Achieving a dream
That is me above. Achieving a lifelong dream. I am hunched over the Bomb Aimer's position in Avro Lancaster KB976's nose at Brooklands. It took me 25 years to get into a Lancaster and even then, only the forward extremities of one, but I felt a certain giddiness come over me which has been all but dulled by the mundaneness adult life can often bring. I had clambered over the wing spar, past the Wireless Operator's station and the navigator's maps, onwards into the greenhouse-like structure of the cockpit. On a night over Berlin with the heaviest flak and nightfighters, the captain, raised on his chair, must have felt incredibly exposed.
I managed to fold my six feet two inches of height into the bomb aimer's compartment forward of the cockpit. This Lancaster was bereft of its front turret, but this enabled me to look out of the perspex bubble ahead of the Lancaster. I managed to quell the overwhelming urge to shout "bomb gone!" or "This is bloody dangerous!" in an antipodean drawl. Instead, I sat and looked out over Brooklands; itself a piece if British aviation and motoring history, and not a dam in North West Germany.
But why does the Lancaster hold such a fascination for me? I remember lying on the carpet at my grandparents and watched in black and white as Richard Todd led 617 Squadron to the Möhne, Eder and Sorpe dams. The powerful Lancaster, with its four Merlins and their pleasant drone thundered towards the 'Enemy Coast Ahead'. I have never been one for convention and whilst I enjoyed the fighter boys and their Spitfires in 1969's 'Battle of Britain', it was the crew of 7 loading into the buses in their cumbersome flying suits which really interested me. Each crew member had their own job and they would fly into the darkness, totally reliant on each other to make sure they made it home. In RAF Bomber Command, 44% wouldn't make it back, a staggering 55,573, just over 12,000 aircraft.
Most crews would come together in an austere, wartime hall at the Operation Conversion Unit where each man would arrive, having learnt their craft. The pilots could be identified by the wings on their chest and the others, in turn, by the letters in their brevets. The seven could be brought from all corners of the world, from all creeds and races; from every corner of the Empire. They would fly together, they would fight together and, increasingly, they would die together.
Each man would rely on each other; the pilot, bomb aimer, flight engineer, wireless operator, navigator and gunners each had specific roles, and working together, they would try and ensure their survival to fight another night. This cameraderie and teamwork in the darkness of night really struck a chord with me. There are tales of 'fraternisation' with other crews being frowned upon; when a crew was lost, there would be an empty table at breakfast the next morning and their beds would be empty for a matter of days until it was filled by a new airman. It didn't pay to keep close friendships outside your own crew. Superstition was rife and rituals would be followed, from wearing a girlfriend's stockings as a scarf to a crew joining together to empty their bladders on the tailwheel (discouraged as the urine rotted the rubber tyres). If a crew member was ill or injured and a new airman was asked to substitute for them, crews would sometimes feel the end was very much nigh.
The race to reach 30 operations would often end prematurely. As British heavy bomber design reached its zenith with upwards of 500 Lancasters, Handley Page Halifaxes and Shorts Stirlings guided by Pathfinder De Havilland Mosquitos making their way over enemy territory, so too did the German defences. By 1944 the German night fighter tactics were such that Luftwaffe pilots could be guided onto single aircraft. Whilst the stream of bombers was meant to offer protection, if an aircraft became lost, suffered damage or serviceability issues, it would become a sitting duck. A well trained pilot could pick out a heavy bomber with its dark undersides and attack at will. The practice of Schräge Musik where a nightfighter would sit below a bomber and fire into its belly, into the bomb bay or fuel tanks ensured the RAF's heavy bombers could often meet a sudden and fiery end.
So perhaps it is the fight against terrible odds, night after night, into the darkness which interests me about the Lancaster and RAF Bomber Command. From May 1940 to June 1944 it was the only way of directly hitting back against mainland Europe. Whilst the area bombing of civilian areas became a highly contentious issue following the cessation of hostilities, the bravery of the men of Bomber Command cannot be questioned. Taking the fight to the heart of Nazi Germany in freezing cold temperatures, with very basic navigation techniques and facing the wall of flak and nightfighters has to be commended, and never forgotten. The decision to award them only a clasp and not a campaign medal was ultimately a political decision to appease German counterparts in Berlin and those with the benefit of hindsight who still condemn the acts of Bomber Command.
But why does the Lancaster hold such a fascination for me? I remember lying on the carpet at my grandparents and watched in black and white as Richard Todd led 617 Squadron to the Möhne, Eder and Sorpe dams. The powerful Lancaster, with its four Merlins and their pleasant drone thundered towards the 'Enemy Coast Ahead'. I have never been one for convention and whilst I enjoyed the fighter boys and their Spitfires in 1969's 'Battle of Britain', it was the crew of 7 loading into the buses in their cumbersome flying suits which really interested me. Each crew member had their own job and they would fly into the darkness, totally reliant on each other to make sure they made it home. In RAF Bomber Command, 44% wouldn't make it back, a staggering 55,573, just over 12,000 aircraft.
Most crews would come together in an austere, wartime hall at the Operation Conversion Unit where each man would arrive, having learnt their craft. The pilots could be identified by the wings on their chest and the others, in turn, by the letters in their brevets. The seven could be brought from all corners of the world, from all creeds and races; from every corner of the Empire. They would fly together, they would fight together and, increasingly, they would die together.
Each man would rely on each other; the pilot, bomb aimer, flight engineer, wireless operator, navigator and gunners each had specific roles, and working together, they would try and ensure their survival to fight another night. This cameraderie and teamwork in the darkness of night really struck a chord with me. There are tales of 'fraternisation' with other crews being frowned upon; when a crew was lost, there would be an empty table at breakfast the next morning and their beds would be empty for a matter of days until it was filled by a new airman. It didn't pay to keep close friendships outside your own crew. Superstition was rife and rituals would be followed, from wearing a girlfriend's stockings as a scarf to a crew joining together to empty their bladders on the tailwheel (discouraged as the urine rotted the rubber tyres). If a crew member was ill or injured and a new airman was asked to substitute for them, crews would sometimes feel the end was very much nigh.
The race to reach 30 operations would often end prematurely. As British heavy bomber design reached its zenith with upwards of 500 Lancasters, Handley Page Halifaxes and Shorts Stirlings guided by Pathfinder De Havilland Mosquitos making their way over enemy territory, so too did the German defences. By 1944 the German night fighter tactics were such that Luftwaffe pilots could be guided onto single aircraft. Whilst the stream of bombers was meant to offer protection, if an aircraft became lost, suffered damage or serviceability issues, it would become a sitting duck. A well trained pilot could pick out a heavy bomber with its dark undersides and attack at will. The practice of Schräge Musik where a nightfighter would sit below a bomber and fire into its belly, into the bomb bay or fuel tanks ensured the RAF's heavy bombers could often meet a sudden and fiery end.
So perhaps it is the fight against terrible odds, night after night, into the darkness which interests me about the Lancaster and RAF Bomber Command. From May 1940 to June 1944 it was the only way of directly hitting back against mainland Europe. Whilst the area bombing of civilian areas became a highly contentious issue following the cessation of hostilities, the bravery of the men of Bomber Command cannot be questioned. Taking the fight to the heart of Nazi Germany in freezing cold temperatures, with very basic navigation techniques and facing the wall of flak and nightfighters has to be commended, and never forgotten. The decision to award them only a clasp and not a campaign medal was ultimately a political decision to appease German counterparts in Berlin and those with the benefit of hindsight who still condemn the acts of Bomber Command.
