Seventy Years Ago Today.

These posts follow 153 Sqn operations from Jan '45 to the end of hostilities in real time.


2nd JANUARY,
18 aircraft departed Scampton mid-afternoon to attack Nuremburg. Once again, the 'Met' report correctly forecast clear skies over the target, enabling a very concentrated and highly effective raid. The severe damage caused to the important MAN and Siemens factories, together with many other industries and rail facilities, provided a near-perfect example of major area bombing. This area,which had been targetted regularly before with previously disappointing results for Bomber Command was finally destroyed.

Sadly, soon after take off, a fatal collision between PB 515 (P4-N) and NG 421(IQ-M of 150 Squadron) over Sudbrooke, Lincs resulted in the loss of both aircraft. F/O Dan Reid died with three fellow Canadians, his American Air Bomber and two RAF crew - all aged 22 or less.

Crew List PB515: F/O D.C Reid RCAF KIA, Sgt R.C Richards RCAF KIA, Sgt C. R Pogson RCAF KIA, F/Sgt H.V Durling RCAF KIA, Sgt R.Taylor KIA, Sgt D.D. Hoskins RCAF KIA, F/S A.J

Those magnificent men in their flying machines

This week saw the unveiling of the memorial to RAF Bomber Command take place in London.

During WWII men from all parts of Britain, from allied and occupied nations and from around the world volunteered to become aircrew in RAF Bomber Command and took part in the most consistently dangerous operations against the Nazi regime. Of the 125,000 who served almost 60%, over 73,500 men, would be killed or wounded, a figure that in percentage terms far surpassed the losses of men in the trenches of WWI and the highest losses sustained by any armed forces in WWII. The dangerous nature of their missions meant the aircraft they flew had an average lifespan of just four weeks and six missions while operational aircrew, who's average age was twenty two, were expected to complete a minimum of thirty operations to earn a temporary posting to less dangerous activities - a posting that many chose to forego to keep fighting.

 For a large part of the war, losses of 5% per mission were so high that for front line crews life expectancy was in effect just three weeks.

After the war, when the real effect of the bombing campaign could be seen, many were appalled, especially as a terrible destruction of the German city of Dresden had occurred just weeks before the end of fighting. Politicians who had been at the front in ordering wartime action and the taking of war to the enemy in this way quickly backpedalled and ducked responsibility in moves of neck-saving political expediency, while a war weary public were only too keen to forget in their need to move on and build a better future. No mention of these Bomber Boys or their sacrifice was made by our famous wartime PM Winston Churchill in his victory address to the nation. No medal was given -then or since - the only branch of the Armed Services to be treated in this way. Over generations, while the brave men of fighter command were rightly seen as heroes, the Bomber Boys were ignored, their actions vilified and their courage and sacrifice unrecognised by the British public. A few complained and campaigned for recognition of the sacrifice, but most lived quietly, carrying the scars and weight of memory with the same kind of dignity and fortitude they'd demonstrated as young men. Over time, to our national shame, their story was forgotten, buried for political expediency under the myth of those famous 'few' RAF heroes fighting the Battle of Britain. For more than 50 years their story has largely gone unrecognised except for one heroic raid by a squadron who became known as 'The Dambusters'. They became lost to us because it was the easy thing to do to avoid facing some uncomfortable truths. When a small memorial was erected in London twenty years ago to the wartime leader of Bomber Command, Arthur {bomber} Harris, it had to be put under police guard for several months to protect it from attack.

Slowly support built up around them; families who saw the injustice and servicemen who understood the contribution; politicians who had not been so closely involved as to share responsibility; historians who sought to clarify and analyse fact objectively. People saw bomber crews in the USA lauded as heroes on TV and in film and began to wonder what had happened to our men, what difference in their experience to justify having them treated with such neglect, to be expunged from public consciousness. Despite this burgeoning movement it took years to peel away the history that had been established, to remove the layers and to recognise the truth behind the myth.

Finally today these men have permanent and public recognition.

It's a story close to my heart because of my late father's involvement. I've written extensively here about their story and experiences so long ago. The memorial to bomber command may be seventy years too late but it's there and it's theirs. It belongs to them now as should unconditional acceptance and recognition by us of their stories as part of our history.


I watched a recording of the dedication service. I saw the great and the good parade in their ceremonial uniforms and finery and much of it washed over me, leaving me unmoved for the establishment preening and posturing some of it was but I watched an old man in the crowd standing there, his bowed head covered with an aircrew cap, listen attentively with eyes closed and I saw him smile and nod in quiet satisfaction when a speaker tried to describe the dedication and sacrifice of all those years ago. They're still here, these final few who served with such quiet courage, determination and dignity and who have waited so long in the same way.

See you later.

Listening to

Dear Sir,

On coming back from holiday I began catching up on e-mail that had been delivered while I was away. My e-mail account isn't particularly busy so it didn't take long to go through my inbox and deal with anything needing a response and deleting e-mails from businesses and sites that I didn't need. As usual at the end of that I went to the spam box and saw some 47 items listed. I was just about to hit the clear button when one of them for some unknown reason, caught my eye. It said it was from a Dr Josef Levy and the subject was simply ‘Dear Sir’. The unknown name and dubious subject would normally immediately qualify such e-mail for the bin and I have no idea why this e-mail was different, but something made me not only hesitate but actually open it:

Dear Sir,
I am writing you to ask you for cooperation. I am from town Hranice in Czech Republic. The bomber AVRO LANCASTER B.MK.I, serial number PB 872, code indication P4-X 153. bomb squadron. crashed there on 6th March, 1945. I would like put up information panel with memory of this crash and memory of pilots on place where bomber crashed. Now there is only a small memorial.
There is a few documents and no photos related to this crash in Czech republic. I would therefore request you for some information. Can you send me some photos of crewmen or information about flight and falling? I welcome every information.

I thank you for your help.
Best regards,
Dr. Josef Levý.

Because of my father's involvement I've written extensively across the blog about his Lancaster Squadron. In 2010 I posted their 1945 daily campaign diary in real-time covering the last few months of the war. As a result the blog regularly receives visits from people looking for information about 153 Squadron or Bomber Command Squadrons and I've been contacted by the families of many men who served or were lost so long ago. To be able to answer questions that have in some cases haunted people for almost 70 years or to be able to put people in touch with someone who actually served with their relative has been a rewarding and humbling experience, one that I never dreamt of when I began to write their story. This query would bring a different and more personal twist.

I clicked across onto the blog and looked at the entry relating to the sixth of March 1945, reminding myself of the details I had written and mentally recalling the sources used for the information I'd posted. I often had more information than was in the post as I didn't want to overload the blog with detail and put visitors off reading because it was heavy and inaccessable, so I began to hunt through the library for notes and other bits and pieces. I transferred the e-mail out of spam and composed a reply saying that I would provide any information I could and would send an e-mail back as soon as I had anything. Over the next couple of days I found information relating to the aircraft manufacture and delivery to the Squadron, the aircraft crew and their previous missions and detail about the final operation. I found the aircraft had been listed as ‘missing, nothing heard since take-off’. Somewhere in my mind this started an insistent recollection.

"Nothing heard since take-off" is a phrase chillingly familiar to the men who served in bomber command in World War II, or those who worked behind at base. It was written onto operation boards when an aircraft failed to return home by the due time at the end of the mission. Usually it was the first indication that yet another aircraft and its seven man crew had been lost, either killed or hopefully - but rarely - to become prisoners of war. Another seven names added to the list of 73,700 aircrew casualties from the 125,000 who served.  "Nothing heard since take-off"  was also the name of a small book, privately published by a family member of the crew of a missing Lancaster bomber. I had found the book during my researchers for the 153 Squadron story because it related to one of their Lancasters. It was a poignant tale because not only of the tragic loss of the crew but that one of the air gunners, Bill Meechan, lived in a village near our home and was a friend of my father who had been a member of 137 (Ayr) Squadron ATC (Air Training Corps) with him before joining up.

With the help of The Lovely G, who helped me look, I found the book and was astonished to find that it was the story of exactly the same aircraft that Dr Levy was interested in researching.

Lancaster PB 872 P4-X was a Lancaster mark B1 built by A V Roe's Woodford factory in November 1944. It was fitted with four Rolls-Royce Merlin 22 engines and delivered to 153 Squadron at Scampton on 5 December 1944. The night it crashed it was exactly 3 months old and had completed 15 operations. The average life expectancy of a Lancaster in World War II was just six missions which gives an idea of just how dangerous and damaging these operations were. An operational tour for the crew was 30 missions completed.

 The crew that night were relatively inexperienced and had been with the squadron just over four weeks. Their final mission was their 6th:

William Bailey – pilot {20}

Reg Adlam – navigator {21}

Edward Morris – air bomber {22}

James Howard – flight engineer {27}

Jack Dixon – wireless operator {22}

Bill Meechan – mid  upper gunner {19}

Walter Simpson – rear gunner {18}

By March 1945, although the Germans were in retreat and under attack on the ground on German soil, bomber command was still losing many crews to the well-organised German night fighter force and anti-aircraft defence systems. On 5 March 1945, 153 Squadron’s battle order number 92 directed 13 aircraft to be sent to attack Chemnitz, including Bill Bailey’s crew who had by this time completed their five operations since late January.

L - R:  F/O. William Bailey, Sgt. James Howard, F/O. Reginald Adlam and F/O. Edward Morris

Take-off was logged from Scampton at precisely 16:40 hours. Over the next few hours ground crews passed the time waiting for the return of their particular Lancaster. In flying control rooms others were listening to radio frequencies, crash crews and medical staff were on standby in case they would be needed, transport staff stood by to collect men from returned aircraft and ferry them to the debriefing rooms for post-op intelligence gathering. Eventually about 2am there was the sound of engines as one by one Lancaster's joined a circuit around the airfield and landed, exhausted crews climbing wearily out onto solid ground, perhaps lighting a first cigarette or just breathing fresh night air. The operations board and flying control soon showed 12 aircraft had landed safely, but an unmarked space was left beside PB 872 P4-X as staff waited for confirmation of its return. Time passed slowly as anxious staff waited until the maximum possible flying time had elapsed before entering ‘missing’ in that space. Checks were quickly made to see if X – Ray had landed safely somewhere away from base on its return but all enquiries were negative.  Squadron records for the operation were duly typed up and in the column marked "details of sortie or flight" for  Lancaster PB 872 were typed the words "Failed to return. Nothing heard since take-off" 

The following day, once verification was received that X – Ray had been lost, the personal effects of each crew member and any equipment belonging to them was collected and taken to stores. Personal effects would be forwarded to a central point where they would eventually be returned to each person's next of kin. Telegrams were now sent out to the next of kin, informing them their member of the family was missing from operations on the fifth/sixth of March. A letter would follow from the commanding officer expressing great sadness but pointing out at this stage the person was missing only and that should any news be received it would be communicated to them immediately.

Sgt. Jack Dixon, Sgt. William Meechan and Sgt. Walter Simpson

The families would not find out the fate of their relatives until 1947.

Lancaster PB 872 P4-X crashed at 2130 British time on the night of 5 March 1945 just outside the town of Rossbach, now called Hranice, then in  Nazi occupied Czech territory. In all probability it had become separated from the main bomber stream in the dark, probably without even knowing it, perhaps due to the higher than forecast winds affecting navigational calculations by this relatively inexperienced crew. Once alone and isolated it would have become an obvious and easy target for night fighter attention, easily directed and guided in by their radar stations. At approximately 22:30 local time in Rossbach that night the air raid sirens were activated and soon afterwards the aircraft appeared. Witnesses remember the sound of tortured engines screaming and the aircraft in a slow descending curve, trailing flame from one wing and just missing the town before there was an explosion in the burning wing - probably the fuel tank - and the aircraft crashed in a meadow outside of town. The Fire Brigade and many local people hurried through the woods but nothing could be done and there were no survivors. The following day the crew were officially identified and buried in the town cemetery next to the church in a corner of the grounds next to some Russian prisoners of war. The details of the crash were recorded in the town police reports. One member of the crew had attempted to bail out but the altitude was too low for the parachute to open. The other crew members were still in the aircraft when it crashed, the tail-gunner still strapped in his turret, two others had managed to put on their parachutes but had not managed to exit.

We’ll almost certainly never know the whole story of  Lancaster PB 872 P4-X and what happened in their last hours and moments. Were many of the crew dead or seriously injured while still airborne? Perhaps the intercom been damaged and the crew not heard the pilots instruction to bail out?  Maybe instuments been damaged, the ground invisible in the dark until the order came too late leaving them with no time to act? Of course after all this time it's academic - but still tragic.

The book and all the information I have is now on its way to the Czech Republic. Crew photos will shortly follow supplied by 153 Squadron Association. I hope the information is useful to Dr Levy and that ultimately he is successful in increasing the information about the aircraft and crew and in completing his project to highlight the sacrifice of these young men, like so many others in Bomber Command. I'm glad too to have played a part. I think my old man would have approved. I'm glad that there are still people and places out there keen to remember and recognise what happened so long ago and willing to do something about it.

{Crew photos from aircrew remembrance society}
  www.aircrewremembrancesociety.com

See you later.

Listening to:

Meeting Jane.

The other night there was a documentary on TV about  RAF Bomber Command in WWII. A fellow blogger sent a text to say that it had made him think of my fathers story and that he'd tweeted some links to stuff here on the blog about it. Last night we watched it ourselves. Sympathetically presented by Ewan MacGregor and his brother Colin {Who had been a bomber pilot in the modern RAF} one of the most poignant parts for me was the initial reaction when Ewan climbed into the rear gunner position of a Lancaster in full WWII kit. He was clearly uncomfortable and stunned by the lack of movement available , the claustrophobia and the poor chance of getting out if in trouble.

 It made me think about when I met 'Just Jane' - a Lancaster - for the first time......

This was what I posted back in Feb 2010
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As I become more and more engrossed in researching the 153 Squadron posts covering Dads squadrons last few months of WWII  I come upon the stark reality of  loss of life. I'm trying to understand how these men managed to come to terms with the fear that must have been part and parcel of daily life then. To be honest, living as I do in an age where danger isn't part of my existence, I've been struggling to understand how anyone could cope with having to face prolonged fear, and I mean fear, not the anxiety that's the closest I can find to relate to it from my place down the years, cloaked in modern comforts and affectations, protected by nurture, education and lack of experience.

I'll never forget the first time I walked up close to the end of a Lancaster, past the twin dorsal fins and with Dads rear gun turret coming properly into view. I remember that frisson of boyish excitement, the pull of an adults curiosity and a very acute personal sense of sadness and regret that I was doing this without him beside me to ask the questions that would obviously come up. The ground crew - now I know to call them 'erks' - working on 'Just Jane' at East Kirkby Air Museum had waved me over the barriers on request that quiet afternoon and had simply returned to their work, leaving me to it with a plea to 'scarper sharpish' if anyone else came in as they weren't strictly supposed to let the public get so close. "It's the only way to see the tail gunners position though so come on in." Just a middle aged man with a camera and a story of a relative who flew in these planes long ago.


'Just Jane' East Kirby's iconic Lancaster.

For them, just another day. For me something quite different.



I approached the Lancaster from the front. I knew what one looked like, its iconic image had been welded into my little-boy-long-ago fantasies of 'playing war' from a hundred half remembered films and books. {Though I didn't know then my Dad had been part of the story.} The reality of getting close to one was different. Clearly from an older age, it reared up, enormous, solidly propped on its front wheels, wings stretched wide across my view, holding out four huge engines, three propeller blades like swords 'en-garde' to protect each one. Above me, the perspex panel of the bomb-aimers position stared back blank and dispassionate, inviting neither respect or approbation, a mute witness to sights untold. Higher still the two guns of the front turret pointed gently upwards and beyond, the bubble of the pilots canopy sat high off the ground. The gaping belly of the aircraft was shown to me with the same message a scorpion gives when it lifts its tail overhead. 'Stay away. I mean business.' Today though, with its bomb bay open and a trolley of tools underneath, any threat was moot and faded, gone to the vets.


 I passed slowly, curiously, under the wing and down the flank, sentimentally running two fingers down its skin, noticing the flush rivets holding the dark metal together, on below the turret of the mid upper gunner poking up above me and past the stark metal ladder and the dark opening that let crewmen enter their frightening world. I noticed for the first time the reality that while Dad would have turned left, climbing over the internal spar of the tail to reach his place, the others would all have turned right.

My walk to, and then along the side of this plane had turned it from icon to reality. I could feel the strength and undeniable presence of its bulk, could smell the tyres and the oil from the engines. Rubber, heat and old smoke. It gleamed pristine in a way that something 70 years old shouldn't do. It said, "I am still here. I am still ready."  Every angle and plane gleamed. Light reflected and shadow highlighted detail not normally seen; door handle; engine port access points; suspension struts; hydraulic pipes; exhausts long coloured with an engines heat. I stopped and looked back along the side and up over the starboard wing and saw its shape created to catch the lift, minimise the drag, to carry the weight of a full bomb load, the cowling over an engine hunched still with power yearning to be released. An old athlete still on the blocks.



I came around the dorsal fin and there was the pod holding the rear gun, the perspex bubble where my father would have sat. No wonder they called it "tail end Charlie". He must have felt like he was sitting in a glass bubble outside at 20,000ft. The thought made my blood run cold, a feeling which remained as I got closer and saw the reality of that tiny space filled with the mechanism to control the two guns that gaped evil mouths at head height. I noticed strangely, although the rest of the aircraft had mainly been above me, fate had delivered the point I wanted to see most at practically waist level. The turret sat overhanging the rear wheel and I could see now some of the things Dad had told me about before he died; the steel doors which closed him off from the rest of the crew and behind which he had to hang up his parachute due to lack of space; the perspex panel in front of him which he had removed to improve vision even though it nearly froze him to death; the chutes which funnelled the used shells out of the aircraft. He'd spoken about the lack of space for his legs with all the hydraulics for the guns and turret and the tiny seat he would sit on for eight to ten long hours sometimes. How difficult would it have been to get out of there quickly had the need arose, stiffened by hour after hour of relentless, bitter cold of high altitude in the unheated turret?



I turned my back to the plane and stood close in beside the turret trying to replicate his position and I began to feel his fear of flying low level over land or sea, skipping waves, treetops and telegraph poles at 200mph, seeing danger only when it had passed, aware of how much might still be ahead, how speed would be frighteningly exaggerated close to ground or water. I could feel his isolation and understand how wonderful it must have been to be high above the ground, above the clouds and feeling like it was just you all alone in perfect solitude. How sometimes he felt closer to God. How, with many planes close by in the dark, he feared being hit by other aircraft. How his stomach lurched when they hit the slipstream of another plane or the Lanc leaped upwards when the bombs released. I thought how literal was the 'blind' panic of being coned in searchlights and I saw that while the rest of the crew looked forward he looked only back. He was the last one home. I began to understand where he could look for danger and why he feared what was happening behind those doors where he couldn't turn to see or what lurked beneath his feet on dark nights. I wondered how he must have felt knowing that when a fighter attack came it would almost certainly come from behind. I wondered if he knew as I now did that the casualty rates for tail gunners was almost 70%.  70%?  Surely he couldn't have known that?  My stomach clenched melodramatically. How could any human being cope with that level of stress?  That was when I began to think about how much they all had to be fearful of, how long a flight could be and how those men could sustain control not just across one mission but repeated over days and weeks and months of terrible experience.

There were many strains on them, many ways for fear to manifest itself or to have to be coped with beyond the actual mission itself; the fear of repeated selection for missions, of long hours between finding yourself listed on battle orders for the day, mission briefings and take off, anxious waits for clearance to go - sometimes crewed up sitting on taxy ways waiting ages for a green light to show from the caravan at the end of the runway, wishing it was over - and the more insidious fears; fear of being seen to be afraid, having to bottle it up to crew, family and loved ones to protect them, fear of men who showed signs of breaking or broke under the strain to be classed as LMF [lacking moral fibre] - mercifully few under the circumstances. What had it felt like seeing losses of men and machine posted, seeing belongings cleared and beds lying empty, in new faces arriving.

Numbers seemed to be important markers - getting past the psychological 5th mission to become an experienced crew seemed inordinately important and the insidious perception of higher risk of disaster when nearing the end of a tour of 30 ops as the law of averages swung against survival. A few good experiences could reduce tension by inspiring confidence while just as conversely a run of narrow escapes could practically debilitate or give someone 'operational twitch'. To cling to an irrational belief that it 'wouldn't be you', but some unknown other crew who's 'number was up' was what kept men going. Language hid the reality of an arbitrary death. "Going for a burton", "bought it", "had it" and "getting" - or "gone for the chop" are familiar phrases to me from a Dad who habitually used language learnt in those days but applied it in much different situations in later life.



Some turned to religion, some turned away. Many turned to alcohol and boisterous games or childish pranks when drunk to deaden the senses, and to some extent a great deal of leeway was given to the men in recognition of the high levels of strain. Many turned to human comforts and the release that casual sex would bring. Some turned to superstition with carrying of emblems or tokens, or in actions and routines that had to be religiously carried out. Many touched the aircraft - some peed on the back wheel before leaving - or repeated movements, phrases or prayers; quietly took bags in which to privately collect their vomit. Some wrote songs and poetry, told jokes or smoked desperately, talked about anything other than what was uppermost in their minds, looking ahead only to the successful conclusion of another 'do'; avoiding any long term planning and trying to put thoughts of others out of mind for the time being to be able to deal with the reality of the coming nights work. I felt the bond between the crew that had been described to me. How shared experience and the need to survive depended on each other and allowed - needed even - confinement of closest emotional contact within the 7 crew members and exclusion of others, especially those at risk of contaminating you with LMF. I began then to understand the lack of compassion that could be shown to those poor wretches who simply ran out of courage.

This is in direct contrast to our culture today where we want to get everything out in the open as a means of understanding. A culture where you never have to cope on your own. The culture of the victim where responsibility is shared as a means to help minimise or deny involvement and especially to avoid culpability. It was very different back then where the reality of war and societies acknowledgement of it, was so close and so much more personal than now. Their previous generation had gone through WWI and stark reminders sat in family photographs of those lost or damaged 'doing their duty' - not something that would have been considered unusual then as it is today. There was an infinitely greater expectation for people to do their duty than now, where we question everything and everything is held up for critical and inconclusive review.

I find it hard to reconcile the father I knew with the youth who looks back at me from the few wartime photos I have, even though some confirmation came from Dad himself. I can't see the quiet, gentle, peaceful man that was my father, but what he was prepared to do can't be denied. It was a different world. Perhaps that's what made him who he was, but perhaps even more there is mileage in the sentiment of  a small embroidered plaque in Scampton Church dedicated to the Squadron. It's where services were held and where some of their lost boys are buried.



That day there was one final twist as I eventually moved away from the aircraft to some of the information boards about the men and the Squadrons they had served in. I wandered around looking here and there at fading photo's of young men locked in time, quietly engrossed in thoughts about who they were and what they'd experienced when I turned round one section and came face to face with a photograph containing my Dad from long ago.

After that I really had to go for a coffee and a sit down.

see you later.

Listening to:

Courage beyond fear.

Hullo ma wee blog,

Sometimes things come unbidden to mind. Sometimes you've no idea what triggers memories and sometimes you know absolutely what the trigger is and yet it's not something you have any control over. For instance, I've written a lot about my Dad in the course of this blog, but even then you of course have hardly scratched the surface, because life's like that; it's complicated. I've written extensively about his time in the RAF during the Second World War where he served as tail gunner in Lancaster bombers. He was merely a tiny part of something enormous and yet it's interesting to realise that there are things out there, often much bigger things that somehow make you remember tiny details.

 Research for the 153 Squadron postings piqued my interest in the Second World War in general and RAF bomber command in particular. Nowadays, I watch a number of programs relating to World War II in the air. Some of them are good, some not so good, but often, details of remembrance come back to me. I watched a documentary about bomber command the other day and the programme contained interviews with surviving aircrew who flew in bombers, particularly Lancasters. Naturally, I found some of what was being said quite moving. Some of it triggered memories of conversations with my Dad. Tiny details and some significant things came back to me as I watched and listened to what these men were saying. Here are a couple of examples from the programme that particularly resonated.

Background/crew bale out/ tail gun position.

This section brought back a memory where Dad told me about the rear gun turret, how he'd had the Perspex panel in front of him removed to improve vision as when it was in place it was prone to icing up, reducing critical visibility. He also reminisced about donning the flying gear – rear gunners, due to the exposure to the cold, wore much more protective clothing than other aircrew. Dad remembered that he had been trained to put on this equipment slowly so he did not sweat. At 20,000 feet the temperature could plummet to minus 40 degrees C in the gun turret and this would cause residual sweat to freeze on the skin despite the layers of clothing protecting him.

area bombing/Cologne/aircrew/fears

The following section reminded me of when Dad spoke about training flights; evasive action was a key requirement for any operational crew and the ability to switch into evasive action smoothly and swiftly was an essential, potentially life-saving necessity. The corkscrew manoeuvre was practised again and again, often causing aircrew to be violently sick. It was this memory that Dad revealed when he explained what happened to him the very first time he had experienced ‘the corkscrew’. He described the terror of plunging downwards in a near vertical backwards position, how he had screamed until he ran out of breath only to vomit when the aircraft turned vertically upwards. This manoeuvre disorientated him for a few seconds until, having recovering his equilibrium, the aircraft was again pitched into a vertical dive and he vomited again. He remembered the disgusted ground crew back at base handing him a can of paraffin with which to clean up the resultant mess, which he did with a churning stomach. The manoeuvre, and the result, was practised over and over again. It was something Dad hated with a passion, particularly during night training flights when the disorientation was multiplied by the darkness.  Eventually he overcame the sickness but always feared the potential need to perform a maneuver like this in a congested night-time sky filled with other bombers

He also described training in low-level high-speed flying in similarly horrified terms, once with a pilot who was afterwards removed from duties due to being assessed as unbalanced and unsuitable for flying duties! (Dad recalled flying over water at such low levels that he screamed into his intercom that "if you go any f****** lower I’ll have my F*******  feet in the f****** water!")

The bomb run/flak/enemy fighters/corkscrewing/window

Needless to say, these things made me quite teary eyed, but I have to admit, they made me smile too. The overwhelming thought though was how on earth any of them managed to cope under these circumstances with what they were facing. Despite this, it's only a small part of the man I knew.

High density defenses/type of flak/Dresden

God – I miss the old bugger!

To read the full story of 153 Sqdn and their 1945 campaign diary in date order start here and follow through the dates by clicking 'newer posts'.

See you later.

Listening to;

Contact.

Hullo ma wee blog,

It's nice to get a comment or two on something you've published. Most comment comes from those readers who're kind enough to regularly share their thoughts or reactions to what's been posted but occasionally I'll get a comment from someone as a new visitor or someone who follows but hasn't commented before. Normally, as is probably the case in your own blogging experience, most readers don't comment one way or the other, which is fair enough.

This week though I had some contact that was a bit different. A lady in New Brunswick in Canada emailed me to say her husband had stumbled onto 'Crivens Jings' while looking for some information about a relative killed in WWII. They'd been hunting for some time with limited success, partly hindered by lack of information about her relative and partly because records weren't available in Canada and gaining access in this country seemed a convoluted rigmarole of red tape. The situation was complicated too by family memory being sketchy on detail so long after the event. They knew he had served in 153 Squadron, that the squadron had been based at Scampton and that he had been lost over Germany in January 1945. Family recollection of the name of the place he'd been killed wasn't matching anything they could find until her husband had found my postings on the history of the squadron set out as a campaign diary across 1945 and found that I had listed the men lost on each operation. The email said she was very excited to see the name of her relative at last and asked me if I could help them. The frustration of the search so far and the hope raised by finding his name in my obscure wee blog was obvious, as was the hope of renewing the connection lost over a generation to someone existing only in family folklore and a few fading photographs. She explained that the man's brother was still alive and had tried to find out what had happened without success over several years. Could I give any more information on the raid? Did I know what position in the crew the man held? Did I have any more information about the man I could give them? Could I give them more information about the aircraft he had been flying in. I think it was this not knowing that struck a chord with me, similar as it was to my own previous lack of knowledge about my late father's wartime experience in the same squadron. These people clearly felt a similar lack of understanding and need to try and fill in the gaps.

 How could I say no?

 That evening I sent her an email giving her a slightly expanded description of the raid on Zietz on 16th January 1945 during which her relative had been lost without trace, giving her some background as to why so much detail is sketchy. I would be happy to check for the information she was looking for. I'd done a lot of work on the squadron history and background research about war in Lancaster bombers in WWII and the material I used is still here. I said I would get back to her within a week and if lucky would be able to give her something solid on her ancestors career in the squadron.

Memorial plaque - Scampton Church.

The next day was a day of dreadful weather here which made me swap my plans for a day outside for a more comfortable day indoors. Unexpectedly I had an opportunity to do a bit of digging into my books and records to see if I could find any trace of this missing airman. I quickly found myself absorbed in the task and had quite a bit of information about aircrew around, so within a couple of hours I could tell when he had joined the squadron, who his fellow crewmen were and that he had been the bomb aimer onboard. He'd been part of a crew made up of two British and five fellow Canadians too which may help with a search for information back in Canada. I was able to tell what flight within the squadron the crew had flown in and therefore who their direct commanding officer was. Luckily the flight commander had also written a book on his experiences as a bomber pilot in his later years and this contained detail about the raid which made it more immediate. With a bit more digging I was also able to track down the number of raids, targets and the dates which were flown. I could tell when the aircraft had been delivered and both its squadron and Avro serial numbers. Later that day I emailed the information I'd found along with some photographs I had of key squadron personnel her relative would have worked with and a contact name for the archivist of the squadron association who might be able to provide photographs of the aircraft and crew.

 153 Squadron graves, Scampton kirkyard

I've been pleased to help someone in this way, delighted that the information I'd researched and posted - mainly for my own coming to terms with bereavement - had provided clues to someone trying to piece together a family story of their own. I'm gratified too that my efforts a year ago have left me in the position to do this quickly and with relative ease.  I've mused over the last couple of days on the power of the web to make connections across continents and generations, to allow complete strangers help attach links and provide clues that will hopefully bring comfort and understanding. I've thought too about how no matter how challenging a prospect looks, chances are that someone somewhere has had those same thoughts or has that missing bit of information which can allow things to fit together.

All we need is the ability to make contact.

Listening to

153 Squadron 1944/45 - The final entry

A few months ago, just before Christmas in fact, I decided to go on a journey in search of a bit of my Dad that I didn't know all that much about. Dad died last year aged 84. He'd had a good innings, been an ordinary working man all his days and, an intelligent, able and highly sociable man, he worked in low paid jobs -  postman, insurance agent, traffic warden, social work assistant for blind welfare - for all of his working life. He never hankered after money or status and enjoyed the simple things in life; family, children, nature, people. He was a great fisherman and a great reader, he enjoyed solving problems and making things with his hands in a nutty professor creative kind of way. He was a natural psychologist and understood what made people tick. He was self deprecating and a good conversationalist, a staunch and lifelong giver of friendship. He was inquisitive, questioning and interested to the last. He had one of the most embarrassing laughs I have ever heard from a grown man. He gave that laugh to me.

Dad and his crew. Dad front right.

When he was a young man there was a war on. Before it ended he joined the RAF and became a rear gunner in 153 Squadron of Bomber Command. They flew Lancasters from Scampton near Lincoln in England, the same base that the 'dambuster's raid had been launched from. He very rarely spoke about his armed service. When he did it was short stories of training flights, innocuous anecdotes about life around the base or, more often, stories about when he had been posted out of the Squadron after the end of the war to a small town in Northern Germany where he lived with a German family while working on various ground roles in the area, or about dropping food to starving civilians in Holland. As he would never speak of it much, as I got older I never asked. When I did he simply said that he had trained and then been in a crash and by the time he recovered it was nearly over and his life hadn't been that exciting or dramatic.

Don Freeborn and crew

After he died I suddenly realised I had a thousand, a million questions unasked  about hundreds of things and no chance to have them answered any more. I wanted to know more about his time during the war.  I wanted to know about what he did. I wanted to know about him and his experience. As usual with Dad, nothing was ever straight forward. I began to look. I began to read. I began to dig. As was so typical of him, he led me to a door, opened it and showed me something much bigger than I expected.  A much different story than I imagined began to be shown to me, one that wasn't about my Dad so much as included  him. 

Whizz Wheeler and crew

As I worked away at the information and began to post what I had found, attempting to keep in time with the campaign calendar of 1945, I found the story of a relatively small group of people, no doubt like hundreds of thousands of other small groups around the globe at that time, who were experiencing things that were way beyond my ken. As I posted the sometimes daily updates, they became known to me. They became real to me. Their joint experience put into context language and fears that I recognised from Dad even 60 years later, not from what he said, but from who he was. I began to feel a contact with, and empathy for them through my knowing of him. I began to appreciate much more clearly what they had  all  been through in those truly terrible times. I saw that this was only a small part of what was the same experience for thousands of other 'Bomber Boys' on a nightly basis over an extended period of time. The very reality of posting 'in real time' showed me how relentless their situation was, even over such a short period.  I'm sure that if you have read, or will read these posts as a result of what I am saying here, that you too like me,  may come to a clearer understanding of just what WWII in the air was like for so many.

Wing Co. Powley, Sqdn Ldr Gee.

But now, my little project is finished. I do know more about my Dad. I know more about all of them. How typical of him to show me that it's not about one person, no matter how important that one person may be to you. It seems now, right at the end, that it was in fact about all of them almost right from the beginning. Maybe I should have realised that it was going to be that way. That's another similarity between him and I, I suppose.

High Flight, 20,000ft

Before I leave the topic completely, I want to re-post this little poem from an earlier entry.

 Its for Dad and its for all of 153 Squadron. Those who lived and the 147 who died long ago.

High Flight

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings,
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun split clouds - and done a hundred things you
Have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung,
High in the sunlit silence, hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air,
Up, up the long delirious blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark nor even eagle flew,
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod,
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

written in September 1941
by John Gillespie Magee Jr
Royal Canadian Air Force
died 11 December 1941.
Aged 19.

153 Sqdn Reunion May 2010

Thank you all. God Bless.

See you later.......

153 Squadron 8th May 1945 - VE day to the end of 153 Squadron.

Lancasters over London. VE day Celebrations.

On 8th May, the day that marked the end of war in Europe, the squadron left Scampton once again to make the final food drops marking its involvement in 'Operation Manna'

Although the end of hostilities was marked by  festivities both in camp and outside and intense national celebrations took place with street parties and dances, war was not yet over, with Japan still holding out.  At base the celebrations, while enthusiastically embraced by some, were in contrast felt somehow inappropriate by others who had experienced family bereavement and those who found it hard to celebrate when so many squadron losses had been made in recent weeks. Although I can't find absolute evidence I think its likely that at Scampton as in other places guards were placed  on aircraft to ensure that any over euphoric and inebriated crews did not decide to go on a victory 'spin'. Some bases quietly ensured that aircraft had their magnetos removed thus rendering such unofficial flying impossible.

 Celebrations quickly over, the squadron were instructed to maintain high levels of operational readiness which led to rumours of them being part of the proposed 'Tiger Force' to move to the far East to support the effort being made against Japan. This involved intensive flying practice throughout June and July over extended periods and distances, day and night. Ultimately the squadron was not involved in Tiger Force and indeed the concept was shelved when the USA indicated its intention to pursue the war with Japan alone. In any effect the supposed duration of conflict was terminated with the dropping of the atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in early August.

Before that, the squadron took part in 'Operation Post-Mortem' which involved dummy raids on German cities to help evaluate captured German technology. In addition, one of the most urgent and overwhelming needs was to repatriate the many thousands of British and Commonwealth POW's scattered across continental Europe back to freedom as quickly as possible. To this end it was agreed that this should be done by airlift and 'Operation Exodus' was born and quickly put into full swing across May.

The Dakotas of Transport Command, which were ferrying supplies to the forward units, were used to bring POW`s back to Brussels. Lancasters of Bomber Command were then employed to bring the men back to British airfields. In all, 74,000 men returned this way.

Operation Exodus - 153 Sqdn

Many of the passengers had been taken POW before the advent of four-engined bombers, and they were suitably impressed with what they saw - and if the rudimentary conditions they had to endure, sitting bunched together on the bare metal floor of the aeroplane, fell short of that in any airliner, they generally rated it as the best flight they would ever make!

Welcome home - 'Operation Exodus'

153 Squadron flew on two of these missions - on 11th May (12 aircraft) which returned via Ford; and on the 26th May (15 aircraft) coming back via Dunsfold. Each aircraft carried 24 passengers plus a reduced crew of 6.

Amongst those partaking on 26th May was Bill Langford in LM550 (P4-C), which, prior to its transfer from No.166 Squadron, was known as "B-Beer" with a beer-barrel decorating its nose! Following its 100th operation, Bill arranged for a 100 small foaming tankards to be added alongside the barrel.

153 Sqdn - Lets Have Another {B for Beer}

Coincidentally, and unaware of each other`s presence, one of the waiting POW`s was his elder brother, Richard, who ,like his fellow "Pongoes", was walking around inspecting those enormous flying machines with four engines and two tails, when he chanced upon one with a beer barrel and pots of beer decorating its nose. He said to a companion "I wonder if that has anything to do with my kid brother?", not realising that it was so. At he same time Bill was wondering around the airfield, wondering if his POW big brother could possibly be there. Unfortunately there was no story-book ending. They didn't meet. On arrival back with the first 'loads' of POW's an unexpected surprise awaited the crews on depositing the grateful men.

"I saw our guests down the short ladder at the rear of the aircraft the look of joy on their faces, which more than compensated for our VE day celebrations being cut short. Approaching toward us were a number of medics carrying what appeared to me, flit guns. Each POW was squirted down the front and the back of the shirt and trousers, then they beckoned to us. We said "no" we are crew. They replied "Yes" you have been in their company. So we got the same treatment."

A 153 Sqdn Crew

F/O W. Clark (Pilot) , Sgt V.G. Francomb, F/O N. Sears, Sgt J. Kirkpatrick
Ft Sgt A. Bell, F/O C.C. Dorrity and Sgt T.S Ings  {Photo courtesy of Douglas Bell}

RE-ORGANISATION OF NO.153 SQUADRON

With the ending of the war in Europe, both the Australian and Canadian Government's ordered the repatriation of their aircrews, thereby severing abruptly the tremendous comradeship that had been mutually shared, both in dire moments of action and in many happy hours of relaxation on the ground. Given the mixed composition of many crews, this resulted in a major reshuffle, because many of the remaining RAF and RNZAF personnel had to be re-crewed to fill the vacancies. However, not all could be absorbed, because, to add further disruption, the Squadron`s effective strength was simultaneously reduced to 32 crews.

During 'A Cook's Tour'

Some or the June/July training flights were officially designated as 'Ruhr cross-country' flights, but were quickly dubbed 'Cook`s Tours' by aircrew as they presented an opportunity to fly reasonably low over the devastated areas of Germany to witness the damage caused by bombing. Up to four passengers were permitted; these often included ground crew personnel, both airmen and WAAF, as a means of expressing thanks for their contribution to the efficient daily running of the squadron. It also gave them an insight into flying over distance and the chance to see the effects of their war efforts. I have no information that is particularly Scampton based but there is ample evidence that many people were deeply affected by sight of the devastation wreaked upon Germany on these flights.
 

Disposal of unwanted 30lb incendiary bombs was carried out in late July, August and early September, by dropping them into the North Sea and Cardigan Bay. In all, 45 sorties were required to clear the stockpile.

THE RELEASE (DEMOB) SCHEME

To ensure an equitable method of demobilising 'hostilities only' servicemen, the Government introduced a system featuring a points scheme, based on age and length of active service, which was applied to all men, irrespective of rank, trade, or the uniform worn. However, in practice, each trade received individual treatment, so arranged that in general, aircrew were released much sooner than any other group (although allowance was made for skilled men to be claimed by their previous employers under special Class 'B' arrangements). The actual release documents, designed to facilitate a speedy passage through the demobilisation centre, comprised a multi-page booklet of considerable detail, together with a companion set required for local retention.

Each unit was required to nominate its own Release Officer, responsible for every aspect of the oppressive documentation involved. W/Co Rodney selected F/O Johns (mainly because of his Civil Service administrative background) and thereafter used him as an unofficial, hard-worked, assistant adjutant.
The first persons to be released were F/O J.M.Sharpe - Pilot (Class 'A') and F/Lt C.G.Alexander - Navigator (Class 'B'); both on 8th August.


OPERATION 'DODGE'

British Service men trying to return from the Mediterranean found that damaged roads and railways created enormous bottlenecks, causing lengthy delays on any cross-continental journey. Shipping was mostly committed to supplying the Far East campaign. Many of the Servicemen had been abroad for years without home leave; an increasing number were due for demobilisation. Thus was born "Operation Dodge" (a sly and cruel reference to the unjustified label of "D-Day Dodgers" coined by those involved in the Normandy D-Day landings and one which should never have been allowed to pervade the upper echelons of the Air Ministry to the extent of naming the operation like this)


Three Italian airfields were deemed suitable for use (Pomigliano/Naples and Bari. 153 Squadron was allotted to the former. A pattern of operation was quickly established. The outward journey flew south over France, reaching the Mediterranean at Marseilles (between the Alps and the Pyrenees) then east to Corsica and Elba before heading for Pomigliano - which lies north of Naples. The following day was a rest day, which allowed for sight-seeing around Naples (including Pompeii) and souvenir hunting.

The third day required an early call (03.30am) and a hazardous ride in the back of a 3-ton lorry, narrowly avoiding horse-drawn, un-lit, market-bound, farm wagons, traversing very bad roads, all in pitch darkness. On reaching the airfield, and re-united with their aircraft, crews met their 'payload' of twenty soldiers (plus their kitbags, which were stowed in the bomb bay). To avoid the searing heat of Italy in August, an early take-off was essential. The return journey re-traced the outward path as far as Lyons, wen course was set for Dunkerque, Colchester and finally Glatton, where passengers were disembarked and , after undergoing Customs clearance, crews returned to their home stations.
 
Conditions for the 20 passengers, seated only on blankets on the floor of the Lancaster aft of the main spar, were pretty grim. Throughout a journey of six-and-a-half hours they were huddled together, with no view of the world outside their metalled surroundings, subjected to the unremitting noise of four Merlin engines. Some marginal relief was afforded by visits to the cockpit area during the flight, but not all chose to do so.
 
Over the period 2nd August to 14th September, 153 Squadron dispatched 43 'Dodge' flights, bringing back 860 passengers. With the exception of one aircraft (L) which was forced to stop-over a few days at Marseilles with engine trouble, all flights were uneventful. Crews soon became adept at changing from battle dress blues to tropical khaki outfits over the Med!

 

'H2S MARK IV'

In the inscrutable way of all Headquarters, 'someone' decreed that of all the 79 Bomber squadrons existing on V/E Day, 153 Squadron was to be tasked to conduct service user trials of a brand-new, secret radar device known simply as "H2S Mark IV". This equipment was installed in five of 'B' flight`s aircraft. On 10th August, ten crews  were nominated to carry out the work (their initiation had actually begun on 1st August). Their selection was guided by their low release numbers rather than any other factor. 

Japan surrendered on the 14th August. Within three months of V/J Day, Bomber Command had disbanded ten of the fourteen squadrons in No.1 Group.

The first to go was No.153 Squadron.

On Friday, 21st September, all personnel stationed at Scampton took part in a 'Disbandment of Squadron' parade. Members of 153 Squadron were inspected by the Air Officer Commanding, No.1 Group, following which a precise record of the Squadron history was read out. The Squadron badge, (having been retrieved from the Wing Commander`s safe) was carried on parade by the Assistant Adjutant, prior to him formally handing it over to the custody of a Group Staff Officer for onward transmission to the Air Ministry. The parade included three 'Founder Members' - W/O W.C Harrison (W/Op - just one short of his second tour), F/Lt P.O. Baxter (Engr Leader) and F/Lt R.W.Stewart (Signals Leader).

During its 201 days existence it had dispatched 1,057 sorties (and prepared for many more), dropped 4,654 tons of bombs and sown 204 sea-mines. Sadly it had lost 147 young men; only 6 aircraft of those originally acquired survived. Two had flown more than 100 operational missions.

The Squadron was declared 'stood down' pending its official date of disbandment from R.A.F. Scampton.

 
"Y" FLIGHT

The need to continue user trails on the H2S Mark IV was met by simply transferring all 10 crews involved- together with their 5 modified aircraft - to No.12 Squadron, stationed at RAF Binbrook. That this was only a temporary arrangement was conveyed in their revised title of  ''Y''Flight. Although the aircraft were re-lettered from P4 to PH - No 12 Sqdns code letters,  the Flight acted as a separate, independent unit, concentrating only on pressing ahead with the trial programme, much of which necessarily took place when the rest of the Squadron was stood down. The feeling of being independent, but united in effort, generated a real esprit de corps among the 70 men of 'Y' Flight - who were all from 153 Squadron.


On conclusion of the trials, 'Y' Flight was disbanded and any crew not absorbed into 12 Squadron proper was posted out. The five aircraft were all scrapped.

The last traces of No. 153 (Bomber) Squadron had quietly disappeared.

153 Sqn. 29th April 1945 - 'Operation Manna'

70 years ago today my fathers war came to an end with the final mission to deliver food to starving Holland. A few years ago I posted his squadrons campaign diary for 1945 in real time following them day by day as they fought to survive what was the last few months of WWII. This is the story of their last operational flights.
*******************************************************************************************************************
Continuing the story of my late dad's wartime experiences as tail gunner in Lancasters of 153 Sqn and following Squadron operations from Jan 1945 to the end of hostilities.

During the days in April when the squadron was 'stood down' due to lack of operational targets in enemy territory, the crews of 153 Sqn were detailed to carry out low level cross country flying and map reading exercises. No official explanation was given to the airmen. The reason eventually became apparent......


On the 29th April, 153 squadron began humanitarian food drops to civilian populations suffering from starvation in the parts of Holland still under the Nazi occupation. This tragic situation, known even today as 'the hunger winter' came about because although much of Holland was safely in allied hands, a large pocket in Western Holland (including Amsterdam,Rotterdam,The Hague and other major cities) was still occupied by the Germans. After the landing of the Allied Forces on D-Day, conditions grew worse in  Nazi-occupied Netherlands. The Allies were able to liberate the southern part of the country, but their liberation efforts came to a halt when Operation Market Garden, their attempt to gain control of the bridge across the Rhine at Arnhem, failed.

The Dutch national railways had complied with the exiled  government's appeal for a railway strike starting in September 1944 to further the Allied liberation efforts. In retaliation the German administration placed an embargo on all food transports to the western Netherlands. By the time the embargo was partially lifted in early November 1944 by allowing restricted food transports over water, an unusually early and harsh winter had already set in. The canals froze over and became impassable for barges. Food stocks in the cities in the western Netherlands rapidly ran out. The adult rations in cities such as Amsterdam had dropped to below 1000 kilocalories a day by the end of November 1944 and to 580 kilocalories in the West by the end of February 1945.  As the Netherlands became one of the main western battlefields, widespread dislocation and destruction of the war ruined much of its agricultural land and made production and transport of existing food stocks almost impossible. As usual it was the civilian population that suffered worst with many old, young and weak dying from starvation and cold.

By early 1945, the situation was desperate for the three million or more Dutch still under German control. Prince Bernhard appealed directly to the Allies for help to resolve the situation. In response, protracted negotiations began with the occupying German forces.

The plan to deliver this humanitarian aid was codenamed 'Operation Manna'
 
Allied contingency planners eventually devised a system whereby food could be air-dropped by bombers,using panniers (called 'blocks') four of which could be fitted to a standard Lancaster bomb bay. Each block held 71 sacks (giving a total weight of 1254 lbs per block) variously containing sugar, dried egg powder, margarine, salt, cheese, tinned meat, flour, dried milk, coffee, cereals, tea, high vitamin chocolate, potatoes, etc. - all supplied from the Ministry of Food's reserve stockpiles. Before the introduction of 'blocks', a variety of possible delivery systems had been devised by squadrons acting individually. As is customary, user trials were flown, one of which involved 153 Squadron. Fl/Lt Bill Langford recalled,

"On April21st, I flew 'V' Victor to Netheravon, carrying a mixture of goodies, in sacks, slung from ropes on a Heath Robinson {home-made} device in the bomb bay. We were to demonstrate to an assembly of RAF and Army brass, just how food would be dropped to the starving Dutch. Approaching the airfield at around 200 feet, wheels and flaps down for minimum flying speed, we lined up the white cross on the ground, and pressed the button….. when it all went wrong! Sacks of peas, tins of Spam, and all sorts of containers rained from the sky, scattering the assembled brass in all directions. Not what was intended."

A similar presentation also took place at Scampton after lunch April 21st when F/O 'Red' Penman, flying PA 264 (P4-3rd O), successfully carried out a demonstration drop on the airfield in front of the Marshall of the Royal Air Force, Lord Trenchard, who was visiting the station that day.

Negotiations with the German Occupying Authority for a limited truce to allow food drops to begin, assumed a critical state as the death toll rapidly mounted. At Scampton, as on other stations involved, crews practised low speed/low flying techniques and simulated drops. Eventually, on Sunday 29th April, the codeword "Operation Manna" was issued; this was an inspired choice, for not only does it stand for "bread from Heaven" but it means exactly the same in Dutch. 153 Squadron promptly dispatched 18 aircraft (each carrying 284 bags of food) to a dropping zone at The Hague - all following drops were on Dundigt Racecourse.

On 29 April the people of Holland heard  BBC radio announce:
"Bombers of the Royal Air Force have just taken off from their bases in England to drop food supplies to the Dutch population in enemy-occupied territory."

 Over the ten-day period ending 8th May, the Squadron mounted 111 sorties, shared between all 40 of the active crews, to successfully deliver 271 tons of life-saving provisions. In total, the RAF dropped 7,029.9  tons; the USAF who commenced drops two days later due to concerns about the truce, contributed 4,155.8 tons.

Many crews were initially apprehensive over the realisation that they would be flying, in broad daylight, at a very low level, in full view of the German A/A defences, whose gun barrels could be seen to be tracking their flight. However, the reception by the beleaguered Dutch people, who flocked on to the streets, the rooftops and all open spaces, to wave anything to hand, calmed all fears. Subsequent sorties were flown with panache, at very much lower levels, while crews (most of whom parcelled up their flying rations of chocolate and sweets and attached them to "parachutes" made from handkerchiefs, as personal gifts for the children) exchanged waves with those below. After dropping their loads, many pilots continued to fly at a very low altitudes, waggling their wings and 'buzzing' the crowds to give them a thrill, with their bomb-aimers flashing "V" for victory on the Aldis signalling lamp. It became a carefree, cheerful occasion for the aircrews, and many could not believe that Manna drops were to be allowed to count towards an operational tour.

Dad recalled being terrified at flying so low and so slowly - just above stalling speed. Crews could see the German anti-aircraft guns tracking them, including the fearsome 88mm guns accurate to 20,000ft, and said he felt like they could have reached up and slapped his backside. It was an eerie feeling for crews who were used to bombing from 15,000ft or more to be flying a slow pass over enemy guns at just a couple of hundred feet.  Several Lancasters, Dad's included took some rifle fire from below but luckily no one was injured. Dad's pilot retaliated by diving onto a tented German camp, gunning the engines and blowing the tents apart!  He also recalled one trip where the pilot took the Lancaster up a wide boulevard in a town at absolutely zero feet while the crew looked up at the cheering faces in the house windows on either side. For men used to dropping destruction it was an incredibly moving experience and one Dad was incredibly proud of.

Dutch girl Arie de Jong, a seventeen-year-old student at the time, wrote in her diary:

"There are no words to describe the emotions experienced on that Sunday afternoon. More than 300 four-engined Lancasters, flying exceptionally low, suddenly filled the western horizon. One could see the gunners waving in their turrets. A marvellous sight. One Lancaster roared over the town at 70 feet. I saw the aircraft tacking between church steeples and drop its bags in the South. Everywhere we looked, bombers could be seen. No one remained inside and everybody dared to wave cloths and flags. What a feast! Everyone is excited with joy. The war must be over soon now."

For the Dutch population, the food drops signalled something even more significant than an end to starvation. They saw the streams of bombers flying extremely low in broad daylight; they saw that the German forces did not open fire upon these vulnerable targets. They were quick to draw the obvious conclusion (oddly, not so apparent to aircrews) - that this historic event heralded the ending of the war! They hailed the fliers as their " liberators". The Dutch have never celebrated V/E day. For them, there is only the one, unforgettable celebration - the 7th May - a national holiday - which they very rightly call 'Liberation Day'.

On 8th May - V/E day - which marked the end of warfare in Europe, the Squadron made its final Manna drops. During the 10 days of Operation Manna, 3 Lancasters and crews were lost; two to collision and one to engine failure. None were from 153 Sqn.

As a postscript to this story, its interesting to recall the visit of my elder brothers Dutch friends family to our house around 1975 or so. Bart and Gordon had become great friends at university and Bart had spent quite a bit of time at our house on weekends and such. So, it was fitting that when his parents came across to visit, they also came to my parents house for a meal and to meet the family. At the end of the meal Bart's Dad and mine sat talking when the Hague came up - as Bart's family lived there. Dad mentioned that he had been to the Hague a couple of times at the end of the war to drop food and Bart's father became very emotional and gave Dad a big hug.

"I was there! I was hiding from the Germans but came out to see when the bombers came to drop the food. I was there! We were so hungry. We starved through the winter. I saw the green and red flares go down and then the food began to fall from the planes. I was there at the place in the Hague that day"

A small world indeed.

Next month G and I and Gordon and his wife are going to Holland for a short holiday. We will be staying at Barts house, not far from where 153 squadron made their drops during Operation Manna.

Watch this homemade Dutch film of RAF Lancasters dropping food during Operation Manna which I found much later after posting this item. Note how low the first Lancaster is.....