╨╧рб▒с>■  |~■   {                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                ье┴s ┐O^jbjb└ └ %─кkкkOZ      ]ЦЦЦЦЦЦЦ>>>>> J>7ъrrrrrrrrЇЎЎЎЎЎЎ,!ЇР"Цrrrrr"ZЦЦrrrZZZrюЦrЦrЇкJЇJЦЦЦЦrЇZЪZЇЦЦЇf ╜k╗>>`·Ї Chapter VI - 1941 Hear the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew, From the Nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue. . . Tennyson, "Locksley Hall" January's weather restricted Bomber Command's effort in the New Year, and although some sorties were flown, the bombing offensive did not get under way until the following month. One aircraft that almost made it was Wellington T2841, flown by Johnny Smiles, with airgunner 'Jinx' Elelman, so named because of his many misfortunes whilst undergoing gunnery training. On January 29th they were told they had to put on a specially good show to impress some important personage who had come down to see them off. Theirs was the first aircraft airborne, but it didn't get far off the ground, about fifty feet in fact. Then it came down with a bump and burst into flames. With incendiaries and ammunition going off all over the place the crew was lucky to get out unscathed. As the aircraft had blocked the runway, those following were unable to take off. The VIP could not have been impressed by the performance. One man on the Station who was inspired by this incident, though, was the medical orderly Johnny Biggs, who rushed to the scene of the accident. He became a firm friend of Jinx's, re-mustered to air crew as an airgunner, served on the Squadron, and later became F/Lt Johnson-Biggs DFC. On his second trip, Jinx was frost-bitten in the right hand and was told that he was the first British serviceman to get frost-bite but, as he admitted, "I don't know how true this not very wonderful distinction was." Darkie Simpson, Wop/AG, a friend of Jinx Elelman, describes a trip they made together to Boulogne: "Jinx was rear gunner to J. Smiles and I remember him asking me if I would go with them as front gunner to replace Sgt Turner who was sick with a heavy cold. I was in the bar at Branches Park when he asked me. I said, 'Yes, OK, but only if my skipper Joe Chapman agrees.' Joe came into the the bar and said that if I wanted to go it was alright by him. It would be one more op for my log book, I thought, so off we went down to the drome and I can remember it was a very dicey weather forecast. "At briefing we learned that the target was an airfield near Boulogne and we had to hang around a long time before take-off. Eventually we became airborne, the only aircraft on ops from Stradishall that night, and why we went at all I shall never know. In due course we reached the target area. Visibility was poor with heavy cloud 9/10ths or thereabouts. After searching for a while we saw a row of lights and bombs away, but conditions were so bad we didn't see any bursts. We next ran into an exceptionally violent electrical storm and things started to happen. The radio went up in smoke, the compasses haywire.When we tried to send out a distress call we discovered the RT had become unserviceable. The wireless operator tried to repair it but to no avail. The navigator, 'Tich' Forster, an ex-jockey who rode horses for King George VI, couldn't do much to help. We were now flying blind. The second dickie had his head over the Elsan. Jinx in the rear turret said, 'I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when you see anything.' "There was not much we could do except keep flying, hoping to find a break in the clouds, but we had no luck at all. After what seemed an eternity, the skipper called on each of us and gave us a choice: either to stay with the aircraft, or bale out. We all opted to stay and take our chances. By this time I had left my front turret position and was back in the cockpit, occupying the 2nd pilot's seat. Suddenly I saw a stream of rockets on the starboard quarter, and a dim flare path. Things happened quickly. Johnny Smiles put the aircraft into a split-arse turn, a quick line up, a flash of chance lights, and we were down. The aircraft trundled along the flare path and stopped, with engines still ticking over, as lights and figures approached us. I opened the hatch, dropped the ladder, and enquired as to where we had landed. A voice answered but I couldn't make out what it said. " 'Jesus,' I thought, 'we are in enemy territory.' But another voice joined in saying, 'It's OK lads, you are just outside of Bath.' It transpired that the first voice was that of an Irishman with a very broad accent. "The drome was Charney Down, on top of a hill, at that time being used by a night fighter detachment. We started to taxi off the runway but the port engine cut out through lack of fuel and we bogged down onto the grass. Our fighter hosts made us welcome in their mess with sleeping quarters, sausages, beans and lashings of tea, and medicinal brandy for good measure. The Flight Commander then told us that Fighter Command had tracked us through the Bristol balloon barrage and half way across the Irish Sea and back again, and that at one time we even flew over Stradishall in the east of the country. "After a sleep, Jinx and I got a lift into Bath to contact the front gunner's father who lived in that town. I think he provided us with some cash, although we both had a few bob about our persons. Security was not all that strict then, as it was in later years. There was no turning out of the pockets, etc., it being left to our common sense not to carry any incriminating papers that might have been helpful to Jerry. "By the time our aircraft was removed from the runway, sufficient fuel had been pumped aboard to enable us to get to Abingdon and top up. We had been nearly three days away from base and it was the longest op I ever did." In the early days of 1941, civilian Met men were present for squadron briefings and it was not until later that service personnel were used. There was also a shortage of cameras throughout the Command. It became general policy to issue them only to the best crews. In 214 Squadron just two night cameras were available. Not until the end of 1942 did all Bomber Command aircraft carry them. Evidence from photographs, taken during mid-1941, showed that, of those aircraft reported to have attacked their target in Germany, only one in four got within five miles of it; and when the target was in the Ruhr, only one in ten! Early in the year a new CO was posted to the Squadron. New Zealander W/Cdr, later Air Marshal, R.B. Jordon DFC took over from W/Cdr Loughnan in March. R.B. Jordon proved to be an excellent and popular leader, liked by all, and was sadly missed when he relinquished command later in 1941 to take up a new post. The Squadron's aircrews at this time were still mostly regulars, or pre-war trained VRs, with a few Commonwealth officers and short-service commissioned pilots. So, although strong as regards trained aircrew, the weakness was in tactics and equipment. A special camaraderie existed between all ranks in these earlier years of the war, which would be lost to some extent in the later years, when attrition and frequent postings made their mark. At times of stand-down from flying duties, any excuse would be made for a thrash on the mess, or parties would be held in the local village pubs. Darkie Simpson mentions one such episode: "One night in the local, the Three Tuns at Cowling, I was introduced to a drink from New Zealand by Sgt Pilot Micky Walker. It was called a Whip Cracker Ц brandy, lime juice and soda water. I soon became legless, but the head was quite clear. Time came to leave the pub and get back to Branches Park, but I just could not walk! Enter Jinx with a good idea. Across the road lived the local council man who looked after the roads. Jinx managed to borrow a wheelbarrow, with the promise that it would be returned in the morning. So off we went, with me being driven home to Branches, singing a merry aircrew ditty. Of course, I should have realised that Jinx was not to be trusted. You were never certain of what he would do next. "I must have dozed for a bit, for the next thing I remember was things going quiet. I was just aware of the rumbling of the wheel and the heavy breathing of Jinx. Then all movement stopped, and in the semi-darkness Jinx came round the front doing something and then scarpering. The next thing I knew a door was opening, with the local Vicar peering at me. Jinx had pushed me up the Rectory drive, right to the steps, then rang the bell and nipped off behind some shrubs, having a good chortle at my expense. As it turned out, the parson was a decent type, saw the joke, and although it was latish, insisted on having us in for a cuppa. I think I managed to reach Branches on my own two legs, eventually." It was not long before Darkie had his revenge. As Jinx states: "I was once going off on leave, when my friend Darkie Simpson asked me to loan him my high quality flying boots. I never saw them again because Darkie said that he got into trouble over the North Sea one night and when his skipper gave the order to jettison all surplus weight, he threw my boots out." A likely story! In fact, what really happened was that the flying boots were taken by another gunner in the billet who failed to return from operations. Of course it was not all beer and skittles on the Station. R.B. Jordon's predecessor was something of a martinet, as far as discipline was concerned, and was also a keep-fit addict. One of his ideas was to have the aircrew running round the perimeter track in full uniform and wearing greatcoats, which of course was not very well received. But, nevertheless, the keep-fit idea was a good one. One unpleasant episode, occurring during W/Cdr Loughnan's stay, was when a sergeant airgunner with LMF tendencies would attend Squadron briefings, dress for ops, and then, prior to take-off would make out he was sick. Then, to cap it all, F/Sgt Castle, the Station's discip NCO went into the ante-room one morning and found the Sgt A/G sprouting pilot's wings! He remarked, when questioned, "Some chap said I was entitled to wear them as I had been on a pilot's course." This set the ball rolling and the MO said he wasn't ill at all, just afraid. The Wing Commander had all the NCO aircrew paraded in the crew room that afternoon, had the airgunner marched in to be made an example of, upbraided the culprit for his cowardice, and arranged for his court martial. "This is the treatment you can expect if you don't do your duty," he warned the assembly. What finally happened to the unfortunate NCO is not known, but it is believed that he was dismissed from the Service with ignomy. February was the beginning of a distinct phase of Bomber Command's participation in the Battle of the Atlantic. German U-boats were patrolling our shipping lanes and causing enormous casualties to our mercantile fleet. Although we used the convoy system, the daring U-boat commanders were penetrating our escort's protective screen in the hours of darkness, surfacing and torpedoing the largest ships. The threat was so great that our very survival was at risk. Desperate measures were needed. It was decided that our bombing force should concentrate its efforts in attacks on naval targets and enemy port facilities, so the bombers were sent nightly to such places as the U-boat yards at Hamburg, Emden, and the northern German ports. The submarine pens on France's Atlantic seaboard Ц Lorient, St Nazaire, Brest, etc. Ц also became number one objectives. These latter targets were almost impossible to destroy with the bombs we used then, as they were protected by reinforced concrete bunkers, and remained operable throughout the war. Apart from the U-boat menace a new factor arose when the German battle cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, (nicknamed by us as Salmon and Gluckstein), made a successful sortie from their base, sinking 22 Allied ships before arriving at Brest for refit. They were joined, later in the year, by the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen. With this new threat to our shipping, the RAF carried out raids, both day and night, to destroy these powerful units of the German fleet. The first of the Squadron's crews to be lost in 1941 was that of Sgt Elder, on March 13, when the target was Hamburg. This always seemed to be an unlucky place for No. 214. Many of our aircraft fell to its defences. P/O Patterson's aircraft was part of a small force which attacked Brest on the night of March 2. He flew in low at 1000 feet and attacked a Hipper class cruiser in dry dock, flying through intense flak and hitting his target. He then went down to 50 feet and his gunners machine-gunned first a searchlight and then an E Boat. Although the aircraft was badly damaged, P/O Patterson landed at base. He was deservedly awarded a DFC for this night's work. In April, Bomber Command stepped up its attacks on German targets, hoping that this would draw away Luftwaffe units from the Balkans. With Germany's invasion of Greece and Yugoslavia making rapid progress, the military situation in the Western Mediterranean area became extremely grave. Everything possible was done to take off the pressure in this area of operations. In this month, also, we lost a further two crews in attacks on Kiel. Four crews were lost in May; three on Hamburg and one over Mannheim. S/Ldr Eddison, one of the pilots who failed to return from Hamburg, was with the Squadron in pre-war days, when it was equipped with Handley Page Harrows, and this would have been his last operation before screening. He was shot down by a night fighter. All members of the crew which raided Mannheim escaped by parachute. One of these, P/O A/G Marcus Marsh, returned to Newmarket after his captivity and became a famous race horse trainer. Darkie Simpson was one of those to make the trip to Hamburg. He wrote a graphic story of the night's events which were typical of this sort of operation and experienced by many bomber crews of that period. His story is told in Chapter VII. In 1941 the British Malaya Association adopted 214 and raised funds for the purchase of a representative Wellington, which duly arrived. Wellington II serial W5442 carried a tiger's head insignia with the words SRI GUROH (The Thunder) below. Although it was later written off on operations, several other aircraft were supplied by the people of Malaya, and official visits from that country were made to Stradishall to see the Squadron in action. Henceforth 214 would be known as No. 214 Federated Malay States Squadron. During the summer months of 1941 many sorties were made against the North German ports, the Ruhr and "Salmon and Gluckstein" at Brest, but not without further losses for the Squadron. One crash will probably never be explained. Wellington R1604 piloted by Sgt Foxlee crashed in Holland on a raid to Mannhein during the night of August 29th. After the war, in 1972, the aircraft was recovered by Dutch salvage experts, and they stated that it had crashed, for reasons unknown, at approximately 2300 hours on August 28th, but gave the opinion that the crash might have been caused by lightning. W/Cdr G.L. Cruikshanks took over command of the Squadron in August. On the night of September 7/8 he was killed with the rest of his crew on operations to Berlin. His place was taken by W/Cdr R.D.B. Macfadden DFC. The following narrative is of a flight to bomb rail yards south of Munster during September 1941. 'Strats' Barnard was given his nickname by his colleagues for his ability to get Wimpy IC's up to 14,000 feet and above. To his friends in later life he was known as Barney. He became Vice Chairman and Editor of the Aircrew Association and this story appeared in 'Intercom', as an obituary at the time of his death, in January, 1983. "Pilot Officer Barnard, Captain of Wellington R1712 was heading for Holland to a familiar routine and along a route often traversed. The weather was good with light broken cloud, clearing. Over the Dutch coast were the usual sparklers, aided and abetted by pencils of searchlights. They gave no cause for alarm as we dodged through and over them before altering course. "We were well on our way and began to notice that the ground defences were conspicuously absent. It was uncanny and not to our liking. We speculated that perhaps night fighter patrols had been increased with a wider range. My apprehension grew as John Harvey informed me that the radio seemed to have packed up. However, he was working on it. Snowy advised we were coming up for Munster. Naturally, we would avoid the place. Suddenly, the darkness ahead was split by a barrier of searchlights miles across, and sweeping the sky. This was a new one to us, at least in this area, but I saw a gap and changed course slightly to take us through. Beams were wandering round on either side, but we appeared to have made it when snookerwise Ц one second in the black, the next in the blue Ц the master searchlight had exposed directly beneath us and we were caught in its bluish light whilst the others for miles around fastened onto us in a blinding cone of unreality. We were a moth suspended by an invisible thread. "Ordering everyone to hang on tight, I threw her about, twisting and turning like a demented rabbit with a dog on its tail. Working with the master light, the flak opened up. It was heavy calibre stuff and they had us accurately taped. Shrapnel thumped into the kite and the smoke from shells was illuminated in ghastly shades by the beams. I put the nose down in a near vertical dive, keeping my head down to avoid being blinded. We lost thousands of feet and the ASI was reading over 350 mph. Praying that the wings wouldn't part company, and using every ounce of brute force, I eased her out of this mad convulsion and put her in a tight turn with umpteen G. Mercifully, we were out of the fiendish glare and once more back into the stygian dark. Gaining some height I ordered Snowy to jettison the bombs and we felt their departure with gratitude. "Everyone miraculously answered to my call and we seemed to be in one piece, although from the holes, gashes and flapping portions, we were lucky to be airborne. However, the possibility of structural damage and ruptured fuel lines existed. The engines were coughing and temperature gauges showed a rise. Therefore, I throttled back and adjusted the mixture, which seemed to calm everything down a little. It then became a question of nursing her back, which raised a rather thorny question regarding the state of our hydraulics. It was bitterly cold because the heating had gone, but on the plus side we had radio contact again, which brought the astounding news that, due to fog over England, the operation had been called off. All the other aircraft had returned some time ago. Thus, single handed, we had taken on the whole might of Germany. "Continuous fuel readings pointed to leaks in the system. I reduced speed to around 120, maintaining as much height as possible, but the cold was numbing and, when we could stand it no longer, descended to 6000 feet where the chill was less severe. As soon as possible I originated a Mayday call, our predicament being decidedly tricky. Back came the message: 'Completely fogbound, divert to Manston.' I alerted everyone to the possibility of bailing out but, slowly, slowly, we carried on until, at last, we came within RT range of Manston tower. We had priority landing clearance and began to let down through the yellowy murk. My eyes were glued on the altimeter until I eventually glimpsed a gooseneck flare. "Now for the landing. According to the indicator lights, the undercarriage was down and locked, but I discovered we had no flaps. Flares began to race past as I shut the throttles and we dropped onto the grass in a succession of bounces. A touch of the brakes brought no response. Incredibly, the undercart seemed to be holding, in spite of the sheer pounding it was taking because of our speed over the uneven grass surface. The flares continued to flash past, but more slowly as we trundled into the darkness beyond. Then, with an awful crack, the undercart parted company and we shot on to our belly, the props bending and twisting as they tore up great clods of turf. Onwards we slithered with a fearful rasping and tearing noise, through the barbed wire fence surrounding the perimeter, finally coming to a stop athwart the Ramsgate Road.That was the last thing Strats Barnard knew, because his safety straps burst and he was knocked cold when his head was thrown against the panel. The crew scrambled out, bruised and shaken and, missing their pilot, went back inside the aircraft to find him slumped over the column. He was to spend many months in hospital recovering from severe head injuries. It marked the end of Strats Barnard's operational flying career, but later he became involved in the development of FIDO and was subsequently transferred to Intelligence." With the longer nights of autumn and early winter, operational flights were of greater penetration, with visits to Berlin, Nuremburg, etc., and between September and the end of the year eight aircraft were lost on German targets. For one crew, however, all turned out well in the end. P/O L.B. Ercolani, known as The Erk, was on his way to Berlin on November 29th and, when only 30 miles away from the target, the aircraft was hit by flak. The incendiary cannister caught fire in the bomb bay but The Erk carried on to his aiming point before unloading his HEs. Luckily the fire got no worse and all went well, until the aircraft received further damage by flak near Munster. Eventually a forced landing was made in the Thames Estuary and the crew clambered into the dinghy. They were not yet out of trouble, for they drifted back into the Channel. It was some 56 hours later that the dinghy at last beached on the sands at Ventnor, Isle of Wight. For his performance on this operation, P/O Ercolani was awarded the DSO on January 6, 1942. Back on civy street after the war he became managing director of Ercol Furniture Ltd. Squadron Activities for the year 1941 January 47 sorties 207.45 flying hrs, 124360 lbs bombs February 65 sorties 290.22 flying hrs, 148600 lbs bombs March 61 sorties 3 49.00 flying hrs, 176210 lbs bombs April 84 sorties 457.13 flying hrs, 200940 lbs bombs May 72 sorties 377.43 flying hrs, 208450 lbs bombs June 116 sorties 579.40 flying hrs, 355790 lbs bombs July 127 sorties 623.34 flying hrs, 373120 lbs bombs August 97 sorties 519.50 flying hrs, 286180 lbs bombs September 73 sorties 479.47 flying hrs, 193250 lbs bombs October 75 sorties 401.44 flying hrs, 241320 lbs bombs November 42 sorties 242.42 flying hrs, 173600 lbs bombs December 22 sorties 135.34 flying hrs, 60850 lbs bombs Totals: 866 sorties, 4664 hrs, 54 mins flying, 1133 tons, 1750 lbs bombs. 65 sorties, 290.22 flying hrs, 148600 lbs bombs dropped. 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