool, weave’ I cried out at the top of my voice. I could see tracer fire from the fighter going towards the bomber as I danced and screamed from the road below. Then another enemy fighter started shooting up the aerodrome. I hurried to the control tower and there found Paddy, who was as drunk as I was if not worse, firing the machine gun that was one of two positioned either side of the tower, with bullets flying everywhere. ‘Where are the rest of the boys?’ I shouted. ‘Gone with the CO to the bomb dump’ he screamed ‘The bastards have set it on fire’. From the stories the boys told me later, the CO took the fire tender with PO-K’s crew standing on the sides. When they arrived at the bomb dump, the enemy fighter had started a fire amongst the incendiaries, which with the CO helping, they started throwing them away from the main explosive bomb racks.
Next day at the main parade of all the members of the station, the CO praised the efforts of the Gummersall crew who were standing in line dishevelled and unshaven with hangovers from the night before, trying very hard to look like heroes, which they were. The thing that must be remembered is that this was their night off and they were not really at war. After dodging anti-aircraft fire and cannon shells from night fighters, they did not have to stick their necks out trying to save the Station bomb dump on their night off! Some people might cruelly say it was done as a spur-of-the-moment thing from under an alcoholic haze. I prefer to think of it as just another way that the crew of PO-K won the war – definitely – UNSUNG HEROES!
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[underlined] Chapter Thirteen [/underlined]
[underlined] Epilogue [/underlined]
Though it may seem from these writings that PO-K and ourselves won the war, don’t forget that the war had been going on for just over five years and thousands of very brave men had lost their lives before we arrived at Waddington to do our bit. The bravest men in my opinion, not that all the airmen, especially those who had died, were not brave but the bravest of the brave were the first aircrews who flew in antiquated planes facing losses of 60-70% in 1939-41. It wasn’t until 1942-3 that we started to get on top of the Germans even though our losses were still very high. In 1944-5 we were really dishing it out to them. It has been worked out that more tons of bombs were dropped in 1944 than in the whole of the war until then, owing to the fact that more planes were getting through as the opposition got weaker and weaker.
All I can say is that I am very glad that I was too young to be in the war any earlier as I am sure that I wouldn’t have been emotionally strong enough to have been able to stand up to the stress.
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Seal of the Governor General Commonwealth of Australia
[underlined] HONOURS AND AWARDS [/underlined]
[underlined] DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS [/underlined]
[underlined] FLYING OFFICER THOMAS ALBERT GUMMERSALL [/underlined]
[underlined] (428308) [/underlined]
[underlined] CITATION [/underlined]
Flying Officer GUMMERSALL has completed a large number of operational sorties.
In OCTOBER, 1944, he was detailed for an attack against FLUSHING. His aircraft was damaged by anti-aircraft fire over the target but, nevertheless, he made a second bombing run and successfully completed his task. On two other occasions, his aircraft has been attacked by enemy fighters, but each time he has beaten them off.
This officer’s cool courage in the face of the enemy has inspired confidence in his crew.
[italics] Authors note:
This medal, although made out to me, is a disgrace, as it should have been given to all of PO-K’s crew. I have informed the rest of the crew of my feelings on this subject and have awarded each of them a seventh part of this medal, which I am please to say they have accepted. [/italics]
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[underlined] [a] DATE [b] TARGET FOR TONIGHT [c] AIRCRAFT [d] COMMENTS [underlined]
[a] 6.10.44 [b] Bremen [d] F/O Gummersall. T.A. 2nd pilot with F/L Broad.
[a] 7.10.44 [b] Walcheren Dyke [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11.10.44 [b] Flushing [c] LM100 PO.D
[a] 14/15.10.44 [b] Brunswick LM100 PO.D
[a] 19/20.10.44 [b] Nurnberg [c] NG197 PO.G
[a] 23.10.44 [b] Flushing [c] DV396 PО.В
[a] 6/7.11.44 [b] Ems Wesser [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11/12.11.44 [b] Harburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 16.11.44 [b] Duren [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 21/22.11.44 [b] Ladbergen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 23/24.11.44 [b] Trondheim [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 26/27.11.44 [b] Munich [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 4/5.12.44 [b] Heilbronn [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 6/7.12.44 [b] Giessen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 8.12.44 [b] Urft Dam [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 27.12.44 [b] Rheydt [c] PB762 PО.B
[a] 30/31.12.44 [b] Houfalize [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 1.1.45 [b] Ladbergen [c] PD362 PO.Y
[a] 13/14.1.45 [b] Politz [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 14/15.1.45 [b] Mersburg [c] LM677 PO.V
[a] 16/17.1.45 [b] Brux [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 1/2.2.45 [b] Siegen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 2/3.2.45 [b] Karlsruhe [c] NG196 PO.R
[a] 14/15.2.45 [b] Rositz [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 19/20.2.45 [b] Bohlen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 21/22.2.45 [b] Gravenhorst [c] ME487 PO.H
[a] 24.2.45 [b] Ladbergen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 5/6.3.45 [b] Bohlen [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 7/8.3.45 [b] Harburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 11.3.45 [b] Essen [c] NN805
[a] 16/17.3.45 [b] Wursburg [c] LM642 PO.K
[a] 4.4.45 [b] Nordhausen [c] RP139
[a] 6.4.45 [b] Limuiden [c] RF139
A428308 Thomas Albert Gummersall. DFC and crew posted to 467 Sq 25.9.44.
Completed 33 ops by 8.5.45.
On their first solo op attacking the Walcheren Dyke the A/C was hit by flak but then made a second run over the target to successfully hit the aiming point. On two occasions, the crew had successfully beat off determined fighter attacks.
Collection
Citation
Baldwin E and Gummersall T, “Lancaster crew at war,” IBCC Digital Archive, accessed March 11, 2026, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/collections/document/56814.