蜜芽传媒

RAF DETAILS

38 GROUP - 295 SOUADRON - 鈥楢鈥� FLIGHT

STIRLING MARK 4 鈥楰鈥� KING

CREW:
P/O LES BELLINGER - PILOT (ENGLISH)
F/LT SCOTTIE McBAIN - NAVIGATOR (SCOTTISH)
F/SGT LES GARDNER - BOMBAIMER (ENGLISH)
F/SGT JOHN PRITCHARD - ENGINEER (WELSH)
F/SGT MAXWELL BURNS - WIOP (NEW ZEALAND)
F/SGT SANDY EWEN - TAIL GUNNER (SCOTTISH)

Looking back over my RAF flying experiences long since buried in the dust of time, several trips sift themselves to the surface.

The operation destined to involve, not ourselves so much but many fine men will perhaps be the most interesting. These men by fighting so ferociously for days against impossible odds, created a legend for themselves. The men were the 1st Airborne Division, the place was 鈥楢搁狈贬贰惭鈥�, and the operation code was named 鈥楳ARKET GARDEN鈥�.

We were briefed as one unit, RAF and Airborne together, for the North route of a twin pronged thrust into Holland to capture and hold bridges, and shorten the war by months, possibly a year.

The South thrust via Hatfield, Margate, Ghent and Eim D Hoven involved C42 aircraft and the US 82 Cnd Airborne.

The North thrust, the British responsibility~ was routed via Hatfield and Orfnes Schiewen on the Dutch coast, for the landing and marshalling at Nimigen. Having formed their groups, the men were briefed to move, mainly on foot, to what proved to be the 鈥淏ridge too far鈥� at Arnhem.

My logbook records at 0945 hrs on Sunday, 17 September 1944, our Stirling K King lifted its huge bulk, plus a fully laden Horsa glider, clear of the Harwell runway, and we climbed slowly over the green Berkshire downs turning on course. The weather was superb. Below, smoke curled lazily from village chimneys, tractors ploughed the stubbled fields, and people were strolling to church. It was difficult to remember we were at war and the Airborne were on their way to very serious fighting.

The trip over to Holland was for us, uneventful. We saw aircraft with engine trouble dropping out of the main stream, casting their gliders clear, turning and heading for land or the North Sea not too far below. Waiting below was a small armada of boats. Some were stationery with beacons to keep us dead on course, but the majority were air/sea rescue craft. (Later at briefing we found some of the cast off gliders carried vital equipment and its loss helped to change the balance between success and failure).

In crowded company, we reached our dropping area, and over the intercom line wished our glider boys the best of luck. Once they recognized their nominated landing zone, they released, 鈥楰鈥� King surged forward and we knew our lads were on their way.

Following the main stream we dropped our towrope at a prearranged spot and set course for base. The flack had been light but persistent.

The next day, information came through that all was not well, and our squadron was briefed for a low level daylight drop with arms, ammunition and medical supplies our lads were going to need so desperately. The operation was code named 鈥楳ARKET GARDEN RESUPPLY鈥�

Low level, low speed in daylight was not the most popular way to spend the afternoon, but the first day of the re-supply although there was a greater variety of flack, the losses were not as bad as we expected. Obviously the Germans had one hell of a fight on their hands and possibly didn鈥檛 expect us. We found our marked zone, unloaded our containers on target, wished our chaps the best of British luck and turned for base. Sadly 鈥楰鈥� King had been damaged and we had to use the spare aircraft.

The second day of the Operation Market Re-supply was rather different. Again it was low level, low speed and daylight but this time the Germans were waiting. We were reasonably bunched as we made our approach, but already ahead of us several aircraft were in trouble.

One of our flight had received a direct hit in the petrol feed system. All engines had stopped and as a Stirling glides like a brick he was lucky to pull the nose up at the last moment and plough through the soft earth. We thought he had made it, but a wing tip collided with a farm building, the nose crunched round and a fire started.

We found our target marker, made our run and dropped our containers. As we climbed away, we were hit by several chunks of flack. One piece came through the bomb bay doors through the bomb carrier sections and hit the armour plating under my seat, where it shattered and ricocheted up front into the bomb aimer鈥檚 space and behind me around the navigator鈥檚 cabin. Scottie, the navigator, leaped up yelling and later we found a piece of very hot metal had landed on the back of his hand raising a decent sized blister.

鈥�0鈥� Orange like 鈥楰鈥� King, a very tough customer, had shuddered, slowed, but now seemed unperturbed. A quick intercom check confirmed plenty of holes, but no one wounded and no serious
damage.

The engines were turning, controls were working, all was well.

Another of our chaps on the port side had a starboard engine on fire, but just ahead F/O Simmonds (Simmo to his pals) was in real trouble. The port inner engine was on fire but seriously. We formatjed on his port side climbing with him as he desperately gained height for his crew to bail out. This was an engine oil fire and we had been warned you had approximately two minutes, once it had taken hold, before the main wing spar burnt through and separated from the fuselage.

He had gained enough height and as he leveled out and trimmed the aircraft, spinning the gyros for George the automatic pilot to take over, his crew was already jumping clear and floating safely away. We were counting heads and it was just Simmo to go. We saw him drop down from the pilot鈥檚 seat and mentally followed him through the navigator鈥檚 cabin, past the wops nook, over the main wing spar and down the long fuselage.

鈥淐ome on Simmo, hurry up, there isn鈥檛 much more time鈥�. Suddenly he was at the rear door and falling clear, 鈥淕ood old Simmo, pull your cord old lad鈥�; but Simmo turning slowly over and over, was getting smaller and smaller, and abruptly, for Simmo, there was no more time at all.

Just after Simmo left the Stirling, there was a small explosion, the port wing broke away and the fuselage, with the two starboard engines still turning, curved away in a downward spiral to join Simmo.

The two partners in war were side by side on Dutch soil.

We carried on climbing and set course for homr. Eventually, just ahead we spotted the Stirling with the engine fire problem. The paint on the cowlings and wing was charred but the fire was out, the prop was feathered and he was happy on three engines. We weren鈥檛 in a hurry, he might have problems over the sea, so we reduced speed, tucked in alongside and escorted him home. We watched him land and then made our own circuit for approach but all was not well. We had a problem.

Remembering the nudges we had received, I planned to make a longer down wind leg than usual, to test in easy stages the full flap movement. I took this precaution because in the crew room we had news of a Stirling on returning from a trip had flipped upside down on the final approach.

Talking between ourselves, we decided the most likely explanation was that only one side of the flaps had operated, the other side having been damaged by flack.

Flaps are very large metal panels, part of the main wing structure but designed to swing down and form an air brake to slow you down more quickly after landing. Full flap is only selected at the last stage of the approach, and certainly if anything went wrong there would be no time for any correction!!
Taking a aim view or having 30 tons of Stirling sitting on our chests and feeling that it certainly reduced our chances of drawing the OAP we completed our flap check. All was well. We set the flaps to 12掳 down, this position gives maximum lift with no extra drag and selected under carriage down. Red warning lights, replaced by green. Good show, this meant the undercarriage was locked in position for landing. That was a relief, I expected trouble. However, glancing out of the port window at the drome below, I looked across at the port tyre and something wasn鈥檛 right. Yes we had a problem.

On the intercom I called on Les (B/A) and John (F/ENG) to have a good hard look at the starboard tyre and then come over and look at the port. The starboard tyre seemed fine, like the port tyre it was turning gently in the slipstream and it looked normal. Les and John came over and with Scottie joining us, four pairs of saucer-sized eyes peered intently at the offending tyre.

Hmm the flack had definitely nudged it, but was it flat? It still looked round. Well, do we land with the wheels up? Even using the grass between the runways the ground was so hard the very least damage would be props and engine and heavy bruising underneath the fuselage, and what if when they lifted 鈥�0鈥� Orange the tyre was found to have a decent pressure!!! It would take some living down. Leg pulling was a favourite past time and went on forever.

Lets call the control tower and get advice. Hmm, fly past, low level and low speed they will check the tyre using binoculars and report back. We were climbing back to circuit height as they reported 鈥淪orry old boy, there are a few holes here and there in the fuselage but the tyre looks in good shape, you must make up your own mind. Either way, we will have the crash wagon and the ambulance watching your approach in case things go wrong!鈥�

What could go wrong? Well this question had been churning through my mind since the glance from the window. Bearing in mind the tyres were almost 6鈥� tall with a very fat girth, a flat one on touch down would certainly wrap itself around the undercarriage leg and act as a very effective brake. The enormous dragging load generated would snap the leg off, the wing with its heavy motors would drop, hit the ground and break away and certainly because of the side pressure, the other side would follow suit. 0 Lord what a mess.

Well we can鈥檛 cruise around all day, so crash positions chaps, check the fire extinguishers and axes; we鈥檙e going for a normal landing. Say a prayer and keep your fingers crossed.

Luckily it was a perfect flying day. Crystal clear visibility and a steady breeze down the long runway.

We made a power approach to have positive control over the landing speed, 95 knots, and have the aircraft in almost the three-point position on touch down.

We came over the boundary fence, plenty of power holding 鈥�0鈥� Orange just above the stalling speed, full flap to reduce our speed smoothly after touch down, and port wing slightly high. The starboard wheel gently kissed the tarmac, the tail wheel settled and I gradually reduced the power. The port wing settled lower and lower and lower, and we started on ever increasing swing to port. I yelled to Les to cut the engines, we weren鈥檛 going anywhere and it reduced the risk of fire, and warned the crew to hold tight and wait for the crunch.

But that day luck was very much on our side, there was air in the tyre and although it was moving out fairly quickly and the tyre was dragging and pulling us round, the tyre was keeping a reasonable shape and turning!! We were covering ground and the speed was coming down quickly but smoothly.

Suddenly a rumbling and vibrations started and we knew that we were on the hub.

There was a terrific groaning from tortured metal as the undercarriage and wing spar took the enormous strain, but everything held together, the noise subsided, the huge cloud of dust settled and 鈥�0鈥� Orange was in one piece. We gave him our heartfelt thanks.

Flying control were bleating over the intercom that we were too close to the main runway, could we taxi away! ! There were WAAFS in the tower and to spare their blushes I didn鈥檛 answer.

The crash wagon and ambulance came alongside and took very little persuasion to drop us outside the dc-briefing room.

We dropped in to answer the usual questions and more important, collect a very welcome mug of hot, strong, sweet tea.

One way and another it had been quite a day.

Please read Chapter 2 of Market Garden for follow up details.

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