Royal Air Force, 99 Squadron (Bomber Command)

Rank: Flight Sergeant, Service no. 1006733

Not yet 20 years old, Miles volunteered for the RAF at Padgate in early 1940 and later that year completed training as a wireless operator/air gunner.

In April 1941, he joined 99 Squadron at Waterbeach in Cambridgeshire.  His first sortie was a raid on Boulogne on the night of 12-13 August when he flew in Wellington X9761.

A few days later, on 16-17 August, as part of the Wellington crew “J for Johnny” he was severely injured on a night bombing raid over Duisburg, when his Wellington Bomber (R1293) was caught in search lights and attacked by a German night fighter. The whole fuselage was ripped open and the undercarriage shot away. Miles’ crewmate, John Bubb was also badly injured in the fighter attack. At this point, the plane went into a steep dive and Dickie thought all the crew had been killed and the end was nigh. The dive, however, was the pilot’s evasive action to escape the searchlights. The Wimpey headed for home. The intense cold at altitude stemmed the blood flow and stopped Dickie from bleeding to death. Miraculously, without wireless or proper navigational aids, the plane crossed the white cliffs to England. The pilot (Sgt Coleman) nursed the badly damaged plane home, crash landing at Ford aerodrome near Southampton.  The four un-injured crewmen (Sgts Coleman, Clark, Paxton and Derbyshire) were all killed on their next sortie.

They were cut out of the fuselage by ground crew and, as he waited for medical help on the ground, Dickie recalled how sweet the airfield grass smelled. As he drifted into unconsciousness they thought he was dead until a doctor detected a pulse then they fought to keep him alive and he was taken to Goodwood House which had been equipped as a military hospital. From that point it was an uphill battle for Dickie against appalling abdominal wounds and he was in hospital for over a year. During that time, he was moved to Midhurst sanitorium (also equipped for injured servicemen) first to battle peritonitis and then for more abdominal surgery. There were dark lesions appearing on his skin. The surgeon found that these were pieces of material from his aircrew uniform which had been blasted into his abdominal cavity and were making their way to the surface. More incredibly, the surgeon also found pieces of metal which turned out to be parts of a pair of pliers which Dickie had in his pocket during the attack. The surgeon told him the pliers had protected his abdomen from even more damage and had shielded his major organs from serious injury which undoubtedly helped his survival. The surgeon henceforth referred to him as his miraculous “pliers” case.

In 1942, after medical discharge, Dickie returned to Waterbeach and discovered his old squadron was on overseas service. He also learned that many of his old squadron had been lost on missions. He was unable to return to active service owing to his still precarious medical condition as a result of his grievous injuries. He returned home to Preston in Lancashire and went into local government working for Preston Corporation then Preston Borough Council. Fittingly, he maintained his link with the RAF by helping Air Training Corps Cadets, teaching them wireless procedure and Morse code.

The happy conclusion to this story is that Dickie met his wife, Dorothy, in the local government offices and they were married in October 1947. They had a daughter, Elizabeth, (me!) in March 1953. In early 1978, by chance, Dickie heard on the radio that there was to be a reunion of Squadron 99 at Newmarket racecourse. Dickie contacted the organiser, Norman Didwell, (ex squadron 99) and was put in touch with his injured crewmate, John Bubb, then living in Bristol. Airmen came from as far away as Canada and New Zealand to attend. For Dickie and John it was an emotional but joyful reunion. It was a wonderful day. Norman also arranged for Dickie to receive the medals he was due – the 1939-45 Star, the 39-45 War Medal and his much-cherished Aircrew Europe Medal.

These airmen were modest, dutiful people. For me they were courageous heroes. I am immensely proud of my dad and all those like him who served their country with honour. Thank you.

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‘On February 7th 1945 we were briefed for a night raid on Kleve. This operation was to prepare the way for the attack by 15th Scottish Division across the German frontier near Reischwald. We took off at 7pm and at 10pm approached the target at 10,000 feet. There was a layer of thin cloud at 5,000 feet and we clearly heard the Master Bomber, who was circling in a Mosquito at 3,000 feet, ordering the main force to come below cloud. To comply with his orders, I closed the throttles and put the aircraft into a dive, getting under the cloud and levelling off at 4,000 feet. This turned out to be one hell of a dangerous bombing run. Over half the main force did not come below cloud but bombed through it on the fires and flares that could be seen through the thin layer.

The one hundred and forty or so Lancaster pilots that did obey the Master Bomber converged onto the tight bunch of target markers. Stan, the bomb aimer, gave “Bomb-doors open”, and we heard the clear, casual voice of the Master Bomber, “Bomb to starboard of the red Target Indicators”. Then I had to dodge under another Lancaster coming from our port side, looking up into its yawning bomb bay with its rows of 500lb bombs and a cookie. I jabbed the left rudder to slide clear of it. Stan, who could not see the other Lanc, had started his run-up patter giving me “Right,” and shouted agitatedly, “Right, not bloody left!”

The scene ahead was fantastic. Red and yellow tracer shells were crisscrossing from the flak batteries outside the town. They seemed to be coming from eight different positions and looked like 20 mm and 37 mm, which are nasty blighters at the height we were at. Strings of bombs were falling through the cloud from the Lancs above. Flashes from the exploding blockbusters on the ground were blinding. A stricken Lancaster crashed on its run-in blowing up with its full bomb load. Large columns of thick black smoke rose from the town up to 3,000 feet.

Stan gave, “Right, right, steady, bombs away.” then our aircraft was bucking and rearing as the pressure waves hit us. 4,000 feet was reckoned to be the absolute minimum height for dropping a blockbuster. At last we were through the target and turning south over the Rhine and my stomach muscles started to relax.’

We landed back at Wickenby at 42 minutes after midnight. At debriefing, Frank, the mid-upper gunner, said that a string of bombs with a wobbling blockbuster dropped past our starboard tail-plane as our own bombs were leaving.

To find out about Wickenby Museum, please click here.

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Not much is known to me regarding my father apart from the fact that my mother was excited when she received a telegram from him telling her he was due to come home on leave in two days time. This telegram was followed up the next day by one telling her that he had been killed.  He was thirty-three years old.

After the enquiry Phyllis Cornell (my mother) was informed that my Dad and Flight Lieutenant Peter Bland, as pilot, took off from Woodhall Spa in a Mosquito aircraft on bombing practice.  When making a shallow dive bombing run the pilot pressed his bomb release button; there was an instantaneous explosion in the bomb bay and the cockpit was filled with smoke.  The pilot gave the order to prepare to abandon the aircraft and put her into a climb to enable them to bale out at a safe height.  Reg, acting on the pilot’s orders, jettisoned the bottom escape hatch and endeavoured to remove the inner door, when the starboard engine became unserviceable, causing the elevator controls to become useless.  The aircraft then started a slow spiral dive.

The pilot succeeded with great difficulty to leave by the roof escape hatch and sustained light injuries, but my Dad had not managed to leave the aircraft in time and was thrown from the forward part just before it hit the ground, death was instantaneous.

He was killed on 19th October 1944 age 33 before he had a chance to meet his daughter, who was five months old at the time of his death.  I was in my fifties before I even found out where he was buried and what had happened to him.  My mother never spoke of him.

In 2005 I visited Dad’s grave for the first time and was impressed with the way the War Graves Commission cared for the site.  It was good to see his final resting place and know that he had done the best he could for his country.

Rest in Peace Dad

You can find out more about Reginald here

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I was a close friend of the Fiancée of Sgt. Brian D West of 106 Squadron based at Metheringham, Lincolnshire. Occasionally my friend talked to me about Brian because I myself was a Private Pilot with a keen interest in aviation history, particularly the Second World War. It was only in recent years, and almost by chance that I learned more about the fate of Brian who was the Flight Engineer, and the crew of R-Robert who set off on the late evening of 7th May 1944 to bomb an ammunition dump near Orleans in France.

The aircraft was skippered by Flying Officer Bartlett, and had survived some punishing trips prior to the final one, in fact they would have been considered ‘old hands’ by newcomers to the Squadron. But the odds were stacked against them. The trip to the Loire Valley to fulfil their mission, which was in preparation for D-Day, should have been ‘a piece of cake’ according to those who later recalled the events of that evening.

The Squadron flew out via Reading crossing the coast at Portland Bill. For some reason they were flying much lower than usual, perhaps to try to avoid enemy radar alerting the night fighters who were stalking the Squadrons and finding the Lancaster’s vulnerable under-belly. A few miles North West of the target the Squadron was intercepted by the dreaded night fighters and three aircraft were shot down. R Robert crashed in flames having lost the tail section, and with the fire raging ordnance began to explode completely burning out the aircraft. The aircraft had crashed into a field near a small village in the Loire Valley, and a villager later wrote a graphic account of the incident. Because of the curfew he was not able to visit the site until the next day. It was clear that the crash was not survivable and he saw the aircrew till lying in and around the aircraft. The next day the airmen were taken to the municipal cemetery at Orleans where they were buried and is the place where they still lie side by side today. The villagers who lived so close to where the crew died erected a memorial to the airman at the local church and over the years remained constant in honouring their memory and keeping in touch with 106 Squadron.

For several days my friend only knew that her Fiancée was ‘Missing’, then a few days later came the official news that he had been killed. I think they were both just 20 years of age. I decided the details of the incident were too horrific to share with her during her life time, but since her passing I thought this was an event which should be recorded in the Memorial archives close to where he served because I am in awe of that Generation and what they achieved. On my friend’s behalf I visited what is left of the aerodrome at Metheringham and placed flowers in Brian’s memory at the Garden of Remembrance by the Museum there. It is a pilgrimage I would recommend to those who cherish the memory of those who gave everything so that we can live the lives we choose in Freedom.

To find out more about Brian click here

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On 17th May 1943, Laurie Davis was at Lords Cricket Ground at 10.00 to join up and receive a medical check. After an A1 pass, they were given a mug of tea and a “wad” and sat and listened to accounts filtering through from the 617 Squadron Dambusters raid from the night before.

From Lords, he went to morse code training near Bridlington for a few weeks.

From there he was on to Hereford, RAF Madley for radio and flying training. Laurie recalls being there on the morning of D Day, June 6th.  He then went to Llandwrog to train on Domini’s.

The Bomber crews were allocated at Silverstone circuit in August 1944.

Dad’s crew were:

John Taylor. – Pilot.

Jack Bache.- Navigator

Norman Shires. – Bomb Aimer

Laurie (Red) Davis. -Wireless Operator

Joe Crossland- Mid upper Gunner

Tommy Clynes – Rear Gunner

RH. Wright. – Engineer

The crew trained near Silverstone on Wellingtons for 2 weeks. Laurie remembers that they were very thin skinned, and it felt like you could push your hand through them.

At Syreston they flew Stirling’s and were allocated their Engineer, surname Wright, Forename not recalled sadly.

On 10/02/1945 the crew arrived at RAF Strubby in Lincolnshire, Lancasters.

John Taylor and Laurie were allocated to another crew on 13/03/45 as they had chaps sick, and they flew a raid on Dresden.

Reunited with their regular crew, Laurie and John Taylor flew 10 night and 2-day raids on various keys targets including Essen, Yarburg, Dresden.

He recalls that the local’s community near RAF Strubby were very friendly, and they could relax, when possible, on non-flying days at the local pub for games/ skittles etc.

Laurie mentions the briefings and the routine of the padre addressing the men before raids, asking them to write letters home, for if the worst should happen. It was a humbling sight, seeing a crew’s lockers at bedside being cleared after not returning.

After one night raid, Laurie remembers placing his hand on the desk at a debriefing and feeling it thumping uncontrollably on the table. He didn’t even realise it was happening. At these times they were encouraged to have a nip of something strong to add to their mug of tea.

Later his crew were transferred to RAF Waddington to 617 Squadron.

Still on Lancasters, they flew on operations Dodge and Exodus to and from Bari in Italy. This was to aid repatriation of POW’s. 24 at a time were squeezed into the bombers. They were fascinated by the plane’s interior. They had no parachutes available for the POW’s and they flew low, Laurie recalls. They repatriated all nationalities to UK.

In 11/01/1946 they were seconded to Tiger Force. 617 and 9 Squadron Tobruk, Cairo and Calcutta.

On 13/04/1946, Laurie flew to St Mawgans in Cornwell where they left the aircraft. They were given 4 days to travel home.

Laurie was posted to Framlingham in Suffolk where a unit of Polish servicemen were awaiting repatriation. He formed a good relationship with them in his time there.

He had a short time in Bad Elson in Germany on a country estate and recalls that being a relaxed posting. While there, he toured with RAF cricket and football teams. He was in the winning football team of the British Forces Inter-Services at Cologne.

After leaving the RAF, Laurie joined City of Portsmouth Police as a Constable, later progressing to Sergeant, and then Inspector. After a full service, he worked for 10 years in the County Courts admin department.

Right up to his death in July 2024, Laurie kept in contact with several groups and individuals who he had grown to know over the years.  Remarkably, he had completed six marches to the Cenotaph in London on Remembrance Sunday, representing Bomber Command.  He attended the annual lunch of 619 Squadron Association each October to 2022 which was his last attendance.

This stone is a lasting memorial to the loving memory of SL (Laurie) Davis, devoted husband, father, grandfather, great grandfather and a good friend and colleague to so many.

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My mother enlisted in the WRAF as soon as she was old enough, seeing it as a big adventure then spending most of the war in Lincolnshire as a driver, and told me many stories about that time when I was a child. She was shown how to shoot with a rifle in basic training, and quite seriously told me one day that if she had come across a German and it was either him or her, she would have shot him.

Her time was spent in two main areas of work.

One was driving lorries loaded with bombs around Lincolnshire. She told me once how she got completely lost driving around at night as all the signposts were removed during the war. She stopped to ask an old man the way but, even though she had her unform on and was in an RAF lorry, he would not tell her the way to the airbase in case she was a German spy! One day one of the bombs fell off the back of her lorry. She waited for bomb disposal and an officer, a really large man, turned up with the attitude of ‘What was all the fuss about?’ and just lifted the bomb up in his arms and pulled out the fuse – much to the astonishment of everyone watching.

She also drove aircrew, mainly Polish airmen, to their planes and had to wait for them to return. Obviously, some did not, and I can’t help thinking how difficult that was for her as a young woman.  One pilot tried to get her to go along with them one night as a stowaway on the raid. As a child I asked “Why didn’t you go”? It would have been a great story if she had!

On night duty she found a way to keep warm by wearing her dad’s combinations under her uniform. She said the other girls all laughed at her at first then they all did the same thing. After night duty she would return to her hut really hungry to cook herself breakfast. One morning she caught a mouse stealing her only rasher of bacon so she killed it to get her bacon back!

She always saw her years in the WRAF as an important, interesting part of her life. After the war, like a lot of women, she became a wife and mother; but with plenty of interesting stories to tell.

Died 2000

By Judith Walker

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Henry Lisle Christian was born in Owhango, central North Island, New Zealand on 18 May 1916, the only child of Henry Christian, a native of the Isle of Man, and his wife Hilda (née Jacobsen).

His father, Henry senior, was working in the Owhango sawmills when he joined the 1^st Battalion Otago Infantry Regiment and saw service with the First New Zealand Expeditionary Force (NZEF) in France during WW1. When he returned from the war he moved his family to Waimauku, a farming and fruit growing area north-west of the city of Auckland.

Prior to the second outbreak of war in Europe, young Henry worked as a farmhand with his father on their family farm.

During WW2, more than 100,000 New Zealanders served overseas and Henry was one of 7,000 air crew who joined the ranks of the Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF).

He was a graduate of the BCATP (British Commonwealth Air Training Plan), a multinational aircrew training programme created to ensure a link with the nations of the British Commonwealth and one of the single largest aviation training programmes in history.

 After graduating from BCATP as a Wireless Operator and Air Gunner, Henry was posted to RAF Kirknewton near Edinburgh in Scotland, which was home to a variety of units during this period.

289 Squadron was formed here in November 1941 as an Anti-Aircraft Co-operation unit and Henry joined the squadron, being promoted to the rank of Sergeant.

289 Squadron operated a number of different aircraft including Lysanders, Blenheims, Hurricanes, Hudsons and Defiants and their job was to provide practice for the anti-aircraft defences in Scotland by towing targets and conducting simulated attacks.

289 Squadron moved to RAF bases at Turnhouse (now Edinburgh Airport) in May 1942 and also to West Freugh, Dumfries and Galloway, both of which had expanded with concrete runways to accommodate heavier aircraft.

It was while stationed at RAF Turnhouse that Henry was the victim of a tragic accident which cost him his life. On 19^th June 1942, he and his pilot were flying a Defiant Mark 1, a two seater turret fighter aircraft, taking part in an Army co-operation exercise.

Flying over the Moray Firth, 180 miles from their base in Edinburgh, the plane developed engine failure and ditched into the waters below. Although the pilot survived, Henry drowned before he could be rescued.

He was just 26 years old and was buried at Tomnahurich Cemetery, west of Inverness city centre. His grave is one of 169 Commonwealth War Graves in the cemetery, 80 from WW2, and one of only 2 New Zealander graves.

His grave can be found at Section H.14, Class 7, Grave 18 and commemorates a brave young man who made the ultimate sacrifice, and grieving parents who lost their only child half a world away.

Henry was my first cousin once removed and, although I have no photos of him in my personal collection, I was fortunate to find a photograph kindly provided by ‘Aircrew Remembered’.

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 We left England on 2^nd January 1942 and on 23^rd reached our destination at a drome in South Sumatra.  This trip out was all sand and sea, sand-sea until we hit Burma and then it was sea and jungle. Maps and wireless were almost entirely useless from then on luck and good guesswork taking us on.

We hung on in the jungle there until the first week of February.  When all our remaining crews went to Palembang as a labour squad.

Here we unloaded ships, just south of the line, the coolies having packed up when the bombing started.

By then Malay was in Jap hands and they were pounding us.  On Friday 13^th we had a severe raid.  The next morning was free for me and I went to buy a watch. The sirens went before I reached the shop. I returned to the billets and there we got the order “Paratroops grab guns and get up the road”. I swiped a 303 rifle and jumped a truck.  We unloaded and formed a road block hiding in the ditches and swampy jungle .  Jap aircraft were everywhere with a few of our fighters unable to land on the occupied drome wandering aimlessly around.

A Dutch armoured car passed by with cries of good luck.  Two minutes later a white flare .  The Japs had thrown a bomb into the car killing the Dutch crew. Later, we were withdrawn and later still, about 11pm, I was detailed with 6 men to hold the far side of the ferry. (Everything had to cross the river that way).  The order was “General Evacuation” For five hours I hung on there watching the stream of men going south. Firing was still going on over the ???.  The AA fellows held out, using shrapnel at close range and by the late afternoon the drome was cleared by some of our people and the Dutch. At about 5 o’clock I was told to return to the billet, pack my kit and hang on till next morning.  We “found” food and did what we could for the wounded.  The civilians carried on wonderfully. By now, most of our people had gone.

Late that night the remaining guns and stores were blown up and during the night the oil wells were fired.

We slept but little.  By dawn next day the oil wells and stores were belching black smoke and the sky was obscured by it.  Orders were “every man for himself” .  I packed a bag of clothes, a small satchel of books  letter and my log book and with a cape, water bottle, rifle and ammo I set out. Across the road a soldier was smashing a spirit stove up.  He was rolling drunk and was holding each bottle up and hitting it with a hammer.  The Dutch stood and watched us go,  I never felt so small in all my life.  By the time I reached the ferry the bombers were circling in the smoke while fighters kept breaking out to machine guns.  The river was full of equipment.

At the far side we set out to walk 3 miles to the railhead, a single line of troops on each side of the road, every few minutes we dived into the ditches to escape a low flying Zero then out again and on.  At the railway they said it might be hours before a train left .  Later we got a lorry and went south. We saw many lorries off the road n the flooded fields and one hurricane crash landed when the field was occupied.  Eventually we reached our original base , the aircraft had run out of bombs attacking the incoming invasion fleet and were tying USA type bombs onto their racks and using the guns.  Our officers – we had got together by then – left us and n the twilight I got into an Australian Squadrons petrol bower, with my kit all in a bus,  I did not see that again.

South again, through the dark with the clouds lit by great fires.  After midnight I was dumped out at  rail siding and stowed away among crates in a steel wagon.  I went to sleep and later found that we were moving.

We reached a small port around 10am.  Dozens of new American civil cars were standing about in various stages of wreckage.  The Dutch families drove there and then wrecked their lovely cars and pushed them into the water.  Cigarettes were available in thousands  for all who cared to carry them.   I finally passed through dock sheds piled with every sort of goods including the civilians heavy stuff and into a tiny coasting vessel.  Below deck was crowded with civilians, white and brown, we were on deck the whole time.  At night I used my ammo pouch and cap for a pillow and wedged myself as best as possible , the tiny boat made very rough going of it.  By next day we were very hungry but only a little rice and tinned herring were available eaten out of dirty fish tins.  Why no one was poisoned I know not, water was almost unobtainable.  A baby was born between the decks.  We washed in a little sea water, our beards were pretty good.  Three of us, an Aussie, a Canadian and I talked of our own countries and they laughed about our fireplaces in bedrooms.  On the third day we anchored off harbour .  A cruiser of the Dutch navy came in she was to be sunk next week, later we crept up the channel and docked.

Here the Dutch efficiency was at its best , a special train was waiting and away we went.  I slept on the floor under the seat.  Sometime during the night we stopped at a station and our Dutch friends had trucks waiting to take us to a school.  Here we found heaven – cocoa sandwiches and clean straw to sleep on.  Next morning we managed a wash and shave , the first for a week, still the same clothes however., then down town to eat a square meal, the receipt went home some time ago.  Poerwockerts – I think that’s right.

I met a Dutch soldier who spoke good English in a room at the station with views of Lincoln on the walls.  His family lived in Palembang.  What happened to them?  What hope could I give him?  Late at night we got news of our moving next morning.  So to bed again, then off early the next day for a wonderful train journey.   I sat on the observation platform most f the time.  It was a wonderful journey through a wonderful land, but more of that some other time.  Next evening we reached Bataria and I remember the boys (we were with an Australian squadron) all singing Waltzing Matilda outside in the dark.  We went by truck to some army barracks and slept on concrete for a change.  Next morning we did nothing, after giving details of ourselves and our units.  Around 10 o’clock I said “that’s a lot of planes”  Then realised it was too loud a noise for the few kites our folks had left.  The sirens went soon after the raid began.  I “borrowed” a steel helmet (still have it) and spent an hour down a hole watching an odd dog fight or so.

During the fun we were rounded up and as the all clear went we boarded trucks for the station again, this time by the super electric railway to the town where our unit was stationed.  Next morning to the drome and a fleet of Jap bombers escorted by Zeros swooped over and we thought we were going to be left alone in peace until the fighters and spent 45 minutes blowing up our kites.  Hoods open, hair streaming in the breeze they had wizard fun – no opposition.  I too had great fun with a tree as protection.  I had to see where the next one was coming and dodge round the tree to the other side – very exhausting.  After that we hung around several days and then some of us were told we were gong.  As our skipper was ll at the port of arrival our crew was on the list – only complete crews being left, that’s why Scarbrook stayed.

Once again to Bataria where we had to give up all our weapons and I lost the 303 rifle that I had carried so far.  On again in the night  remember I remember seeing the southern cross on one side of the train and the Pole Star on the other.  Very late that night we reached the port and boarded the ship.  It was already packed, our skipper, still ill was there.  The boat was a 2500 ton tramp steamer with room for perhaps 6 passengers nearly 200 of us were crammed aboard.  The deck and two upper holds were already full, so we had to go down to the third hold.

Everyone slept where they could always on iron, and being around crossing the line, it was pretty hot.  I slept without any clothes and on 2 towels and always awoke quite exhausted.  We sailed next evening: next day the Jap battle fleet were outside.

We had an uneventful run across the equator to Ceylon.  Food was very low and we had to wait for upwards of 2 hours for every meal.  At first we had 2 meals a day.  Later we had a few biscuits at midday.  Water was low.  After a few days I used to scour the decks and gutterings for odd scraps of biscuits.

A great crowd waited patiently outside the crews cookhouse for anything left over.  Meanwhile the officers had a deck, the top one, to themselves.  Their food was poor but it was well cooked.  We saw nothing of the four padres on board.

On the Sunday we were at Colombo, someone asked if a short thanksgiving service could be arranged.  The padres had all gone ashore.

We took about 10 days to reach Ceylon.  I lost count count but it was around 10.  By then 4 had died and we were all very weak.  We hung around in port for four days before being transferred to a regular troopship – paradise to us.  That took us to Karachi as you know.  There the station C.O addressed the officers and told them that he did not intend his men to be demoralised by “any run away rabble from the Far East”, such was our welcome back to India.

Robert Jefcoate joined the RAF in 1939 having earlier in the year tried to join the RAF Volunteer Reserve but they insisted he had a sinus operation first.

He was a wireless op and trained at Yatesbury, Wiltshire, passing this training in July 1940.  He was then sent to Operational Training unit at Harwell, south of Oxford. Later, posted to squadron 37 at Feltwell. He, and his other crew members survived a right off crash here. He was involved in several bombing raids of Dusseldorf and Cologne amongst other cities.  His log book also shows a lot of times that raids were called off due to bad weather or other operational difficulties. His diary also shows a few fun times, hitching to see his girfriend (later wife), going to the cinema, a concert etc.

May 1941 all bomber command were briefed to attack the Bismark at all costs using B bombs (a sort of mine).  Later this changed to the Prinz.  Awful weather apparantly so no bombing.

In May 1941 they crashed in St Eval harbour, Gibraltar earning Robert a membership of the Goldfish club.

1^st August 1942.  Robert had volunteered to serve overseas as they were asking for radio ops. He flew in a brand new Hudson bomber and was using a totally different radio (Bendix rather than Marconi).  They arrived in Palembourg Sumatra on 23^rd January 1942. On 1^st August there was panic as a Jap naval group was heading to the Bay of Bengal. Every bomber was kitted up, the weather was extremely bad (cyclone) and the bomber in front of Robert’s burst into flames on take off as it hit a road roller because of the the wind.  Luckily the crew bailed out.  They later took off , did their search in high wind and heavy rain.  After 7 hours, fuel was very low and there were no identifiable landmarks.  Robert had tried to radio several times but no reply.  He sent an SOS as fuel was now zero .  They spotted a small island off the coast (Shortts Island), They took up crash positions but landed in the ocean.  Luckily nobody was hurt and they were eventually picked up in a motor boat by local people. So he joined the Goldfish club twice over!

In January 1942 he was posted to what was then Burma.  The journey was disjointed, guess because of refuelling and was as follows:

Gibraltar – Mata

Malta – Cairo

Habbanah (Iraq) – Smarjah (Kuwait)

Smarjah – Karachi (Pakistan)

Karachi – Allahabad

Allahabad – Calcutta

Calcutta – Toungod

Toungod – Rangoon (Burma)

Rangoon – Sabang (indonesia)

Sabang – Packembaroe

Packembaroe – Palembang (Indonesia)

The post Robert Jefcoate’s Diary appeared first on International Bomber Command Centre.

Written by Peter Allam

The word ‘Exodus’ is derived from the Ancient Greek word ‘éxodos’, literally meaning ‘way out’. Known throughout the world as the title of the second book of the Bible, Exodus recounts the release of the Israelites from slavery and their journey to the Promised Land. For obvious reasons, World War Two operation code names were usually chosen which bore no relation to the actual nature of the operation. However, biblically inspired names were occasionally chosen with Operation Manna (the dropping of food to the starving Dutch people) being perhaps the most well-known example. In April and May 1945 RAF Bomber Command carried out another humanitarian operation, the repatriation to the UK of tens of thousands of recently released British and Commonwealth POWs, and for this another wholly appropriate biblical code name was chosen – Operation Exodus.

With the war in Europe obviously entering its final stage, in March 1945 planning began for the soon to be essential and prompt repatriation of the thousands of POWs, who were then still held in a number of camps scattered across Germany. Initial thoughts were centred around seaborne transportation, but it soon became obvious that with the future availability of useable shipping ports still uncertain, this could potentially take much too long and be fraught with difficulties. Inevitably some of the POWs would be in poor health and physical condition, making speed of the essence. Because of this the planning focus which was shared between the British War office and SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force), shifted from evacuation by sea to a huge airlift.

With prisoners spread across Germany it was necessary that a handful of key focal airfields be identified at which the POWs could be assembled prior to air repatriation. In Germany itself, Lübeck on the Baltic coast and Rheine near the Dutch border were both selected, while in Belgium, Melsbroek (nowadays Brussels International Airport) also became a collection point. In France, Juvincourt near Reims and Lille in the northeast of the country completed the Continental airfields. In the UK, a number of Normal and Reserve Reception RAF airfields were identified, the former group including Dunsfold, Ford, Methwold, Seighford, Westcott and Wing, and the latter group Oakley and Tangmere. At each of the reception airfields a hangar was assigned and equipped with all the staff and facilities necessary to receive and process thousands of former POWs. The Red Cross playing a significant role, as did many of the other war relief organisations.

By March 1945, the Dakotas of RAF Transport Command’s 46 Group had already been engaged in casualty evacuation flights for many months, and with the ground war winding down and casualties decreasing, the group’s aircraft were considered eminently suitable for a POW recovery operation. Although not actually a part of Operation Exodus, the air repatriation of POWs began on 3 April when seven 46 Group Dakotas landed with their precious cargo at RAF Oakley near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire. Although still carrying out airborne operations in Denmark and Norway, a number of 38 Group Stirlings and Halifaxes were also released shortly afterwards, beginning POW flights on 17 and 18 April respectively. Transport Command flights continued for some time, eventually accounting for a total of 58,000 POWs repatriated to the UK.

It was also obvious to all concerned that the massive resources of Bomber Command would also soon become available, and planning began for the use of Lancasters under the code name Operation Exodus. On 26 April, the very same day that 107 Lancasters returned from the RAF’s last heavy bomber raid of WW2 on an oil refinery at Tonsberg in southern Norway, Operation Exodus commenced when Lancasters of 50, 61, 463 & 467 squadrons repatriated dozens of POWs. Although the spartan confines of a Lancaster were less than ideal for carrying passengers, helped by the provision of blankets and cushions, each aircraft was able to carry a maximum of twenty-four POWs. As the Lancasters usually also had their normal crew of seven on board, and even though in many cases the POW’s possessions amounted to nothing more than the clothes they were wearing, thirty-one people squeezed inside a Lancaster is nevertheless hard to imagine.

All aircrew who took part in Exodus were left with some indelible memories, and the author’s father W/O A J ‘Bert’ Allam and his 227 Squadron crew were no exception. Flying their favourite Lancaster Mk.I PA283 9J-J (known to the crew as ‘The Jabberwock’ after the nonsense poem in Lewis Caroll’s ‘Through the Looking Glass’), the crew were assigned an Exodus trip to Brussels in the early afternoon of 10 May. After taking off from their base at RAF Strubby in Lincolnshire and flying directly across the North Sea, landfall was made at the Dutch island of Walcheren, as Bert Allam recalled in his unpublished memoir:

‘We crossed the shore near the Westkapelle light and flew on over one of the saddest looking scenes we had ever come across. During October, Lancasters of 5 Group broke down the sea wall in several places, and when the Allied offensive was finally launched, German resistance came to an end after only ten days on November 10th. Now, six months later, the island looked very much as it must have done following that November struggle.

Alongside us on the starboard side the untouched sea wall ran southwards forming the only high ground on that side, and way over to port the spires and roofs in a distant untidy cluster marked the corpse of Middleburg – chief town of the island. The entire scene was one of utter desolation. Not a living thing could we see; below us was a dead world; a world of water.

It all seemed so quiet. I know that sounds silly considering we had four Merlins hammering away in our ears, but looking down on the land below it did seem quiet, with no life and not a sign of movement anywhere. Even the sea, having done its worst, seemed content with the havoc it had wrought and was itself lying still. It was perhaps the loneliest sight I have ever seen on earth and surely a symbol of the stupidity of man. For some time, no one said anything. Then at last Matt (Bomb Aimer Denzil ‘Matt’ Matthews) spoke.

“I wonder whether all that was really necessary?” he said.

We didn’t reply. There didn’t seem much to say. We were all a little stunned by it all. This destruction of the land itself – handing back to the sea this expanse of hard-won fertile countryside seemed somehow particularly futile.’

After overflying the southern part of the Netherlands, the crew soon crossed into Belgium, and before long they had arrived at Brussels and joined the circuit at Melsbroek:

‘We didn’t fly right over Brussels but instead made for Melsbroek airfield which we picked out easily when some miles away. There were a number of aircraft in the sky in the vicinity and appeared to be many more parked on the ground alongside the runways. The runway in use was the long one running as far as I remember roughly north-east to south-west, and the direction of landing when we arrived was to the north-east. It ran alongside and almost parallel to the perimeter track, and on that side of field about halfway along its length a column of black smoke rose high into the air from what at first sight appeared to be a small building on fire.

As we flew over it we could see that it was indeed a building of some sort, but the reason for the blaze was a Lancaster which was piled up on top of it. The whole lot was blazing furiously, belching black smoke, and only the tail unit and rear part of the fuselage was now recognisable.

One or two trucks stood nearby whilst a group of men seemed to be doing little – apparently content to let it burn itself out.’

On landing the reason for the crashed aircraft soon became obvious, the heavily bomb damaged and poorly repaired runway being in a terrible state, with a second Lanc also parked at a drunken angle with a burst tyre, close to the worst part of the runway. Incredibly, the same group of twenty-four POWs had been on board both aircraft during the two attempted take offs. In the first incident RA595 of 101 Squadron burst a tyre and ground looped, and then after boarding the second aircraft (ME623 of 97 Squadron), the POWs had a much closer shave when the aircraft swung off the runway, crashed heavily into an airfield building and burst into flames. Although badly shaken, fortunately all on board managed to scramble clear with nothing more serious than bruising.

After being marshalled into their parking spot the crew reported to flying control, in order to receive their instructions for the return flight. As the afternoon wore on it looked as if there wouldn’t be enough POWs to make up a load, and the Allam crew were beginning to look forward to a night on the town in Brussels. However, some of the POWs who had survived the two take off accidents were still on the airfield, and one of the marshalling officers tentatively enquired if any of them felt like seeing England that night. Some quite understandably refused point blank to attempt to fly again, and offered some highly original but unprintable suggestions as to exactly what the RAF could do with their Lancasters, but others were so desperate to get home that they agreed to give it a third try.

Once the POWs had been helped into their ‘Mae Wests’ by the crew and shown to their positions inside the aircraft (each marked by a painted number), the author’s father started up and taxied carefully to the end of the active runway:

‘I went over my vital action check with particular care, and getting permission to take off I released the brakes and slowly eased the Lanc on to the narrow connecting strip. Then I decided to start my take off run from where I was and so gain an extra few yards.

Reaching forward I pulled the boost over-ride lever down to give maximum emergency take off power, and holding the brakes on, opened up to zero boost – then with brakes released pushed the four throttles smoothly forward in a staggered line and on through the gate.

Steve (Flight Engineer Len ‘Steve’ Stevens) locked the throttles as I held the stick well forward to bring the tail up quickly. We raced on down the runway, jolting over the uneven surface – and then it came – a mighty bump which projected the aircraft off the ground as we hit the danger spot. Instantly I eased the stick back and nursed the Lanc along in a mushy half stalled condition a foot or so up, slowly building up the airspeed until we were at last flying comfortably and climbing steadily away – albeit feeling a little unwieldy due probably to the unfamiliar distribution of weight. At least we had made a clean take off and the boys could breathe again.’

A more southerly return route took the Lancaster home across northern France and the English Channel, and after the dramatic takeoff the POWs soon settled down and began to enjoy the trip. The rest of the return flight was uneventful, that is until when nearly across the English Channel the 500ft high white chalk cliffs of the Sussex coast came into view:

‘At last, through the slight haze which surrounded the sun, the English coast appeared as a blur in the distance, and I think we all felt that the moment of the day had arrived.

As many as could crowded forward to catch the first sight of England, and after the initial buzz of excitement, stood watching that smudge of a line gradually merge into the recognisable outline of Beachy Head.

I looked at their faces as they peered out wide-eyed. What were they thinking, I wondered? Steve caught my eye, and I knew instantly that his mind was on the same thing – wondering what it felt like to these poor chaps – seeing once more the country they had left – long ago in many cases, for we had some veterans from Dunkirk and even earlier – and now to which they were returning at last to within reach of their families and homes.

I glanced at some of the aircrew among them. A W/Op from 4 Group. A navigator from our own 5 Group. What were they thinking? When they had last crossed this coast, they were on what was to be their last operational trip.

We were now close in and although the light from the setting sun reflected awkwardly from the water we could see the downs of Sussex quite clearly. Someone pointed out Eastbourne pier and that did it. The spell was broken, and everyone had something to say.

The aircraft was quite a sight just then. We had half a dozen up front by the bomb aimer’s position, more by Steve and Tiger’s bench, some in the astrodome and in the rear and mid upper turrets – and as there were still some who couldn’t see out, I opened the bomb doors as we came over Eastbourne and they took it in turns to look out through the rear inspection panel. It was a grand moment.’

After landing at RAF Westcott in Buckinghamshire (the author’s father recalled that he didn’t think he ever tried harder to make a good landing!), the exhausted but ecstatic and relieved POWs were safely delivered to the waiting reception staff. Although they had only been together for a few hours the Allam crew already felt an attachment to ‘their’ POWs, and it was with some regret that they parted company, before taking off and heading back to Strubby.

‘Several other Lancs were taxying out with nav lights on and mingling with them were the bulky low-slung shapes of the resident Wimpys – off no doubt on a cross-country trip. Watching them rumble out our thoughts went back to our own OTU days. Well, they had a grand night for their cross-country – but they were welcome to it. For us it was home and bed.

Starting up we moved out and filtered into the queue behind a Wimpy and crawled around the perimeter, the blues and ambers of the taxy track peeping through the gaps between the aircraft.

Darkness was well upon us and the aircraft were outlined sombrely against the western sky where the last trace of day was fading.

Sitting on the end of the runway, I warned the crew to stand by for take off, and as the Wimpy ahead of us cleared the distant fence there came a steady green from the caravan and I pushed the throttles forward.

As soon as the wheels lifted, I went into a climbing turn onto course and in a few moments, we were back at a thousand feet and heading homewards.

The night air was still and wonderfully smooth. Having adjusted the trim, the Lanc flew hands and feet off with hardly a tremor of airspeed or compass needle.

Tiger (Wireless Operator Harry ‘Tiger’ Gaunt) leaned over my shoulder and gave a nod of approval. He seemed pleased at something, and it wasn’t hard for me to guess why he was so. It had been a day to remember. A day in which we felt we had done something really worthwhile.

At any rate I know I was quite contented as I sat there letting the Lanc fly herself home.

Tiger was happy. We were all happy. It had been a happy trip.’

Operation Exodus reached its peak in mid-May, at which point over one thousand ex-POWs were arriving in the UK each day, with a Lancaster touching down every four minutes. The airlift eventually came to a close on 4 June, when four 138 Squadron Lancasters collected a final load of POWs from Juvincourt and delivered them safely to Dunsfold. The air repatriation had been a resounding success, and in addition to the aircraft of 38 and 46 Group, a number of British and Commonwealth POWs were also transported by aircraft of the USAAF’s 8^th and 9^th Air Forces. RAF Bomber Command eventually committed forty-seven Lancaster squadrons to Operation Exodus, flying some 3,500 sorties and repatriating 74,195 former POWs, well over half of the eventual total of 132,000 British and Commonwealth servicemen repatriated by air to the UK.

Very sadly this incredible achievement was marred by several fatal accidents; three ground crew, eighteen aircrew and particularly tragically twenty-five former POWs were killed, with ten Lancasters being completely destroyed and another eighteen damaged to varying degrees. It might have been both hoped and expected that with the war over at last, safety was finally within the grasp of all involved with Exodus. But incorrect loading, technical failures, bad weather, unsuitable runways in poor condition and also (regrettably) unauthorised low flying accidents, all played their part in the losses.

In spite of the operation’s success, eighty years on Exodus remains a half-forgotten footnote in the history books, forever in the shadow of the more well-known Operation Manna. And while Bomber Command’s other more famous humanitarian relief operation is rightly commemorated both in the UK and the Netherlands, sadly there remains no known memorial to the POW airlift. But for all those who took part, whether they were former POWs or Lancaster aircrew, the events of April and May 1945 and the name ‘Exodus’ would remain indelibly etched in their memories for the rest of their lives.

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Ken (from Holmfirth in Yorkshire) was an RAF Fireman and Sheila (from Wymondham in Norfolk) was an RAF Stewardess/Batwoman.  They met at RAF Swinderby, Ken having completed his training at Cardington and then Sutton upon Hull. He remained in the Royal Air Force after completing his National Service.  Sheila did her initial training at RAF Spitalgate, now the Prince William of Gloucester Barracks Grantham.

RAF Hospital Nocton Hall cared for Sheila during her pregnancy, they went on to have four Scale E (Scaly) Brats, Susan, Stephen, Ian and Debra.  Being married and pregnant, Sheila had to leave the WRAF in those days!

The family had many postings, several were overseas to Malta and Germany whilst Ken also served unaccompanied in Borneo, Changi and Car Nicobar.  Ken and Sheila’s final posting was to RAF Cottesmore.  After 24 years of service, Ken and Sheila finally left the RAF from Cottesmore in 1976 and settled in Peterborough; they did maintain the service link via their son Stephen who also joined up as an RAF Firefighter.  Considering their ties to the local area it was only fitting the family wanted to place a memorial stone at the IBCC.

To pay your own tribute please click here

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