Jim McPhee- My story, Page 3 continued

The Copes

So many years have passed that it is hard to remember the sequence of events, but I must record a couple of other interesting leave experiences that I had, usually between training blocks. Between OTU and HCU, Louis and I took advantage of a program that was set up to help the overseas troops keep their spirits up. There was a registry of homes that would welcome service men into their homes for a leave, give them lodging, meals and show them some of the places of interest.

We registered with a family near Birmingham. The Copes were owners of a motor cycle factory and at that time, of course, were making military equipment. They had a country estate well away from what was called the "Black Country" area. The terrain in this "Black Country" was very much like that around Sudbury, with piles of slag, and stunted or no vegetation. The Copes were extremely hospitable and generous. They were most appreciative of the food coupons we brought from camp to cover our food while on leave. Elegant affluence would be a good description of the Cope's circumstances. They had a stable of racing and riding horses, but were having difficulty feeding them, as the government required them to devote a large part of their land to growing potatoes and other food for humans. They were particularly concerned about their hunting horses, and were afraid that they would have to get rid of their beloved animals. The English countryside wildlife were bountiful on this estate; walking along the hedge rows one would scare up things like hare, fox, and there was a great variety of bird life. One evening while sitting in a room with a picture window looking out on a large lawn, Mr. Cope spotted a hare, jumped up, took a firearm and dispatched the animal. The next day we had the meat for dinner and it was delicious.

Mr. Cope and his son were officers in the Home Guard, which was like a militia, essentially a civilian army, which patrolled bridges and other vulnerable infrastructure. The senior Cope was colonel of the local group, and the son was a first lieutenant. Fortunately, their work in the Home Guard was not too secret so that they were able to take us on their rounds. This gave us a chance to see much of the area, and the interesting spots, nooks and crannies. We were treated as honoured guests, made to feel that we were doing the English a favour by being there.   

Back to Wombleton; we had to get used again to the Nissen hut, heated only with wood or coal that we could find or steal from hedge rows or piles of unguarded coal. Although we were warned that we would be charged and punished if we were caught stealing coal, I don't remember anyone receiving any serious penalty. Nissen huts were virtually large corrugated metal tubes like those seen in culverts under roads. There was a row of cots down each side of the hut with a walk way down the center. About halfway down the hut there was a coal-wood stove, to take the chill and dampness out of the area, but heat the hut it did not.

As the food in the Sergeant’s mess was not that good or plentiful except for the bread, we frequently loaded up with bread and jam which we concealed in our battle tunic, and brought back to the hut. Toasting the bread at the stove, covering it with jam, and enjoying at leisure, relieved some of the hunger, and I am sure supplied emotional comfort. Frequently we would obtain evening passes and head for town for whatever young military personnel could find to do. This usually involved a pub. Fish and chip served in cones of newspaper was very inexpensive and delicious. Occasionally we would find some local activity such as a country dance that would entertain, and relieve some of the routine in our lives. There seemed to be many young women around like those in the military or the land army [female farm workers], and they also were looking for some fun and companionship. Many of these young women became war brides.

HCU Wombledon and Halifax Bomber Training

At Wombledon we were introduced to the four engine bomber, the Halifax. Again we had a few days of class work before flying. Our first flight in a Halifax was on October 2, 1944; and by October 30, 1944, we were deemed ready to go to an operational squadron. Rain, fog and damp chilly weather form my memories of Wombledon. We arrived in a heavy rain storm which was still in progress when we left six weeks later. The air field was in a valley with a rise of land to the west on which was an apple orchard. The prevailing wind was from the west, so that, very frequently, we had to take off toward the west. The air craft, in which we had to train, had been decommissioned from combat operations, and not suitable for combat. As well as being old they were very poorly maintained, and really a hazard to fly. Many times it was a heart stopping adventure to take off over that apple orchard wondering whether there was enough horse power in the old engines to get us clear of the tree tops. Not infrequently someone ended up in the apple trees.

Cross Country Circuits and Dinghy Training

One night we were on a cross country navigation exercise which took us south over Wales, then north up the Irish Sea, across the north of Scotland and back to base at Wombledon. However, over Wales, we ran into thunderstorms. The lightning was playing across various parts of the air craft, especially across the gun muzzles. Suddenly we flew into a down draft, which dropped us downward at a great rate. At the same time the intercommunication system ceased to function. For a short time [which seemed like a long time] I concluded that we were going to crash, but the pilot gained control of the craft, and the intercom clicked in. The navigator was informing the pilot that we were flying below the highest of the mountains in the area. Our only option was to climb back up into the clouds and say some prayers. Finally escaping the storm, the wireless operator received a message ordering us back to base because of bad weather over Wales. This was probably the most frightening experience that I had except getting shot down a few weeks later. As usual, around Wombledon, the only off base diversions were the small towns and the pubs.

Part of our training was escape from hazardous situation exercises, such as dingy drill, and parachute training, especially how to land without breaking a leg. Our "dinghy drill" was done in a swimming pool in Rippon, a small town near by. I had never learned to swim, a fact that the instructors did not deem too important. We were lined up along the deep end of the pool wearing our "Mae West" inflatable, had to jump in, inflate the device, and congregate around a rubber craft; all the time wearing blind folds. Quickly I learned to swim using the breast stroke method. For parachute drill we jumped from a platform which was about ten feet off the ground. We were shown how to land and roll so that we did not absorb all the force of the fall through our lower extremities.

While at Wombledon, we did have some day passes, one which I remember particularly, was spent on a trip to the beach at Scarborough, on the North Sea. This was a recreational resort, frequented by people with a day off, or on vacation. Particularly I remember the ice cream booths, the puppet shows, and the general carnival atmosphere. I was impressed with the very nice sand, which was black. Back from the beach cliffs rose up to a height which, as I remember, was a hundred or more feet.

Edinburgh on Leave

Between our time at HCU at Wombledon, and our reporting to the squadron, we had a few days leave, which Louis and I used to visit Edinburgh. After what to us was a short train trip through the beautiful scenery of middle Britain; we arrived in Edinburgh, found a hostel not far from Princess Street, and went exploring. Of course, we found the city fascinating, especially along Princess Street, the park and gardens below the castle, and the Royal Mile. We noted on the bulletin board a party advertised that evening, scouted out the location, and made sure that we were there early. At this dance party we met a couple of young unattached women, who tried to teach us some of the Scottish dances. I guess that we were successful to some degree, as they invited us home, and my new friend gave me a bed for the night. Not her bed! In the morning I met her parents and a sister, was given a wonderful full Scottish breakfast, and received a lecture from her mother on the evils of alcohol. After breakfast, she suggested that we go out to a beach somewhere nearby, and after a considerable bus ride we arrived at a small beach. The water was frigid and the wind quite brisk, which completely discouraged me from any thought of swimming. However my friend, in spite of the weather and the time of year, ran into the water which turned her glowing pink. I was turning blue just sitting watching her. This was late October. I did have a correspondence with her for some time but the turn of events was such that we lost touch. Life in those days was so tentative, and almost transitory. The food ration coupons were again greatly appreciated by the mother, a reflection of how stringent and skimpy the allowances were.

408 Squadron

We reported to 408 Squadron - The Goose Squadron, about November 1, 1944. JB note: 408 squadron was known as the Goose squadron and had the Motto for freedom, as shown on the logos at left. 408 Squadron was formed at Lindholme, Yorkshire, on June 24, 1941 and was the second of the many RCAF bomber squadrons which served overseas in the Second world war. The squadron took part in the first 1,000-bomber raid on Germany, flew many missions against naval and industrial targets, and played an active part in Gardening (mine laying). Beginning operations with Hampdens in 1941, No. 408 was given Halifaxs towards the end of the following year and later (August 1943) Lancaster II's. In the summer of 1944 it returned to Halifaxs, which is what the Steeves crew trained on.

The lodgings were in a large country home, called Beningborough Hall, at Linton-on-Ouse, the home of Lady Chesterfield. The NCOs were billeted in what was the ballroom of this building. There were various rooms through this building, separated by massive supporting columns, but adequately heated and comfortably furnished. Many of these big estates were given to the government for various uses, as part of a total war effort, and I assume were returned to the owner after the war. Our living conditions were spartan, but luxurious as compared to a Nissen hut.

Almost immediately we began our orientation to the operational Halifax bomber, and immediately were impressed with this superbly fitted and maintained machine. The engines were Hercules radial air cooled, very powerful 1650 hp. in which we felt confident, especially in comparison with the ramshackle machines that we had on HCU. After having lost several of our friends at HCU in training accidents, it was great to have equipment that had the appearance and feel of good performance. We did a bit of flying in our assigned craft, our pilot did a couple of trips as “second dickie”, and we were as ready as we were going to be for what were called “operations”. [The Americans called their combat trips “missions”].

Munster Germany

Ops Briefings

Before each operation we had a “briefing” which was in two parts: the first part involved the crew except the gunners, and the second part the whole crew. While the rest of the crew was in the first session, the gunners had their own briefing with the chief gunnery officer. At the briefing the target would be revealed, along with the expected weather conditions, and an outline of any anticipated difficulties, such as heavy defenses of flak, and fighter squadrons. On arrival back at base, there would be a debriefing, at which the crews would report on the target, flak, night fighters, and any enemy encounters, and craft shot down, [friend or enemy], and any difficulties with our aircraft, or our equipment. Following our debriefing, we were given a meal of bacon, eggs, and sometimes steak.

On November 19, we were warned that "Ops" were planned for that night. We noticed that our air craft were fitted with overload fuel tanks, which indicated a very long flight. The rumor had it that we were going to bomb Berlin. The crew except the gunners was called into a briefing, but before the gunners` briefing the word to stand down came over the Tannoy [loud speaker]. Every one cheered in relief which shows that we weren't that anxious to die that day. There was a rather macabre custom on our squadron that required each are crew to throw some money into a pot. If everyone came back safely, the pot grew, but if there were any no returns, the pot financed a beer party, where the money bought as much beer as possible, and drinking continued until consumed. During this time we sang ribald songs including; the one entitled "here's to the next one to die". Since then I have often wondered about the psychological significance of this strange behavior; and I am sure that it was a coping mechanism. Certainly, we were all aware that our chances of surviving a tour of operations, or even surviving the first ten operations, were not that great.

Castrop-Rauxel

On Nov 21, 1944, the squadron was alerted that "ops' were on, the usual briefing carried out, where we found that our trip was to be to the Ruhr Valley, city of Castrop-Rauxel near Dortmund-on-Ems. We were to bomb a synthetic oil plant as our primary target. The forecast was for clear skies, no moon. We were to climb to twenty two thousand feet, drop our bombs, then head towards Dusseldorf, losing altitude to fifteen thousand feet which we would maintain on our flight back to base. This was a large raid, the exact number I do not remember. I do remember that the sky was full of Lancasters and Halifaxes, as far as the eye could see, and at various heights. Of course the thought crossed one’s mind about the possibilities of mid-air collisions, which on occasion did occur, but surprisingly infrequently... Some times air craft would be struck by bombs dropped from an air craft above. As we gained altitude that night, the rear turret became colder and eventually the electrical element was turned on. It soon became evident that it was not working properly as it became so hot that I was afraid of a burn, so that I had to turn it off. Such a minor dysfunction was not reason to return to base, even though I knew that the temperature in the turret would fall well below zero degrees F., four miles above sea level.

As we crossed over into Germany, we began to experience some flak, but none was close, and our flight was uneventful until we approached the target. The scene below was unbelievable, with bright marker flares of different colors and intensity. The dialogue on the intercom between the pilot and the bomb aimer brought the air craft onto the bombing run. At that time, from my position in the rear turret, I could see converging search lights, and knew that we would soon be "coned.” That is we would be the focus of several lights at the same time. Of course, this was reported to the pilot, who was the captain of the air craft. I requested that he take evasive action, His comment was that we needed to stay on constant course in order to bomb accurately, so that no evasive action was taken and we did get coned.

When “coned” one is surrounded by the most intense light that can be imagined, Night vision is lost, and we were sitting ducks. This painting is from the Book, "A Nation forged in Fire, Canadians and the Second World War 1939-1945" by J.L. Granatstein and Desmond Morton, 1989. (CWM10889). The artist Miller Brittain captures the deadly searchlights in this painting which he entitled "Night Target, Germany." It seemed an apt illustration for the situation Jim McPhee describes. One can see how the planes are illuminated for the fighters to attack.

In what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, the bomb aimer announced "bombs away", and at the same time we experienced the usual upward lurch of the craft. Suddenly the search lights were turned off, as we turned towards our route for home. Through half blinded eyes, I continued to do a sky search, spotted a Junkers 88 German fighter craft on the port side and behind at forty five degree angle. Aware that he might be a decoy, I directed the mid upper gunner to keep an eye on him. I then noted a second Junkers 88 to the port and below coming at us, and about the same time, tracer bullet-were flying by my ears. I could see the tail plane of our craft disintegrate. My equipment by this time was inoperative. The wireless operator reported that the mid upper gunner was wounded and bleeding badly. Almost at once, I was aware of a heavy blow to the right side of my head, following which I am unaware of what happened. I must have opened the turret doors and tumbled out, or more likely, was blown out by an explosion of the fuel tanks. My next awareness was of something hitting my face, realized that it was my flying suit legs, that had come out of my boots, that I was free falling, and in a daze, pulled my rip cord.

Click here to read the daily ops report from www.6grouprcaf.com, courtesy of Richard Koval.

Shot Down in Germany

Jim McPhee- My story, Page 3 continued