Name : Leslie Landells

Rank : Sergeant Pilot

Ser. No. : 1004562

Dates at Cranage : Dec 1943 - 6 to 7 weeks

1531 Beam Approach course & General Instrument - Link trainer

The information we have so far for Mr Landells has been acquired from public source. Mr Landells & Mr P. Dwyer [Wireless Operator in Les’ crew] submitted their writings in 2005. It is with kind permission of Mrs Landells that we can show you their memories here.

At the time of our posting his story, Mr Landells, was in his 89th year.

The recollections below have been duplicated word-for-word. Some of the work was produced by Wireless Operator Pat Dwyer.

 

Childhood and Early Manhood 1921 - 1940

I was born in South Benwell, Newcastle-upon-Tyne on the 21st April 1921.

I remember, at the age of 4/6 playing in a local park in South Benwell. The park was more like a large field with meadow grass, buttercups, daisies, clover and other wild flowers. There were also many varieties of bees, butterflies and other insects flying around in the air and under foot. My friends and I were trying to catch the most common variety of butterflies, Cabbage Whites whilst in flight, by hand and occasionally succeeding. Then, on hearing the sound of an engine, I looked up and saw my first airplane, and I followed its flight in wonder until it was out of sight. At which time, a man walking by said to me "One day young lad, you will be up there in one of them." This was of course when the country was full of wonderful sounds and colour, and streams were alive with minnows, sticklebacks and many other species, and we recited the school poem: "The larks on the wing, the snails on the thorn. God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with the world."

I also recall about this time, seeing a large airship flying over the top of the hill overlooking where we lived. I often wonder if it could have been the R100 or R101, which were housed in Cardington (an R.A.F. station to which I reported during my pilot training).

Our parents died when my brother, Lawrence was about 7/8 years old, I myself was around 5/6 and our sister, Muriel must have been around 3 or 4 years of age. Lawrence was brought up by our mother’s sister and her husband, Sid Lakin, an ex-Naval Officer during WWI. Muriel and I were brought up by a cousin, whom we called Auntie Maggie and her husband, Tyson in Distington, Cumbria. We only met our brother 5 or 6 times thereafter.

I met him once when I had arranged to meet a Sergeant W.A.F., called Barbara Vaughan (whom I had become friendly with at R.A.F. South Cerney, Gloucestershire). Then I was posted to R.A.F. Cranage, Cheshire for blind flying training. She wrote and said she was passing through Manchester on leave to her home in Bradford, so we arranged to meet at a ballroom in Manchester. After a short while, a message came over the intercom for me. I thought it was from Cranage, but it turned out to be from my brother, Lawrence, who had heard where I was stationed and had planned a surprise reunion at Cranage, but by this time he was on his way back to his R.A.F. station via Manchester [How anyone knew I would be at that dancehall I never found out]. However, we all had a pleasant hour or so. Then he left for his train. All three of us were most tearful. I only saw my brother twice, once in about 1947/48 at his home in Eaglescliffe, Co. Durham and again, sometime in the 1960s. He died shortly afterwards. His wife died 4/5 years ago and I still correspond with their family.

After leaving school at 14 years of age, I worked as a grocer’s errand boy, then as an apprentice in a small garage and coach building firm. As an apprentice, I received 2 shillings and 6 pence per week in the first year, 5 shillings per week in the second year, and was due to receive 7 shillings and 6 pence in the third year. [2 shillings and 6 pence in 1935 is £4.62 today, 5 shillings is now £9.25 and 7 shillings and 6 pence is £13.87]. To work out the conversion yourself please visit this National Archives link.

My elder brother Lawrence was already an R.A.F. boy entrant at R.A.F. Halton. Although we didn’t see each other very often, we kept in touch and Lawrence had told us he was most content with service life. This influenced my decision to apply for the R.A.F. just before war was declared in 1939.

I duly applied to join the R.A.F., but it was early 1940 before I received a reply, due I was told, to the restructuring of the R.A.F. to meet wartime needs. Then in 1940 when my call-up papers were received, I was posted to Carlisle, Cumbria.

I travelled to Carlisle with my best friend, Freddie Boyd, he to join the Army and myself, the R.A.F. We went by rail early in the morning, intending to spend our last peacetime day together in Carlisle. Only to find on arrival in Carlisle that Army MPs were rounding up Army recruits and taking them straight to Carlisle Castle, which had been turned into Army Headquarters.

No one was waiting for R.A.F. volunteers, so Freddie and I embraced, shook hands and, with tears in our eyes, parted. We never met again. Although I did receive one airmail letter from Burma once, thanking me for being kind to his wife and baby and telling me to “give the enemy hell”. He was a quiet and gentle person in peacetime, but the terrible sufferings of our boys in Burma had made him realise that we must not be defeated. ‘Matty’ (nee Crone) his wife was my cousin. She has since died but I still keep in touch with their son and grandchildren. So sadly, I spent the day alone, visiting the sights, including the cathedral. In the Armed Services Chapel, I said a prayer for Freddie and all servicemen [which I did on leave throughout the war and finally when I was demobbed].

I haven’t read fiction books for many, many years now. I have found real life stories so interesting and educational about all subjects. As to the war 1939-1945, the author of one summed up my own thoughts - "My best memories were ordinary men accepting their cause and duty and steeling themselves to war. Behaving without greed, lies or calculated ambition in near perfect comradeship. Extraordinary men."

As for Cumbrian servicemen and their true worth, one should read ‘Quartered Safe Out Here’ by George Macdonald Fraser, which is a recollection of the war in Burma. Many, many Cumbrian names were mentioned. G.M. Fraser served with the Border Regiment. He also wrote the brilliant Flashman novels later. [He was only 19 when he joined the Borderers]. The reviews by innumerable researchers including Melvyn Bragg [ex-Wigton] are first class. The tales and dialect take me back to my childhood. If the local libraries haven’t copies, their local Historical Societies could well arrange for one. It would be of great interest to the families of servicemen who served in the Border regiments. As I said, the tales and dialect took me back to my childhood, time and time again.

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Memories of My Time as RAF Ground Staff 1940 - 1941

From Carlisle, I was posted to R.A.F. Padgate, [near Warrington] and then to Blackpool for three weeks initial training.

Then I was posted to R.A.F. Bassingbourne on general duties, some of which included guarding the airfield at all entry points, pill boxes, main gates and the large bomb dump etc. The bomb dump was a frightening duty as you were locked in what appeared to be dimly lit caverns holding thousands of bombs.

At that time, German bombers still targeted the airfield. They once cracked the side of a reserve fuel dump. Fuel sprayed everywhere and over our billet, however the blast went overhead and we survived. But a row of billets behind us was demolished and a number of W.A.A.Fs and airmen were killed or injured.

Another time I was on duty on a large water tower, 30/40 ft high. A German plane, a Messersmidt 110 (I think), strafed the airfield. The concrete cladding was splintered and a piece hit me on the side of the head (I still have the original casualty label).

A troop of Army Pioneer Corps was stationed nearby. One of their tasks was to fill in bomb craters. All the equipment they seemed to have were picks and shovels and an ancient road roller to pack down the in-fill for the final surface coating of tarmacadam.

I was once sent to guard the wreckage of a Wellington bomber that had crashed and all the crew killed. This was just as dawn was breaking, with morning mist swirling all around. I was ordered to proceed to the wreckage, then to circle it to prevent anyone approaching. Another airman was ordered to guard the gate to the field. After our transport left, not a sound was heard, and there was a very eerie atmosphere all around. The wreckage in parts was still slightly warm and I then decided to look around. After picking up what seemed to be a flying boot, I was just about to look inside, when I realised it felt rather heavy and there was something in it. Looking up I noticed that the mist had thickened and I couldn’t see anything. I went cold all over, and ran in what I thought was the direction of the gate. I called out loudly to the sentry on the gate. Fortunately, he heard me and after a few attempts, we managed to make contact. By then it was his turn to guard the wreckage, but when I told him of my find, he refused to approach the wreckage. When our transport came to collect us, we just climbed aboard and said nothing and thankfully no questions were asked. Incidentally, before we went on guard duty, the aircraft had obviously been cleared of most of the large debris and the casualties sometime during the previous night.

Another incident arose when I was on duty outside the main guardroom. A German Messersmidt 110 aircraft had made an emergency landing at Steeple Morden, a night flying training airfield associated with Bassingbourne. The Captain marched past the guard on duty, ignoring the command to halt. Arrogant in manner, he said he wouldn’t take orders from anyone but an officer of at least equal rank. The senior NCO in charge looked him straight in the eye and told him where he was and where to go in typical British Armed Services language. The German officer was furious, but was made to back down.

I saw quite a number of other crashes, one when I was walking along a nearby perimeter track. The aircraft exploded and caught fire. One airman near the plane heard the cry of someone still alive. He ran to help, but was restrained by the R.A.F. firemen as nothing could be done. I will never forget his brave attempt to rescue the poor airman.

I then knew I was growing up and learning what war was really about. So I decided to progress and at the same time retaliate [by then I was a L.A.C]. So I studied for some months to reach the educational standards necessary to be accepted for aircrew. I studied mostly in my own time, but had one hour’s instruction from the station’s Education Officer. I managed to obtain books on the A-Z of algebra, physics and trigonometry. In the evenings I studied by candlelight and oil lamps, sometimes under a blanket because of the blackout regulations.

Eventually, the Education Officer recommended me to the Aircrew Selection Board centred in the Lords Cricket Ground in Middlesex. I had applied to be a Navigator, as I didn’t think I could qualify as a Pilot. As it turned out, I did qualify and even flew four-engine bombers, before I held a motor vehicle licence. The Selection Board, consisting of very high up ‘top brass’ asked only a few questions at the interview. The final one was why had I applied to be a Navigator. I told them my story and reasons, and they then asked if I would consider training to be a Pilot. I couldn’t believe my ears, but looking at the expressions on their faces, I felt they wanted me to say yes. So I accepted their judgement in good faith, agreed and said I would do my best not to let them down. It was at that moment that I really felt Fate was taking a hand in my destiny, because in my ‘mind’s eye’, I recalled what the man in the Newcastle park had said, all those years ago in my childhood.

I can’t remember having been given a single verbal or physical test at that stage. So I have always thought since, what a professional, competent and confident group of officers they were. Not because they selected me, but that they had accepted the responsibility of making decisions on hundreds and thousands of other human beings, which made such a valuable contribution to the war effort.

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Memories of Pilot Training

To commence pilot training I was moved to Regents Park, London and billeted in a block of high class flats along with hundreds of other volunteer aircrew. I was issued with a white flash to wear in our forage caps, to denote aircrew under training. The flats of course, had been stripped of their contents and replaced with the standard service iron beds, straw pillows and palliases and metal lockers. We were then given the usual lectures and the drill instructions to keep us occupied. We ate our meals in a large café inside the Zoo. We all thought it a huge joke when marching to breakfast at 6:30 am; we disturbed some of the small inmates [the larger animals had been removed for safety from the bombing earlier in the war]. Especially one species, which, in their scores, howled and howled in a high pitched shriek. The whole neighbourhood was awakened and some residents complained, but we thought, so what, after all there was a war on.

The rest of my stay there was routine for R.A.F. Servicemen under training. Although one occasion could be said to be different from normal. I became friendly with a fellow trainee, Geoffrey Chater, a most likeable character, rather older than myself. He was related to Lady Chater of County Durham [if I remember correctly], a nephew perhaps?  One weekend we were invited to stay with upmarket friends of his family, the Fiskes of Upminster. The Fiskes were fairly important industrialists and quite wealthy. So off we went to their country manor house. It was like something right out of a 'county gentry' scene. On the Saturday evening, we were taken out for dinner. By train and taxi we travelled to ‘Quaglinos’, one of the top quality restaurants in the West End. I can’t remember all the people present but the Countess of Mayo, Ireland and Lady Chater, Co. Durham and a few others were introduced. Geoffrey Chater was much more at ease than myself [I was just a village boy]. He had been brought up on an estate somewhere in the West Country. But I was treated with respect and made to feel welcome as a friend of Geoffrey’s.

On the Sunday I was shown around the manor house. In one outbuilding there was a row of pheasants hanging from the rafters. They were, to say the least, ‘high’ and off putting. Come lunchtime of course, pheasant was on the menu. Needless to say, my appetite was less than normal. Once again it was an example of "Join the services and see the world and how the other half lives."

I met Geoffrey Chater only once after our Regents Park brief friendship. I’d heard he was in hospital near Harrogate. He hadn’t altered, he was the same rather timid, self effacing and well mannered person. We enjoyed our rather brief reunion. We were both Sergeant Pilots at the time. We didn’t think to exchange addresses as we had already arranged to meet in Harrogate when he was discharged, but within a day or so I was posted. I never met him again.

While in Regents Park we experienced some bombing and saw the terrible results of previous heavy raids. Also the demanding conditions in the Underground suffered by the civilian population.

My next posting was to Brighton, Sussex, awaiting transfer to an ITW (Initial Training Wing) for pilot training. Trainee aircrew were billeted mainly in two large grandiose hotels on the sea front, the Grand and the Metropole, both of which had been stripped down to the minimum comforts.

Once again, we were lectured and marched around. One very welcome ‘perk’ broke the routine, a ‘char’ tea break in the morning and afternoon. Our Instructors usually held the rank of Corporal, and of course, each had their favourite cafes, usually a small unpretentious ‘snug’ of a place. These tea breaks were havens of relaxation from the demanding merry-go-round we had embarked upon. Quite willingly of course, as we were all rather proud to wear the white flash in our forage caps, denoting aircrew under training.

Brighton seemed much run down and one of its main attractions, the Royal Pavilion, very neglected. There were many Allied troops stationed nearby, including Canadians. One incident comes to mind. A popular high class ballroom decorated from walls to ceiling with huge mirrors was said to have been seriously damaged during a riot of sorts. Mainly, it was thought, through the frustration of the troops, who were dying to see action.

My next journey was a long haul to St Andrews, Scotland for some weeks' ground training on various subjects, Navigation, Theory of Flight, Air Gunnery, Wireless Operating, Aldis Lamp, and Morse code etc.

We were billeted in a large hotel overlooking and just across the road from the famous Golf Club. On our sports afternoons we would play golf. I played a few holes but went on to play tennis, which I preferred. My partner was Gordon Wright, whom I will write more of later.

I passed all tests with an average rating, with the exception of Morse code and Aldis lamp, in which I excelled somewhat, the very subjects which I had earlier dreaded. The exchanging of the Aldis light signals across the bay, lying among the sand dunes I found intriguing.

Then in June 1942, I was posted to No.11 E.F.T.S., Perthshire bordering on Scone Palace, where the Scone Stone was placed under the throne to declare the authority of Scottish Kings.

I remember my first flight as a pupil pilot in a Tiger Moth biplane. It was ‘out of this world’. But my first solo flight obviously surpassed even that level. The hours spent in learning how to perform loops, rolls, stall turns, recovering from spins, forced landings etc were just as exhilarating.

Nearing the end of this stage, I was given a day off. I had always wanted to visit Scone Palace. So, at 9:30am that morning, I was making my way to the entrance. It wasn’t very far from the airfield. Then I heard someone shouting my name and the constant ringing of a bicycle bell. It was an airman to tell me to return to the airfield p.d.q. Apparently the CFI (Chief Flying Instructor) was waiting for me to make my final grading test. I could hardly take it in. This test was all important, and I had always envisaged at least some hours of notice. I was stressed somewhat and sweating after running back to the dispersal. The CFI just said, “Climb aboard” and off we went. My take off was fairly good, but after a few hundred feet the CFI remarked “you have strayed off course to starboard”. Usually an error made on your first flight under instruction would have been remarked upon quite sharply, but the CFI said it quite calmly with no hint of rebuke. I can’t remember anything else being said or how I was informed that I had passed with an Average rating. In the years that followed, I have thought that the short notice of my grading test was deliberate, to test my reaction to unexpected orders. I have never known the name of the CFI. It does not appear in my Log Book. Not even the date of the final test. However I now feel that the CFI was fully aware of the set-up and had made allowances for my one momentary loss of concentration following take-off.

Sometime around this time, my original Identity Card was taken from me and when returned, all references to my previous postings etc had been deleted. For security reasons I assumed as soon I would be going overseas. I think however, that I could have first been transferred to Harrogate, one of the holding centres between R.A.F. postings. Once again in a large hotel, then the usual drilling, lectures, tests etc.

I was then moved to Heaton Park, Manchester. We were housed under canvas, in large WWI bell tents. These were situated on grassy slopes running down from the front of the Hall. We were there for a week or two and it rained for most of the time. Manchester itself was in a terrible state as a result of earlier bombing raids.

There was one rather bizarre and tragic incident. It was said that a drunken airman had lain down with his head on the downside of the slope, and vomiting during the night, he had choked to death.

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Memories of further Pilot Training in Canada 1942

My next move was to the Glasgow area, where we were to be transferred to Canada for further flying training. We eventually sailed from Greenock, escorted by a large number of American warships in convoy. We were on the middle one of three ex-luxury liners. Very close by were two heavy cruisers and an even larger warship. Later we were joined by some destroyers. It was said later that there were perhaps 10/12 ships in total. R.A.F. personnel couldn’t say for certain, as we were very rarely allowed above deck. During the voyage, which took about 4/5 days or so, only the odd destroyer was seen in the vicinity. The rest were positioned on the horizon. On occasions however more came in closer at speed. Sirens would be heard so we thought German ‘U’ Boats were about. For this reason, the convoy changed course many times during the crossing, which of course was why it took so long.

Then the weather deteriorated and we suffered a gale force storm. Initially, as we left the Clyde estuary, I had gone to the canteen for my first meal on board ship. Being an American ship, there was plenty of food and a wide variety available. Somehow I chose a portion of sauerkraut, as it looked so succulent, but one forkful was enough, as it just didn’t agree with me. Unfortunately at the same time, the ship had started to roll somewhat. I ran for the heads [toilets], but they were so far away and I only just made them in time. How I made it back to my bunk I just do not know. From then on I felt so ill; I couldn’t even enter the Mess for 3 or 4 days. I existed on a few slices of bread or roll with something or other, which was sometimes brought to me in my bunk by a fellow airman. About 1 to 2 days from America I managed to eat the occasional British type snack in the canteen.

I remember one incident, which occurred before we were due to disembark. About 36 hours out, a liner in front of us seemed to be emitting a lot of smoke. It left the convoy and was last seen to be slowly proceeding with 2/3 destroyers as escort. The rest of the convoy just sailed on. Later we heard this liner had aboard many Italian Prisoners of War and arson was suspected. We were allowed on deck for a short time afterwards and saw in the distance the liner seemingly on fire. Sometime later we read a New York news report on the burning liner. There was no mention of sabotage.

After a day or so, we saw the New York skyline with its skyscrapers and docked somewhere near Manhattan Island, I think. After disembarkation, we first travelled on the New York underground, and then changed to take a train on a normal train line.

Skirting the Great Lakes, we travelled to Canada and ended up at Monckton, New Brunswick. I remember the scenery was spectacular. We saw the first bananas we had seen for years at some underground stations [we bought some of course]. The American equivalent of our W.V.S. also served us refreshments at nearly every stop. They made us feel very welcome.

Monckton itself was quite a small town, and I cannot remember much about it. But the camp itself was obviously in a holding area of sorts for service personnel in and out from England, USA and Canada.

As usual the local people were very kind. With a friend I was invited through a WVS unit to visit a Finnish family some miles away. Mother, father and daughter seemed to me to be living as they had lived in Finland. Their log cabin home was situated in a clearing on the edge of a very large pine forest alongside a lake. I pray and trust the war never caused them any harm or grief. They really were innocents in a world in torment, not of their making. As I write, it has just come to mind that they could have been refugees from their 1939 - '40 war with Russia, who had invaded Finland. Helen their daughter, 12/14 years of age, couldn’t wait to take us out in their rowing boat. She treated this very large lake as if it was only a large pond, but with respect. I recall to this day the song “Oh My Darling Clementine”. Although I had been brought up in the countryside in Cumbria, the immensity of the scenery was breathtaking. And how the family appeared to accept being part of it and make it their home so very moving.

Incidentally, I think it was Gordon Wright, a fellow Pupil Pilot — who was with me when I met the Finnish family. Then he was posted to Pensacola, Houston, Texas, an American Flying Boat Training Base. I was posted to De Winton, Alberta, Canada. I think the next time we met was when he called ‘out of the blue’ when I was on a special Government Training Scheme, most pleasant surprise. At the time he was attending a Teachers' Training College in the South of England. He specialised as a flying instructor throughout the war. I was pleased he didn’t fly with Bomber Command. He really was such a gentle, kind and Christian person. He would have found it hard on his conscience to accept the moral consequences of bombing towns and cities. He eventually became Headmaster of a private school until he retired. Unfortunately for quite some years now, both he and his wife have suffered serious health problems. Gordon suffered a number of strokes. But he still presses on and we still correspond, exchanging memories and news, especially at Christmas. [It is a privilege to be a friend of such an unassuming and genuine character]. I was a little envious when he was posted to Pensacola, USA. I thought he would be piloting the American designed Catalina flying boat [a beautiful looking aircraft], but it was not to be for, as I have said, he qualified as a flying instructor on Tiger Moths and Magisters.

In Autumn 1942 I was then posted to 31 EFTS - De Winton, Alberta. We travelled on the Canadian Pacific railroad. A long journey over four days or so. The train stopped mainly to take aboard fuel, water and general provisions. The only major stopover was at Winnipeg, the capital of the prairies. The train stopped on the outskirts of the city about lunchtime. We then marched into the centre and were allowed to see the sights for a few hours. It looked like a typical western township, just like as shown in films, although quite large.

The length of the train and carriages was formidable. Then, I seem to remember more freight wagons being taken on, together with an extra large engine. The extra freight wagons may have been connected with the wheat crops and the many large granaries spaced out alongside the railway line throughout the prairie. Most of the crops by then had been harvested, leaving endless miles of stubble, which were so uninteresting to look at, although the vast landscape itself was quite breathtaking. Most, if not all of the passenger carriages had ‘let down’ bunk beds. Also there were special observation carriages. But alogether it was a long, long haul to Calgary, Alberta our final destination.

On arrival on 6th October 1942 at 31 EFTS De Winton, I commenced flying the American single engine Stearman biplane. The Stearman was radial engined with a sheet metal airframe. Much more powerful than the canvas airframed Tiger Moths. [Very much like the WWI fighter aircraft]. We also flew the Canadian Tiger Moth, which was different from the British, in that it was fitted with a perspex hood over the cockpit. [Presumably because of the winter weather].

Interspersed with flying we were instructed and tested on all the usual ground subjects. The Stearman was a delight to fly. In addition to previous training, we were instructed on aerial combat and even dive bombing.

There was a further tragic accident during this time. A Czech pilot was killed when simulating aerial combat with an English pupil. The English pilot parachuted and landed safely. The Czech pilot who died was said to have been an ‘Ace’. So his death came as a great shock to everyone. He was buried with full military honours in a cemetery on a hill overlooking Calgary. I had been in his company on more than one occasion. He really impressed me with his personal crusading spirit to free his homeland from the evil Nazi regime. I can still recollect him in my ‘mind’s eye’ as I write.

The Czech pilot was one of the many European nationalities on our course. They came from Poland, Holland, Czechoslovakia and France. Also from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. [I felt I was in another world which I found difficult to digest]. I knew I was growing up fast and that somehow the magnitude of the war was reaching me. I found that the Dutch kept together in a group off duty, but in the mess and rest rooms they were very friendly to me when I sat down near them. I can only recall well one French man, with whom I spoke at times. He was well over 30 and wore a French Air Force uniform with pilot’s wings and medals. He was married with children. Rather sad in his outlook and you could sense that wherever he was stationed, his heart would always be with his family in his homeland. I trust and prayed he would survive and see his loved ones again. Actually quite a few of these European pupils wore their country’s medals and brevets denoting their skills and bravery, but were there because they needed to be instructed and trained in basic R.A.F. procedures to comply with R.A.F. standards (especially in the English language). The Polish airmen, as was well known, were a rather wild bunch, but were really dedicated characters to their cause, which was to liberate Poland and its people. As a group they were way ahead of us Englishmen when it came to training to gain our wings.

Incidentally when our Czech comrade was being buried and the bugler sounded the “Last Post”, we were interrupted by what sounded like fireworks exploding. Then, on the far side of the cemetery we saw a long procession of Chinese mourners following a parade of their customary symbolic dragons etc. The intermingling of the “Last Post” with the noise and firecrackers coming from the Chinese procession were surreal with the vast lonely backdrop of the Rocky mountains seemingly, so close by.

Once again, I, a village boy from Cumbria had a brief but profound experience of coming close to yet another nationality and culture. How many countless numbers of times did others have similar experiences — to a much greater extent — during the war?

The Chinese no doubt would have been descendants of the many thousands who had worked on the Canadian and American railroads as they were being built.

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Memories of further Pilot Training in Canada and the UK 1942 - 1943

7 December 1942

After completing the course at De Winton, I was posted to 37 S.F.T.S. Calgary (only 20 or so miles distance away). Here I was introduced with a fellow pupil to a Canadian family called Buchan of Scottish ancestry. Mother, Father and two daughters; Audrey 18/20 years old and ‘Tiny’ about 15/16.

The parents were so kind and hospitable. They really made you feel at home. They came from a Scottish background. They actually ‘adopted’ four trainee Pilots. Two from New Zealand and an English trainee and myself. We — all four of us — spent a 72 hour leave pass over Christmas with them. We had a lovely Christmas and being Canada it was breathtakingly ‘white’.

At this juncture I find it difficult to recall exactly what happened and in what order, so please bear with me. After a fairly long solo cross country flight in a Harvard trainer to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, I suffered a severe case of sun blindness. It had been a perfect day for flying, no clouds, and clear sunshine. I really should have been issued with sunglasses to counter the refraction effect of sunlight on the snow covered foothills of the Rocky Mountains [but I wasn’t issued with any]. I woke up the following morning and could not open my eyes. My eyelids were completely shut with a sticky discharge. So it was off to Sick Bay. After lengthy bathing with some eye solution my eyelids were freed, but my pupils were blood red and most painful. I then had to wear special dark glasses for quite a while. Until I got the all clear, I had had doubts about being fit to fly.

However I carried on training. We were instructed in the usual aerial practices, aerobatics, aerial combat, cross-country navigation, forced landings, night flying, dive bombing etc.

One of my instructors at Calgary was W/O Davidson, an ex-schoolteacher from Harrington, Cumberland. In fact he had taught woodwork and crafts at Harrington School. I went there at intervals and recognised him, as he did me. He had also taught ‘Bud’ Storey our Navigator who came from Harrington.

Once when instructing us on night landings he saved our lives. I had selected the wrong lever, undercarriage for flaps. He reacted and made the necessary correction. The aircraft had seemed to almost stop. It was really scary. I received a deserved reprimand but heard nothing more: I think W/O Davidson had favoured one of his former woodwork pupils.

Actually his sister, Miss Davidson had also taught me at Distington village school (what a coincidence I thought).

When the first snow fell it was welcomed by most of us. We had been praying for rain after many, many weeks of sunshine. Everything had dried out. When airborne all you could see was drab looking stubble over the vast expanse of the prairie. Most of us longed for the cool rain and green fields of Britain.

After a very short time we experienced the Canadian Indian Summer. One day everything was snow covered. Within days the ‘Chinook’ wind had blown in through the Kicking Horse Pass in the Rocky Mountains from West to East. Then funnelled out all over the prairie surrounding Calgary. From the air it looked like a wide brown estuary of a river.

The pine forests of the Rockies of course remained evergreen until covered by the winter blizzards. And when they came, you certainly knew it. Temperatures well below zero and gales of extreme force. The snow was more like powdered dry ice. You just couldn’t face it without appropriate goggles. Even then you had to keep scraping them to see even faintly.

In between snowstorms the sun shone and the air was crisp and dry, so altogether it was quite pleasant.

Flying training continued as runways and local roads were soon cleared by snow ploughs. One morning we were awakened by the deep throated roar of aircraft engines. Almost instinctively you knew it was the sound of a different type of aircraft. It turned out to be the remainder of a flight section of twelve American fighter planes. Thunderbolts — powerful radial engined planes. Said to be excessively heavy and most difficult to control. They proved to be so for that flight.

Twelve had taken off in the USA, only nine landed at Calgary. The other five had crashed either on take-off or during the flight. Of the remaining seven, only four continued on to their destination, Alaska. The three remaining planes either, having suffered engine failure or crashed.

We of course never found out how many planes made it to Alaska, as it was all top secret.

The Americans had apparently established an air link from America to the Aleutian Islands bordering Alaska and Russian territories near the North Pole. It was named the Alaskan Highway and was created for the purpose of defending North America from any possible intrusion from Russia or Japan.

We, trainee pilots of course were more concerned then relieved we hadn’t to fly Thunderbolts. As at that time we thought many of us would be flying fighter planes before too long. However, this was not to be as the RAF and USSAF were rapidly gaining ascendancy over German fighter squadrons and so the powers that be directed more efforts onto bombing missions [but more on this subject later, as time will tell].

We flew nearly every day on Harvard MKIIs. With a few sessions on Anson twin engined aircraft through December 1942 until and including April 1943. It was quite exhausting, although very interesting and most satisfactory for the morale.

During early 1943 I had received another setback. I contacted a rather virulent strepocci/strepoccus throat and chest infection. I had got up from my bunk and just collapsed. The next I knew, I woke up in Sick Bay.

For what seemed interminable days, I had a raging fever. My throat particularly, was agonizing. I could hardly swallow liquids much less food. I rapidly lost weight and during the nights particularly, the pain was almost unbearable.

After what seemed a never-ending period of time, in the dark early hours of one morning, I felt I could not stand the extreme pain any longer. I prayed for relief, one way of the other.

I then must have gone into a deep sleep, the first since I first collapsed. During which I dreamed I had entered a long tunnel. The walls of which were white. As I came towards the end, I saw an extraordinarily bright ‘light’. I had nearly reached it when my dream must have ended. A short time afterwards I woke up. Unbelievably there was no pain or discomfort whatsoever. I felt completely cured although not surprisingly, very, very hungry. I rose from my bunk and walked along corridor after corridor seeking something to eat. Alas all the cupboards were locked. Eventually I found a crust or two of bread and wolfed them down. I then returned to my bunk and slept soundly.

During all this time, I heard no sound or encountered another soul.

I have faith so cannot discount this incident as only a vivid dream. I can only add I believe it to be associated with the power of prayer. Otherwise how could I have been cured almost instantly?  The RAF medical staff could not or would not offer any explanation. Without being critical, I think they were only too pleased to see a budding RAF Pilot recovering, to continue flying. As were the ‘top brass’. For it cost many thousands of pounds to train one pilot. Quite rightly and properly they and the country needed valuable and necessary return on their investment.

As it was my weight had reduced to less than eight stone and I felt rather weak, to say the least. However, I was discharged within a day or two without my weight being checked. Then a few days later I was called to the flight section. To my amazement I was on the roster to fly circuit and bumps and practice spinning. I did not query the order as I did not want anyone to question my capability to pilot a plane. As of course I wanted to gain the coveted ‘wings’ at all costs.

Actually I can’t remember if it was during this first flight but I think it was, that I ground looped on landing, but I do know that during the flight I was covered in sweat and very light headed. The plane was obviously damaged [I have a photo of it]. Very shortly after I was ordered to the Squadron Leader’s office. All he said and confirmed in writing was ‘inexperience ground looped after landing’.

Over the ensuing years I have not altered my own opinion, which was, he took one look at the pasty faced skeletal airman in front of him and thought and decided something didn’t add up. He then made enquiries and wisely decided the matter should rest, as far as I was concerned. I feel fairly certain that some of the medical staff ‘caught a rocket’, after all, apart from me nearly killing myself, I could have killed others and there was the substantial cost of an aircraft write-off.

I was very sad then to find I had been transferred to the next course. How I missed my friends of many months.

Gradually I gained weight and strength but it was a struggle to keep on top of the required standards to gain my ‘wings’.

The ‘Buchan Clan’, as I affectionately nicknamed them, were a tower of strength in my recovery. To this day I cannot thank them enough. They were a credit to their Scottish ancestry and Canadian adoption. I kept in touch with ‘Tiny’ by letter for some months, but other demands and duties intervened. She enrolled as a nurse and, I heard later, although how I cannot recall, she made a good one and in time gained the position of Matron.

I only ever met two of the pilot trainees from my original course again.

One was called Gordon Leighton who was one of the middle class types. I thought we got on quite well. After the war ended I was travelling to work on a bus along Oxford Road in Manchester. I saw him enter the lobby of an imposing building which housed the head office of the Tootal Tie Company. So I wrote to him saying I would be pleased to meet him again and exchange reminiscences. I never received a reply.

I cannot remember the name of the other airman, but he looked very much like Ian McShane, the actor who played the role of the antique dealer in the TV series. He seemed to be a similar ‘jack the lad’ character. He actually married a very wealthy ‘merry widow’ in Calgary. No-one could find out how he received the RAF’s permission to marry, as they were very strict about such things. He was only aged I would guess, around 23/24 years of age at the time and the widow seemed to be a fair bit over 40 years old.

Their wedding took place in one of the top hotels in Calgary. Quite a few of us on the same course were invited to the reception. No expense was spared and the wine and spirits flowed freely. At one point the happy couple left for a while. On their return, it was said he regaled some of the guests with what transpired. Apparently they had indulged in rather torrid lovemaking in the hotel’s largest bathtub.

The next time I saw him was on a bus in Cambridge in August/Sept 1943. I was in Cambridge on an instructor’s course. He didn’t look at all well. Then I remembered he was known to drink more than was good for him. I spoke to him and mentioned Calgary. I don’t know if he made the connection, as he was moving along the bus to get off — then he was gone.

On my new course I took up where I left off with intensive training on the ground and in the air. Piloting Harvard II single engined monoplanes manufactured in the USA. Also Anson twin engined aircraft on cross country flights and my first training for night flying.

There was a Master single engined monoplane on the airfield. A powerful machine used for training up to Hurricane and Spitfire standards. Most of us thought we would be flying this aircraft before passing out. But apparently it was only used by the very senior flying instructors. In any event the air war in Europe was going our way. The enemy fighter force was deteriorating very fast. The need was for us to increase our bomber squadrons and replace aircrew losses. So as far as I know, we were all assigned for twin and four engined bomber training. Although it turned out that a few including myself, were selected for training as instructors on Tiger Moth and Magister, single engined aircraft.

However, when still at RAF Calgary on a day off, I decided to see how the poorer citizens lived. Calgary city centre looked impressive and prosperous. As were the suburbs where the ‘Buchan Clan’ lived. It was a long walk from the centred of the extreme outskirts. The further out I walked the less salubrious the houses. I then came to the prairie itself. I walked on for a while until I was out of sight of the last of the dwellings. When I looked up, I saw that the Northern Lights were coming on. As the strange and weird movement across the sky increased, I suddenly became slightly afraid as by then, it was nearly dusk. I couldn’t see any buildings and with turning around to view the lights, I was disorientated. The vast expanse of the sky and prairie brought on an overwhelming sense of isolation. I looked around and knew I had to make the right choice of direction, for the wrong one could leave me stranded somewhere on the prairie. I prayed and thankfully I chose the correct direction and within a few minutes I saw some lights. As I walked along the dirt road between rather ramshackle buildings, I felt for the inhabitants and thanked them for having their lights on and showing me the way, even if they only seemed to be oil lamps.

Ever since then when visiting towns and cities, in the UK or overseas, I have always tried to visit the poorer areas. It helps me to accept how fortunate myself and my family have been over the last 60 years or so.

At the end of April 1943 I received my wings with the rank of Sergeant Pilot. The ‘Buchan Clan’ came to the presentation ceremony, ‘God Bless Them’.

May 1943

Eventually I was posted back to Monckton. We travelled along the Canadian Pacific railroad, stopping occasionally as before, including Winnipeg. Next stop was Montreal where we were given a 24hr pass to see the city. A most beautiful and cosmopolitan city. There was no sign of a world war in evidence except for some posters here and there. The French language and signs were very obvious. But all in all, the city and its citizens were very acceptable.

We boarded a much smaller vessel for our return to the UK, than the former converted luxury liner on the outward voyage. We arrived in Liverpool within 3 1/2 days or so. In much less time than the outward trip due it was felt, because we were gaining the upper hand in the ‘U’boat theatre of war. Later we were told we had taken the shortest possible course, hence the short duration of the voyage. There was also no naval escort as previously.

I was then sent to Harrogate, Yorkshire to await my next posting. We were billeted in the usual good class hotel [stripped to bare essentials]. Again, I cannot recall all that transpired, but we were drilled and marched with the usual tea breaks. There were limited sports facilities. We also had to undergo all sorts of aptitude tests. Harrogate, as is well known, is a lovely town so our stay was a pleasant interlude from the war. Actually I may have mentioned before, that I was stationed in Harrogate more than once between RAF stations. It has just come to my mind that I may have been sent to RAF Padgate on this occasion before my posting to Harrogate. [Incidentally one day we were all directed to march in a ‘Wing’ for a Victory parade in Leeds].

July 1943

I was posted to No.4 Flying Instructors School [Elementary] in Cambridge.

Again there were new techniques to be learned and more aerial training to be undergone. I had a most satisfying time as far as the flying was concerned. The weather was almost perfect and like many other Pilots, I flew low over the River Cam and had sailing boats in our slipstream leaning over at most acute angles. We also engaged in aerobatics of every kind.

One day on the airfield I saw an officer pilot whose face was terribly scarred. He was still flying Tiger Moths and Magister planes, I think he was an instructor.

Once again, after more than 3 years in the RAF it was back to the war for me.

I passed my flying instructor tests with an ‘average’ rating, but failed the teaching standard required. I was a hands on person and, to a large degree, still am. Not like my eldest son, Stephen, 53 years old, who was the Head of the Science and Technology department at our local comprehensive school, Werneth High. Teaching was a vocation to him.

Sadly he died this morning at 11:30 am, Friday 26th August 2005 as I was adding to my war memoirs.

His last words to me, with a deep sadness in his eyes, were ‘I loved teaching Dad, especially when actually teaching the children.’

He was highly regarded and thought of by his pupils, their parents, teaching colleagues, friends and all who knew him.

As was confirmed by the overflowing attendance at the funeral at St Chads Church, Romiley, our local C of E church. From there we went to Stockport Crematorium. The cortege then drove past Werneth High School, Bredbury where he taught for 32 years.

The wake was held at The Old Rectory, in the local hamlet of Haughton Green. [A most appropriate and peaceful venue].

As a family and along with many of his friends we were shocked to find out that he had been treated for 9/10 years for irritable bowel syndrome. Then 2/3 months ago after seeking a specialist’s opinion, he was told he had cancer.

So now I will continue with the story of our bomber crew, but first let me say that I will once again be attending the airfield reunion of 12 and 626 Squadrons next Sunday, 11 September 2005 with my wife and some members of our family. Our Bomb Aimer, Boris Threadgold, as always, will be there with members of his family [all the way from Alton, Hampshire].

We are very sad at the moment but at least our son had 53 very happy and contented years. He would appreciate that our fellow comrades had so little time to live, but we have faith enough to believe in destiny and God’s Will and that we will all meet our beloved ones once again, and as Nelson Mandela said, ‘What I have learned from life is being grateful for being alive and can serve society’.

Our son, through his chosen vocation certainly did that and most willingly. It has been said that he was a latter day ‘Mr Chips’ from the novel by James Hilton.

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Bomber Pilot Training in the UU 1943 - 1944

5th October 1943 — No. 3 A.F.U. South Cerney

I was posted to this aerodrome on or about 5th October 1943. To be instructed on Oxford and Anson twin engined aircraft in preparation to fly Wellington, Halifax and Lancaster bombers.

During my time at South Cerney I visited Bristol said to be built on seven hills. I was impressed by the famous suspension bridge and the surrounding countryside. Also the Bristol Museum . Here I saw my first Egyptian exhibition. I also visited the Mauritania Hotel. The furnishings and rooms were said to be all from the famous ocean liner which once had held the record for crossing the Atlantic. Then I went to the very old dockside area. It looked as I imagined it had been during the era of the slave trade and when I entered the ‘Landogger Inn’ where slaves were once auctioned I was overwhelmed by ‘man’s inhumanity to man’. Especially when I saw the hollowed out centre of the block of stone worn out by the bare feet of the slaves being auctioned.

Once in the NAAFI canteen I was approached by a young airman. It turned out to be Ernest Stabler, an old school friend and neighbour from Distington, Cumbria. After a short chat he had to leave as he was on duty. He was training to be an Air Gunner. I never met him again. Then I heard, it could be when I was on leave or even after the war, he was killed very early on his operational tour. He was an only son and was cherished by his mother and father. I was told afterwards that his parents never fully recovered from their loss. He was only 18 or so years of age.

I have just remembered that when flying solo on a cross country flight, I nearly panicked as I lost my sense of direction. Eventually I saw a very small airfield, made contact and landed on grass. There were no tarmaced runways. On the approach I noticed that the airfield had a rising dome like centre to it. I thought about ‘overshooting’ but by then was concerned about my fuel levels. So I carried on and made a perfect landing. I found out later that the airfield was only intended for small single engined aircraft. I was given the course to take with the remark ‘you certainly made a landing’. This episode was never mentioned on my return to base. So once again it was a case of aircraft and pilot landed intact, so ‘why bother’ as long as they could both still contribute to the war effort.

It has just come to mind that the airfield could have been RAF Wroughton, nr Swindon.

Training was intensive but only lasted two months or so. By then I felt confident to pilot ‘Oxfords’ and passed with an ‘average’ rating.

Before I close this chapter I must mention that on leaving Temple Meads station to visit the city centre I had to walk through the areas devastated by bombing. As I had done in London and Manchester. Hence the feeling that most people had at that time, which was we must carry on and achieve peace as soon as possible.

December 1943 — 1531 Beam Approach Squadron

My next training course was in Beam Approach Squadron, Cranage, nr Middlewich, Cheshire.

It was a most demanding course, mostly consisting of taking off up to 100ft or so then the instructor pulled a screen over your side of the cockpit blacking out everything. From then on you flew by instruments only, guided by the radio beam system until you were on the final stage of the approach for landing, when the instructor removed the screen.

During this course I also passed the General Instrument course on the Link Trainer.

The weather was so bad it took 6/7 weeks to complete the course instead of the expected 2/3 weeks.

During the latter weeks of training, I often practised overshooting the runway from a height of a few feet to anticipate late emergencies.

I also flew many hours at night. Altogether this course was the most intensive to date but by then I felt confident to fly Oxfords and passed the final test.

During my odd day pass, I visited Manchester again. It remained more or less the same as I had seen it earlier in the war, just devastated. I still feel, as I am sure most people did, for the citizens in their suffering and grief.

April 1944 — I was posted to 83 O.T.U. Peplow

Here I accepted our crew.

Then on to RAF Sandtoft, Yorkshire. Where Eric ‘Marty’ Martindale joined us.

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The Story of an RAF Bomber Crew by Pat Dwyer & Leslie Landells

Bomber Crew -

Pilot: Les Landells, Distington, Cumbria
Navigator: Albert ‘Bud’ Storey, Harrington, Cumbria
Bomb Aimer: Boris Threadgold, East Mosely, Surrey
Flight Engineer: Eric ‘Marty’ Martindale, Carlisle, Cumbria
Wireless Operator: Pat Dwyer, Perth, Australia
Rear Gunner: Fred Dartnell, Hainault, Essex
Mid Upper Gunner: George Gregory, Laindon, Essex

Crewing Up (at Peplow, Operational Training Unit) by Pat Dwyer

On 6 April 1944, I met our crew on this station. Selection was carried out in a very democratic way. I arrived at Peplow about 9:00 am. I took my kitbag and gear to my allocated Nissan Hut quarters. It was time to eat and I headed for the Sergeants’ Mess. I was sitting by myself at the table eating my food, when I was approached by an English Sergeant Pilot, who was with three other English aircrew. His first words were “Would you like to be in my crew?” Without hesitation, I replied, “I would love to” and that was the beginning of an association, that is now into its 61st year, with six Englishmen, with whom I shared the highs and lows of flying with RAF Bomber Command. The bonding and comradeship of a crew from Bomber Command is something you do not think of initially, but it soon became an essential part of my life as you shared the fears, the dangers, and the highs and lows of such an uncertain lifestyle. Crew members gave each other strength to face up to fear with courage, and the will to stay with your crew to complete a tour of thirty operations in Europe. This experience gave us the strength to face up to the trials and tribulations of life after the R.A.F., and made us much better citizens, who were able to appreciate life.

Initial operational training by Les Landells (Pilot)

My first training flight as a Pilot at Peplow was with Flight Sergeant Price (Instructor), Flying Officer Spurr (another Pilot in training) acting as Wireless Operator. We were to do ‘circuits and bumps’ i.e. take off, circle the airfield and land. Pat and our crew were on the tarmac waiting to judge the quality of their new Skipper. I had only spoken to all of them once or twice, as they were undergoing separate instruction in their operational categories. Just imagine they had never flown with me. Then at a few hundred feet, an engine suddenly failed and you can’t control a Wellington bomber on one engine, in that situation. All you can do is to feather the propeller of the other engine. Put the stick forward immediately to prevent stalling. Don’t put the wheels down as there were only fields below and the aircraft would have tipped over on its nose. We all escaped serious injury but the aircraft was in pieces spread over two to three fields. Fortunately, very muddy, therefore it softened the impact, which reduces the chances of fire. Actually there was mud and fuel spraying all over the place. We went through two to three hawthorn hedges, lost at least one engine, part of a wing and the rear turret. So you can imagine the spectators’ reaction. Some thought we had had it, as Wellington bombers, a good aircraft, were still very vulnerable to crashing on landings. [They caught fire fairly easily]. Flight Sergeant Price’s alertness and skill helped save all our lives. After 24 hours in Sick Bay, I was asked to fly on ‘circuits and bumps’ again. It was standard practice to see whether or not you could face up to it again.

Pat mentions Joe Spurr and crew being killed on their leaflet raid to Creil, France (they took off from Peplow O.T.U.) alongside us. He had escaped injury on our ‘circuit and bumps’ flight and then got killed when on his first trip as a Pilot to France, on a so-called ‘safe’ mission. Rather ironic perhaps?  Of course, there was no such thing as a safe mission, flying over Europe at that time. Pat again, could not and neither could I, separate the dangers and our feelings between war and peace. Actually Flying Officer Spurr had already completed a tour of bomber operations earlier during the war, as a Navigator but was keen to qualify as a Pilot. A most likeable character, said to be 26/28 years of age and married with two children. We all remember him with absolute respect, but tinged with sadness for him and his family.

As confirmed by Pat, we had an engine problem on take-off in our Wellington Bomber, at a speed of 90mph, causing the aircraft to swerve off the runway. I took corrective action, but to no avail. We were then heading straight towards the Main Administration Block. To avoid a head-on collision, I tried to retract the undercarriage, but this did not work. So immediately I applied the left rudder/brake pedal. The aircraft turned to the left away from the buildings, went into a series of ground loops. But fortunately, came to a halt yards away from a deep drainage ditch, which was being repaired. If we had carried on to the left, we would have tipped over on our nose with serious consequences. So again, thank the Lord. As it was, the plane was badly stressed. The CO was not too understanding, he never even said “good show” for avoiding crashing into the Administration Block, which could have resulted in loss of lives and casualties.

On 30 July 1944, I was posted from Peplow, to a HCU (heavy conversion unit) at RAF Sandtoft in Yorkshire, to learn how to fly Halifax 4-engined Bombers. Here I asked Eric Martindale ‘Marty’ to join us, making up a full crew. Marty had just survived a very serious crash on a training flight in a Halifax with his original crew. All were killed except Marty, but he still had the will and courage to continue [a very brave young friend and comrade]. Although before too long it became evident that his nerves were ‘shot’, but that is another story. He should never have been allowed to fly so soon after seeing all his friends die. So for our final operations we were allocated a reserve Flight Engineer. A long time later we heard that Marty had recovered and flew in the Middle East, still as brave as ever. I still correspond with some of his relatives in Carlisle, Cumbria. [As indeed I do with all the families of those of our crew who have gone to that ‘Eagle's Eyrie in the Sky’ reserved for flyers].

I was then posted to R.A.F. Hemswell, Lincolnshire for conversion to Lancaster Bombers on the 8th September 1944. From there I was posted to R.A.F. Wickenby, 626 Squadron (an operational squadron) on 16 September 1944. Squadron Crest: “To Strive And Not To Yield”.

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Bombing Missions over Germany in October 1944 by Pat Dwyer & Leslie Landells

Pat’s account of missions added to and edited by Les

Bomber Crew -

Pilot: Les Landells, Distington, Cumbria
Navigator: Albert ‘Bud’ Storey, Harrington, Cumbria
Bomb Aimer: Boris Threadgold, East Mosely, Surrey
Flight Engineer: Eric ‘Marty’ Martindale, Carlisle, Cumbria
Wireless Operator: Pat Dwyer, Perth, Australia
Rear Gunner: Fred Dartnell, Hainault, Essex
Mid Upper Gunner: George Gregory, Laindon, Essex

After months of training, the aim was to get onto a squadron to start a tour of thirty operations into Europe, mainly Germany, which was required to complete a tour. We were well aware of the heavy losses, because of the large number of friends, who had died on ops and also the hair-raising details given by friends of trips they had been on.

3 October 1944 — Westkapelle

Our first trip to Westkapelle was one, which we thought very easy, and I can remember thinking I shall volunteer for two tours, which would mean fifty five trips straight.

7 October 1944 — Emmerich

Our second trip to Emmerich was okay until we got to the target, then the Lancaster just behind us was hit by flak and we could see the crew bailing out. We had no sooner opened our bomb bay doors than we had a direct hit by flak. We dropped our bombs and headed home, with the plane performing well. Back at base we checked the damage and could see the bomb bays holed from the inside to the outside. We were lucky as the bombs protected us from the flak. The damage was from the front turret down the fuselage to the rear turret. The ‘Cookie’ had a thin casing, but withstood the flak, so we were lucky it did not explode.

Duisberg

Our next trip was to Duisberg in the Ruhr, and there the flak was thick and frightening. We could smell the cordite through our oxygen masks. The burst of flak we were flying through made it seem that we must get hit, but if we did, it did not affect the plane in flight. We saw an explosion not far from us. It was a Lancaster hit by flak, blowing up. There was a big ball of orange flame, with all sorts of debris spreading all around.

That night a return trip to Duisberg was planned, because it was considered that the earlier trip had not been successful. We were on the battle order, but did not go, because our plane was declared ‘US’ [unserviceable].

15 October 1944 — Wilhelmshaven

Because we missed the trip, we were selected the next night for a trip to Wilhelmshaven. We got away okay on this trip, and set course for the target. At 14,000ft and well on the way over the North Sea, we flew into a cumulus nimbus cloud, and the plane was thrown into a spin. Our Skipper could not get the plane under control, and it kept spinning down in the dark. Les gave us the order “Bail out if you want to”. I thought what was the use of trying to bail out, it was dark and even if you got out, you would land in the sea, and we were aware that we could only live for another three minutes in the water. I accepted this was the end and did not feel frightened. There was no chatter on the intercom, so obviously the crew felt the same way as I did. Les had his feet on the instrument panel, trying to pull back the control column into the correct flying mode. Eric Martindale, our engineer got behind Les and gave him a helping pair of hands on the control column, and between them they got the plane out of the spin.

We resumed our course to the target, with the crew feeling a great sense of relief still to be flying. We were greeted at Wilhelmshaven by the searchlights and flak, with fighters flitting around unseen in the dark. The crew were in a happy mood to have got this far. I can remember thinking that if we got hit now, we might be lucky enough to survive a bail out, and land safely on the ground, be captured by the Germans, put into a POW camp and not have to fly again. It had only taken those last three ops to make me realise there was not much future in this kind of job. We flew back to Wickenby and landed without any further drama. I can remember a few days later, standing up in the plane doing a ground check on my equipment, when my knees started knocking together with nerves, and I thought that was the reaction to the ‘bail out’ order.

In 1986 I visited Wickenby with Les, Bud and Boris. I said to Les “Remember that night you told us to bail out over the North Sea?”  Les said, “No Pat, what I said was bail out if you want to”. At the time of the spin, my mind picked up the bail out, but not the rest of the order.

23 October 1944 — Essen

A trip to Essen was one to remember, because of a problem on take-off, and one, which we were lucky to survive. We taxied out of our dispersal point and down the perimeter track to use the full length of the 2000yd main runway, then onto the grass to gain extra yards. The other aircraft started their run from where the two runways met, which could save 200-300 yards on take-off. Les revved up the engine with the brakes on, so that the plane was more or less jumping up and down on the spot.

We received the Green Aldus Lamp signal from the caravan parked at the side of the runway. There was radio silence before a raid, as the R.A.F. did not want to give the Germans an early warning. We were now charging down the runway to build up our speed to 115 knots for take-off with our gross weight of 68,400 lbs. As we got past the point of no return, Les called out that he had a speed problem for take-off. At the end of the runway all Les could do was to pull back on the stick, our speed was about 95 knots, and we had no alternative. The plane lifted off the ground, but was flying like a brick. We were now over the farm fields, in the dark of night, when we hit the ground again and then skipped back into the air.

We had six touchdowns before the plane stayed in the air. By the time we had reached Lincoln, which was eight miles away, we had then reached the magnificent height of 500 feet. We then set course for Essen, which we reached and bombed successfully. The return trip was uneventful and we had a safe return.

There was a sequel to this trip, which was not exactly a morale booster for the crew. Next day George (MUG), Fred (RG) and myself the WOP, were at our dispersal point discussing the future of UM-M2, the Lancaster, which had nearly cost us our lives.

Our plan was to get Les (Pilot) to set course on automatic pilot, we would all bail out over England and let the plane fly on its own and crash in Germany. We did not let our pilot know our plan, and our next trip on UM-M2 solved that problem.

I have in more recent days, found the cause of the take-off problem. Before UM-M2 went to Essen, it was bombed and fuelled up for a trip to East Germany. The long trip meant full fuel tanks and less bombs to get maximum weight. When the trip was changed to West Germany it meant more bombs and less fuel (500 gallons). The bomb load was topped up and there were 500 gallons too much left in the tanks. We then had 4,500 lbs above the maximum weight and this caused the lift problem. Our gross weight was 4,500 lbs above the maximum and about 20,000 lbs above the normal maximum landing weight.

Also there could have been a problem with the undercarriage collapsing. If the undercarriage had collapsed on one of our take-off bounces, the plane would probably have blown up. I do not know it there was an official follow-up on the failure to take the 500 gallons out of the tanks. I have spoken to Les about the full use of the 2,000 yards runway. He said, he knew that the plane had a take-off problem with the normal 68,400 lbs load, but was most certainly not aware of the extra 500 gallons of fuel, which had not been removed from the fuel tanks when the additional bombs were loaded.

28 October 1944 — Cologne

The next trip was to Cologne. Our load consisted of a 4000 lb ‘Cookie’ and incendiaries. We had an uneventful trip to the target and were at 20,000 feet, the top height we had been briefed to fly at. As we were flying over the target, I was on watch duty, looking out of the astrodome. A ‘Cookie’ from above, just missed our starboard wing, and I called hard port to the Skipper, as I did not know what was following. Les did as instructed and then straightened up. I looked up and saw a Lancaster straight above us, with bombs pouring out. I ducked my head and called on the intercom “we are going to get hit”, and then there was thudding against the plane as the bombs hit. As soon as the noise stopped, I jumped up and looked out. My location was level with the leading edge of the wings, and on both sides of me was this massive trail of 100-octane petrol being sucked out of both wings.

Les gave the order to prepare to bail out over the target. We had got rid of our bombs, but we were in great danger of blowing up, with the engine exhaust flames igniting the fuel. We also had the problem of being ‘cooked’ in the plane if the plane caught alight, as we would be battling to bail out. George, (MUG) had called out to the Skipper not to touch the throttles, as changing them at that juncture could have added to the risk of fire.

They were incendiary bombs and had gone through the wings. Some of the bombs were stuck in the wings, and all the others, had gone straight through a fuel tank. Amazingly none had exploded, as incendiary bombs usually went off on impact. We were out of the mainstream of planes and on our own and it was very obvious that we were in deep strife.

The Germans saw our problem and started sending up predicted flak to try and finish us off. The shells burst no more than 300 ft behind us, height was spot on, but we managed to avoid them and headed home. Eric (ENG) assessed the fuel loss, and how much we had left. ‘Bud’ the NAV, plotted a new course to suit our fuel reserves. We had to run the engines on the holed tanks, plus switching fuel to the good tanks. We returned safely to Wickenby and then headed off to London for a seven day break. The plane had to have the wings replaced, and we never flew in that plane again, which was good news for us.

Another problem on the Cologne trip was that some of the fuel spewing out of the wings was being sucked into the rear turret and soaking Fred the rear gunner. This was very uncomfortable and dangerous for Fred.

I asked George (MUG), who could not duck his head like I could, how close the ‘Cookie’ was and he said it just missed the trailing edge of our wing.

This raid on Cologne, when we were hit by bombs from one of our own bombers, deserves additional explanatory detail.

After the tanks were holed, I put the nose down to gain speed. The spraying made us a clear target for anti-aircraft guns and fighters. After attracting no enemy fire, I decided to feather a propeller to save fuel, then after a further length of time, to feather another one. So then we were only on the two inner engines. But as time went by, I discussed the fuel situation with the flight engineer. The fuel was obviously getting lower and I ordered Bud, our Navigator to set a course for a sector in the British Zone, which was in France under British control.

On nearing the zone, we were still flying at a few thousand feet. So I felt we should try and reach our base at Wickenby, or at least, Manston emergency airfield in Norfolk. To save more fuel, I feathered another propeller. We were now flying on one engine only. This meant lowering flaps to obtain more lift and also to keep above stalling speed, by gaining the necessary speed through staying in the nose down position.

We flew on across the Channel, gradually losing height. Then, after a discussion with the Flight Engineer, it was decided we would try and fly on to our own airfield. Halfway there, at 3000 feet we changed to two engines then to three engines. Nearing the airfield all four engines were brought into operation for the final circuit landing. On the final approach the Control Tower fired a Red Verey warning signal.

The Flight Engineer was still very worried that we could run out of fuel at this crucial final stage, so I decided to carry on and land anyhow. A good landing was made.

Taxing to the nearest dispersal point, as instructed by the Control Tower, we turned in and as we came to a halt, one engine coughed and died. At this time quite a number of lorries, cars and the station fire engine and many RAF personnel, came racing up. We didn’t know until it was pointed out, that there were a number of incendiary bombs hanging from below the wings and fuel tanks. They had not exploded otherwise we would have ‘had it’.

The landing — a good one fortunately — had not shaken them loose, to explode on contact with the runway. Initially, one incendiary bomb came within a foot or so of the Mid-Upper Gunner (George) and had damaged the main spar. It was later said that the aircraft had to be sent for major repairs. We never saw it again.

9 November 1944 — Wanna Eickel

The next trip was to Wanna Eickel in the Ruhr. Our aircraft was UM G2, and this was our first flight in it. All the pre-flight checks were done, run up etc, and everything was spot on. Time to go and we taxied out onto the perimeter track to follow other Lancasters as they headed for the runway. The plane developed a problem, the two inner engines were dropping revs, and this was very serious for us, because of the ‘all up weight’* of the plane, we needed maximum power to take off.

* [Note by editor: the ‘all up weight’ of an aircraft is the weight of a serviceable aircraft with fuel, ammunition, oil, bombs, etc. The all up weight of bombers in World War II was pushed much beyond what would have been acceptable in peace time, and a bomber would need all available power to make enough speed on the runway to become airborne. To help achieve this, the engines were very highly tuned to enable them to develop more power than they would ever have been asked to do in peace time. On a 4-engined bomber, failure [or drop in power] of just one engine could be, and indeed generally was, catastrophic, with the aircraft [and well over 2,000 gallons of highly flammable, high octane fuel and up to 16,000 lbs of high explosive and incendiary bombs] veering off the runway, the undercarriage collapsing, and the resulting explosion being heard for many miles around. Few aircrews were lucky to survive such a crash on take-off].

There was a danger of crashing on take-off with the potential of fire and explosions and the blowing up of the aircraft. Not only could the crew be killed, but the plane would be out of control and other people could be killed if it hit a village, houses etc. The pilot made the decision to declare the plane ‘US’, and we pulled into the nearest dispersal point, and cut the motors. The other crews took off safely and were on their way to the target. Our crew stayed in the aircraft, and watched the others leave; that was the end of the raid for us, as far as we were concerned, or so we thought. A car pulled up in front of the plane, it was the Squadron C.O. He got out of the car and called out “Landells, what’s going on?” Our Skipper, Les, replied “We have declared the plane ‘US’ Sir, the two inner engines are dropping revs.”  There was an instant reaction by the C.O., but our story about revs dropping in two inner engines was ignored. No check was made and we had to obey orders. The demand was maximum effort from each squadron and this was the C.O’s responsibility. These days it would be a criminal offence to take off in a plane in such condition. We had our orders, and the engines were started, and we took off thirty minutes after the others had left. There was no dropping of revs at that stage, fortunately for us. We flew in 10/10 cloud heading for the target, and the engines started playing up again. We carried on and got to the target area, but the cloud was that bad, that all we could do was hope we were over the target. We dropped our bombs and headed home. The engines were still playing up, but we kept flying. We reached Wickenby and made our approach to the main runway from the south side. We had full flaps; wheels down and 2850 revs and we were over the fields before the drome. Suddenly, the revs dropped and we landed in the fields before the runway. We hit and smashed a concrete drainage pipe, and a fence went flying. We hit the main road to Wragby, bounced up into the air, and came ‘crabwise’ onto the runway. What we had worried about on take-off happened when we were landing, which added to our original concern. The official squadron report for the operation details our problem with the engines, but did not state that we had the problem before take-off. We had touched down at nearly 100 mph. Which confirmed our original concern about the two inner engines, which were dropping revs, but was not accepted. The report also showed that we took off thirty minutes after the other aircraft. There was normally traffic on the Wragby Road, but fortunately it was clear, when we hit it [or so we thought*].

*Special note: 59 years after this incident at a 626 Squadron Reunion, a lady, hearing Les recount the story to another ex-R.A.F. aircrew member, said she could hardly believe her ears. Apparently, she had been travelling with her father and mother along the Wragby Road at the time. Les did not see them as he was so focussed on controlling the aircraft. The family had been trying to trace the pilot for years and years. So we shared many thoughts and memories. Les keeps in touch with her still. Incidentally, this family were friends of the farmer whose new fence was demolished. Both of these farming families had always said, as long as the R.A.F. crew were safe, they accepted the fence did not really matter.

20 February 1945 — Dortmund

Our next trip was to Dortmund carrying a ‘Cookie’ and 1000 pounders, and we were given the use of another crew’s aircraft. This aircraft was about three weeks old on squadron, and was what we could hopefully aspire to, when more experienced. We arrived safely at Dortmund, and let the bombs go over the target. All bombs went except a 1000 pounder, which was fired by Boris, but was still hung up. We could not release the bomb, and headed home. We kept the bomb bay doors open over Germany, the pilot bounced the plane, but the bomb still stuck. Over France we closed the bomb bay door and opened them again over the North Sea. The pilot did everything possible to shift it, but we had no luck.

We headed back to Wickenby, where there had been an intruder causing a blackout, and one of our planes crashed on its approach, killing two crew and injuring the others. We made our approach and then touchdown. As soon as we hit the deck, the bomb dropped loose onto the bomb bay doors, making very unpleasant noises as it rolled around. The runway was 2000 yards long and we made an emergency R.T. Call and we were told to travel to the end of the runway and to the first dispersal point. We were unaware of what was going to happen, as we knew the bomb was not very safe. We got into the dispersal point, cut the motors and got out of the plane very promptly. The emergency crews had arrived and had a stack of mattresses to put under the bomb, which had spread the bomb bay doors, so it was hanging nose down over the tarmac and wedged by the doors through which it was slipping. Obviously we were lucky to have reached the dispersal point before it dropped, as it would most likely have exploded when it hit the runway and blown us up.

There was a sequel to this happening, as the hanger for the bomb was ‘US’ before we took off. It had been marked ‘US’ by a ground crew member, but this was ignored by the other ground crew member, who was involved with the bombing up of the plane and declared all OK. He was charged and found guilty of an offence and punished. Boris, our Bomb Aimer, was a witness at the hearing. The chap, who was found guilty, would have probably got away with it, if we had been blown up. Next morning, after the raid, I was having breakfast with our crew in the Sergeants’ Mess, when an English crew we were friendly with came to our table complaining that we had ‘stuffed’ up their good aeroplane. We didn’t take much notice of their grizzle and had a laugh about it. About four weeks later, that crew went on a raid in terrible weather, the raid was cancelled and they dropped the ‘Cookie’ in the ‘North Sea official dumping zone’. They returned to Wickenby on three engines, with the balance of their bombs aboard. The weather was too bad to land and they had to do an overshoot and they were diverted to another drome. Over the drome they dropped a wing and crashed, killing all the crew. The crash set off bombs in the airfield bomb dump causing further casualties.

A Cumulus Nimbus Spin and White Lines on the Road

On another trip to Germany, we reached the target, dropped our bombs and headed back home. The weather was not too good and we were flying through 10/10 cloud. At 18,000 feet over France, we flew into a cumulus nimbus cloud, which threw us out of control and we went spinning down in the dark. Les, the Pilot was not able to regain control until we came out of the cloud at a very low level. Boris, the Bomb Aimer said that when we came out of the cloud, he could see that we were flying with one wing down. The pilot corrected this and we flew over France under the cloud. When we reached England, the Bomb Aimer could not only see the blackout headlamps of vehicles on the road, but also the white lines on the road. He advised the Skipper, who thought that Boris was talking nonsense, but Boris said the plane started to gain height quickly. He presumed that Les had checked the height from his window and then taken action.

A Fuel Tank Leak

We had completed all our checks and those who did, smoked their last fag, and were in the plane all set to go. It was dark, but when I looked out of my window at the starboard wing, I noticed petrol dripping off the wing. I reported this to the Skipper and he called to our ground crew about the problem. They checked and said the tank was overfilled, and all was okay and there was no tank leak. We took off and were on our way, got to the target safely and then dropped our bombs. ‘Marty’, our engineer reported that our fuel reserves were down and we would have to watch our usage on the return leg. By the time we had reached the English coast, the problem had become critical, and we were unable to switch the fuel tanks, because of fears of an engine cut. On our return to Wickenby, we made an urgent call for an emergency landing. We received approval, fired the Red Verey cartridge and landed safely. An after-flight check of our fuel tanks, recorded only four gallons left in the starboard wing and forty gallons in the port wing tank.

Near Miss on the Runway

We had arrived back on the Wickenby circuit, after a successful trip to Germany, and were flying at the advised height, waiting for our turn to land. Finally, we got the okay to ‘pancake’ and made our final approach. It was a good landing and we rolled down the runway. Pat was standing up in the astrodome and looked up and saw a Lancaster ready to land. He could not fire the Red Verey cartridge to warn them, as I thought the flash would blind the pilot and cause him to crash, as the pilot’s cockpit was no more than 70 feet directly above us. Fortunately, an overshoot call on R.T. was given from Control and the pilot did as was advised. It was so close, that Pat thought the other plane was going to land on us.

Burning Boots

We were well on the way to the target, when there were complaints from the front of the plane about the smell of burning rubber in the plane. Pat hadn’t smelt anything, but got involved in the search for the source of the problem. When he got out of his seat, he found that a type 20 Resistor, which was involved with voltage control on the equipment, had a short circuit and was glowing like a household radiator. The smell was the soles of his rubber flying boots smouldering, as his feet were next to the radiator. With his oxygen mask on his face, together with a nasal problem, he was unable to smell anything unusual. He had not felt the heat through his boots, but no doubt that would have happened eventually. He went to the engineer for tools to try and fix the problem, but if he remembers correctly, he found our ‘tools’ consisted of an axe. He remembers trying to fix the Resistor lying on the floor under his table. He thinks he had to disconnect the unit for safety, as he was unable to cut out the short circuit.

8 March 1945 — Kassel

We were well on our way to Kassel, flying at our pre-set height of 20,000 feet, with all system on go, when we had a problem with a port motor, which we had to cut. We then had a problem with the second port motor, which was cutting in and out. Finally we had to cut the motor and that left us with only two starboard motors. This left us with a problem of keeping up with the bomber stream, as not only would we be late for the target, but we could also be a ‘sitting duck’ for the fighters. Our Skipper was determined not to abort the trip, so to keep up our speed, we had to lose height. Over the target we were at 13,000 feet and we missed the flak, which was being fired at the bombers above us. We headed for home, and luck was with us, as we were not bothered by fighters or flak. Back in the UK, the big worry was not to drop the port wing and crash, so we made all our turns to starboard. When we reached Wickenby, Pat, the WOP had to fire the Red Verey cartridge to clear the way for an emergency landing, and thanks to the skill of Les Landells, this was completed safely.

Further rather ‘dicey’ missions as related by Les:

One mission was with a full bomb load and one bombless on the return flight. On both occasions we ‘iced up’ and the instruments therefore failed. We lost hundreds of feet, but I managed to regain control, but only with the help of praying with all my might. Quite frankly, I cannot really describe the difficulty of trying to regain control of a large four-engine bomber in complete darkness without instrumentation and mechanical support. The physical and mental demands were awesome.

18 April 1945 — Heligoland

Our final mission was to the North Sea island of Heligoland, a thorn in our side from the outset of WWII. The island was heavily protected with massed A/A and fighter cover. Many of our aircraft, having flown off course, had been shot down over the area in the past.

2/3 May 1945 — ‘Manna’

The missions that brought us most satisfaction were those on the 2nd and 3rd May 1945. The missions were named ‘Manna’ and they were to drop food for the Dutch people who were starving (a ceasefire had been agreed). As we were flying at 500 ft and less, we saw innumerable wrecks of aircraft along the beaches: Lancasters, Halifaxes, Flying Fortresses, Spitfires, Hurricanes and many others types of planes, including German. The food was dropped at 100 ft or less so it wouldn't burst open!

The guns of the German A/A guns were pointing downwards with their gunners just standing around, as agreed in the terms of the truce, but as was said later, our air gunners were ready to fire if the truce was broken. Some of our boys were ‘itching’ to do so and many of us had tears in our eyes for our friends and comrades who had died in the wrecked aircraft we saw scattered below.

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What happened to the Crew after the War

On returning to Wickenby, we were told that having completed a full tour of operations, we were entitled to extended leave. We went off in our various ways, visiting our homes and friends. Sometimes we separately, in small groups or all the crew together, visited Lincoln and the surrounding countryside. Once, with Marie, now my wife, we stayed with Fred’s family in Hainault, which borders Epping Forest.

I can’t bring to mind many memories or happenings during this period, nor in any chronological order. Peace in Europe had come suddenly for us, when one considers the state of tension we had all been operating under for so long, but as Skipper, I was fairly certain that the crew felt the prospect of ‘breaking up’ very deeply. After all, we had as strangers met as individuals, grown closer and closer as we depended upon each other and flew together as a team.

Boris, Fred, George, Pat and myself hoped to arrange a reunion. However, although I met Fred, Pat who had been staying with him had by that time, been posted home to Australia.

The dropping of the atomic bomb had led to VJ Day. Fred, Boris and George were posted to India. I never saw them altogether again. They were allocated duties driving ‘top brass’ around in India mostly, I believe, until they were demobbed.

‘Bud’ we completely lost touch with for a time, but a few years later we found out that when he had been demobbed, he had taken up his pre-war trade as a bricklayer, and that later, after quite a while, he had rejoined the R.A.F. after he had been divorced. I had not been certain he was married, but then ‘Bud’ was always a real loner. Eventually, Pat, Boris and myself finally found out, that he had stayed in the R.A.F. until retirement. He ended his R.A.F. career, I was told, as the most Senior NCO/Warrant Officer Navigator in the R.A.F. I saw one of his log books when I visited him years later in a public house called ‘The Dying Gladiator’, which he tenanted near Boston Spalding, Lincolnshire. He had accumulated thousands of flying hours with impeccable references as to his ability. Having flown with many very senior R.A.F. officers in many parts of the world.

Our crew always knew, even in our young days, that he was ‘one of the best’. What I cannot understand and accept, even now, is why he wasn’t awarded a commission. Personally, I thought it could have been because he was only a village boy like myself. He was born in Harrington, Cumbria [situated only 2 1/2 to 3 miles from Distington, Cumbria, where I was brought up after being orphaned]. Then I was sometimes reminded that Flight Sergeant Pilots, like myself, could be commissioned later in the war, if they flew on bombing missions. As his Skipper I completely accept that Albert ‘Bud’ Storey was a better Navigator, than I was a Pilot [I was only rated higher than average once in training]. There was talk of a serious misdemeanour in his youth, which I find hard to believe, but even so, surely not sufficient to de-rate a most competent and long serving member of our Armed Services?

I only met him once again, when most of the crew had arranged a special crew reunion at Wickenby airfield. At that time the airfield was being used for crop spraying and a small airfreight business to Europe. The holder of the tenancy was said to be an ex-Squadron Leader, who had flown from Wickenby during the war. Two old hangars had been utilised to hold the vast amount of insecticide needed [it could have been DDT]. Most other buildings, sections and Nissan huts had been dismantled, but the Control Tower remained and was being used for its original purpose. Sadly, only Boris, ‘Bud’, Pat and myself made it. We had lost touch with ‘Marty’ and George and Fred couldn’t come. Afterwards we had a snack in the local pub, reminisced, grew closer together and drank a toast to absent crew members and all our comrades. It was dusk when we drove past the Wickenby Memorial and the two main runways where we used to take off and land so often many years before.

Actually, when I had been living and working in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire quite a few years later, I occasionally drove to Wickenby. This was before the memorial was erected and only a few signs of activity remained around. I used to drive in the main entrance up to the Control Tower, and then drive up the main runway, even though there was grass 2ft long growing between sections, and in my imagination I was taking off in a Lancaster again, but the feelings that came over me when I stopped, got out and looked towards Lincoln Cathedral standing as proud as ever, were hauntingly moving. I could see and feel in my mind’s eye: Lancasters coming home.

I never met George again, but after he died at over 90 years of age, I made contact with his daughter and we still correspond.
He seemed to have lived fairly well. He lived close to Fred near Leigh on Sea, Essex and they met occasionally, but he never reached out to make contact with any other member of the crew to my knowledge. His daughter told me he always spoke highly of the crew.

Fred mainly kept in contact with Pat, who had stayed with his family for some time after being demobbed, before going back to Australia. Fred and his brother, Jim took over their father’s engineering business.

Fred, Boris, Pat and myself corresponded for many years. Then a most sad experience for all who knew him occurred: one Sunday morning when Fred was working overtime alone — he was always very conscientious — he stumbled and fell through a plate glass door or window and severed a main artery. Fred was said to have been in very good health, but sadly, he was already dead when found. I still write to Hilda and his brother, Jim and family.

As for Eric ‘Marty’, as I have already mentioned, myself and the crew lost touch with him for many years, but eventually I found out he had been living in Carlisle, made contact with his family, but unfortunately this was just after he had died.

Boris, our Bomb Aimer, kept a hotel in Rochester, Kent for some years. Divorced and remarried, he bought a newsagents-cum-post office in Alton, Hampshire. Eventually he sold the business and retired but continued to work part time for the new owner for many years. For twenty years or more, he has been a R.A.F.A. Welfare Officer for the Hampshire area. He was recently awarded the Certificate of Merit by Chief Vice Air Marshal Robin-Lees in recognition of his long and caring service.

Another crew member of whom we are all proud to have had as a comrade and friend.

Last, but not least, we come to Pat Dwyer. I think that he was demobbed fairly quickly on his return to Australia. He married well and over the years prospered. He studied to be an Accountant and then was a Senior Director of a company and part owner of the company with which his wife’s family already had important connections.

He always kept in touch with his wartime comrades and Australian ex-servicemen’s associations. Researching for squadron records even in the UK. He spent untold hours passing such information on to his friends and others. This helped to bring old comrades who had lost touch, together again. The amount of documents and records was huge. That is why I feel certain he was able to provide such details of our bombing missions. Over the years he travelled by air and rail to most of the major towns and cities of Australia to attend squadron and R.A.A.F. reunions. He came to the UK quite a number of times to visit old friends and to attend 626 Squadron reunions. Also some of the reunions held by former R.A.A.F. 460 Squadron in Binbrook, Yorkshire.

He came over to the UK and brought Geoff Magee, Warrant Officer/wireless operator/air gunner with him more than once.

Geoff was another sterling ‘Aussie’ character. He published a book of poems titled ‘Bombs Gone’ and other poems. Highly recommended by all those who have read it, such as senior R.A.F. personnel, some of whom flew with the squadrons involved. This is yet another example of true comradeship, of which all the crew were proud. Especially Boris and Pat who are still with us and, as for myself, I also feel rather humbled.

Incidentally, on the back cover of Geoff’s book of poems is a quotation which reads as follows:

“When you read this book you must immerse
Your thoughts and feelings in metre and in verse
For the stories here told are of the kind
That come from the soul as well as the mind.”

As I have said before, Geoff Magee was a brave and godly person. They don’t come any higher than Geoff in the estimation of those who knew him. I met him briefly once or twice, when he came over from R.A.F. Binbrook to see Pat and some other Aussie aircrew he knew. Also once finally with Pat at a 626 Squadron reunion at Wickenby. He was just as many others had said he was like, and I had imagined and felt when I had read his poems. Incidentally, all profits from the book of poems goes to the R.A.F. 460 Squadron Association charity. Pat said Geoff only ever wrote one poem about a particular crew. That was our crew which he called ‘Les Landells’ Crew’.

In the short time I spent with him however, we seemed to understand and like each other, but it really was to Pat he owed his special friendship. For as Geoff mentions in his poem to our crew, Pat supported him so much after he escaped and returned from being shot down and some of his crew had been lost. After which all his hut mates were killed in the Munich operation within a week. [This is similar to ‘Marty’ when all of his crew mates were killed during his training. I have always felt I had a unique bond with ‘Marty’ and Geoff having survived my crash in the Wellington bomber at Peplow — we also had in common that we had all ‘pressed on regardless’]. Pat always said that Geoff would have liked to have been a member of our crew. [He certainly would have fitted in].

As for myself, until VJ Day, I had anticipated having to go to the Far East theatre of war to fly Lincoln bombers, which were a modified version of the Lancaster bomber, with special engine modifications for the climatic conditions and higher altitudes, and an 8ft/12ft wider wing span. I seem to remember seeing one or two at a distance on Wickenby airfield before I was posted to R.A.F. Wymeswold on Transport Command to fly Dakotas. First of all we had to study the usual ground subjects. However, before long I found that a longstanding cartilage knee problem, had flared up, and after seeing a specialist, I was sent to the R.A.F. hospital in Raucby, Lincolnshire for the necessary operation. Here again, I felt humbled, as most of the patients had very serious injuries. Alongside the ward I was in, was a burns unit. Some of the patients were laying full length in saline baths. Others came around the wards occasionally to welcome newcomers and ostensibly to cheer them up. Readers will no doubt have read the history of such burns units, so I won’t repeat them. [I really couldn’t do them justice]. One day when Marie, my wife visited me, one patient came to my bedside. We chatted for a short while. His facial burns were so bad we could have cried. This officer was so brave to face us and you could feel deeply that he was trying so hard to come to terms with his condition, with which he was going to have to suffer and cope with for the rest of his life. Again, I was humbled, on this occasion as never before.

From Raucby I was sent to Loughborough College which during the war was being utilised as a R.A.F. rehabilitation unit. It was chockfull of R.A.F. casualties. There were splints, bandages, crutches, wheel chairs etc everywhere, but again only a little gloom. As I improved, I was allowed exercise on the playing fields. Those who could also played football. Even some on crutches tried their best. The usual NCO P.T. instructors were there, among others: Sgt. Raich Garter, Stamp and a pre-war Ireland International goalkeeper, I think called Doherty, who at that time was playing for Derby County. We formed teams and they joined us on the football pitch. As usual, to keep us occupied we were taken on walks with the ubiquitous breaks for ‘char’. These professional footballers joined in and did their very best to help and keep up the morale of the walking wounded. They were a credit to their profession and nation.

Then I had another setback, I was diagnosed as having a hairline fracture to my right ear drum and I was categorised as being unfit to fly. The Doctor said it was most likely to have been caused during one of the high speed spins and extremely rapid loss of altitudes I had undergone on operations. At this juncture, I was devastated, as I then knew I would never be accepted as a pilot ever again. Leaving Wickenby, the Lancasters, our crew and Squadron comrades left me deeply saddened and rather lost, but then I thought I would be flying Lincoln bombers before too long and it seemed likely I would meet at least some of 626 Squadron aircrew along the way. Not forgetting that by then, I had gained through experience and through flying in such demanding situations, a very high level of confidence and ability; which was supplemented by regular flying training between operations. Also when learning to train as a pilot and between postings, I had taken special tests, including those on a Link Trainer for blind flying. Once I was even sent to an Army Commando Training camp at Whitley Bay, Northumberland. [Also I really wanted to keep flying]. Pre-war, I had only received a basic education and had no qualifications.

After being demobbed I began looking for a job. I applied for an interview with British Airways. I travelled to Bushey Park, Surrey which had been the headquarters of General Eisenhower US Army up to ‘D’ Day 6th June 1944. No joy however as hundreds of demobbed pilots, some with more flying experience than me, and fitter, took preference. After a lot of searching, I was eventually offered a place on a Government Training Scheme. This consisted of a six months special course at Leicester Technical College. Subjects covered were most aspects of industry, followed by 3 years or so familiarisation and training with an established company. At the end of the course I was accepted by an engineering firm in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, only a few miles from R.A.F. Hemswell and R.A.F. Wickenby, which I visited occasionally [they reminded me of another world].

By this time, Marie and I were married with a daughter and settled in the town. I attained a junior executive position and spent some good years with the firm. I then moved to another engineering firm in Lancashire and our family had grown, we also had a son. My new position was Assistant Production Controller. I had only held the position for a few months, when the Production Controller resigned and obtained a position elsewhere. I was offered the job, accepted and stayed with the company for 30 years. I was promoted to Production Director in my latter years and I retired in 1983.

My staff and many other members of staff, arranged a ‘This is Your Life’ on my behalf which was held in a local church hall. My wife and family had known for some time, but it came as a complete and pleasant surprise to me. Among other lovely gifts, I was presented with a model of a Lancaster bomber on a wooden hand carved stand, inscribed with the words: ‘Coming In On A Wing And A Prayer’. I was much moved and needless to say, I still am.

My hobbies during the years of my retirement have been: gardening, walking, fishing and reading non-fiction accounts of the war and most subjects on history etc. Most importantly, getting to know my grandchildren and great grandchildren.

12 & 626 Squadron ex-aircrews formed an association in 1979 called the Wickenby Register. An annual dinner is held in September, usually on a Saturday. This is followed by a church service on the Sunday beside the Icarus Memorial erected by the members of the Register some years ago.

Quite often the last serviceable Lancaster bomber flies very, very low over us. In recent years it was sometimes escorted by Tornado fighters from 12 Squadron which was located at RAF Conigsby near Wickenby and Lincoln city.

Over 1000 airmen died from 12 and 626 Squadrons during the war, the highest total losses on any airfield. One of the Bomber Command of course suffered well over 65% losses.

We have been informed that this year [2005] there is a good chance that the Lancaster will fly again, over the airfield. It is quite a memorable tribute to see all the spectators waving and saluting the memory of the sacrifice made in wartime.

On one anniversary, 12 Squadron, Conigsby, presented a Guard of Honour. At this reunion I got to know the officer pilot leading the guard of honour. He asked me to take photographs for his fiancée. They turned out to be excellent and of course I still have copies. His name was Andrew Greig, Flight Lieutenant and he along with others from 12 Squadron went to Iraq during the conflict.

I am hoping to be taken there again this year with my wife and some members of my family. Boris our Bomb Aimer and his son are coming and we hope to meet Anne Stamp from the local farm, whom I nearly killed as a child, when I had difficulty in landing in November 1944, and others of course, although the attendance grows less as the years go by.

Originally many coaches travelled to the airfield together with many, many cars. Plus members of the local community. Last year [2004] I only counted one or two coaches and a greatly reduced number of cars and number of locals.

The Bishop of Lincoln, John Saxby spoke at the 2004 reunion. The annual memorial serviced was conducted by the Reverend Ian S. Partridge, the Honorary Chaplain to the Wickenby Register who has done so for many years. He was a member of aircrew during the war.

Before I end this story, I will add an account of the most recent 12 and 626 Squadron reunion Memorial Service. A date to remember for the devastating terrorist attacks on New York and other US cities in 2001.

My wife, Marie and some other members of our family came along. Boris our Bomb Aimer also attended with two member of his family. We recalled and exchanged memories as always.

Anne Stamp had recently remembered that they were transporting a load of sugar beat which helped her to confirm the date of 9.11.44. She introduced me to the Rev. Ian S. Partridge, the Honorary Chaplain to the 12 and 626 Squadron Wickenby Register. He was also the vicar of the local area and Anne was one of his congregation. It was a great pleasure to meet two such nice people again and exchange our fairly similar views. The memorial service was as always inspirational and moving.

I met Dennis Melnik who again travelled from Toronto, Canada, and others who looked after the control tower, museum, records etc.

To cap it all, the last serviceable Lancaster flew over the assembly gathered around the Icarus Memorial erected by members of the Wickenby Register to the memory of the 1000 plus young airmen who gave their lives. We will remember them. It flew over five times directly overhead at only 100 feet or so. The most times it flew over in the previous years, I think, were two or three.

So altogether it was a moving and thrilling occasion on which to see the ‘Dark Lady’ as named and printed in the Wickenby Register Newsletter No.11 many years ago by Audrey Grealy. I intend to attend again in 2006, ‘God Willing’.

I trust this story will be of interest to readers especially the human interest content.

Leslie Landells

Sgt. Pilot

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