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Follow up details from the Market Garden Arnhem Op

The pilot of the Stirling that had lost power on all engines and hit the farm building came back to the Mess on crutches to say hello.

Me told us that when the wing hit the building the nose crunched around against a high wall, and the dashboard was pushed back trapping his right leg just below the knee. The fire started, but although he wriggled and pulled, he was trapped. Then the pain became so severe he fainted. Me regained consciousness in a German army field hospital. A German doctor had almost certainly saved his life by immediate, superb surgery on his leg.
Actually, his life had been saved twice that day, because the Dutch farmer and his son, watching events from the shelter of the barn had witnessed the whole incident. Without hesitating and ignoring the fire they had grabbed axes, climbed on to the wing of the Stirling, chopped away the canopy and pulled him out of the cockpit. His right leg, now completely severed below the knee was left in the aircraft. Using the farm tractor and trailer they had taken him to the German field hospital not far away.

The German doctor apparently, gave preference for attention not to nationality, but severity of the injury and he gave our lad immediate attention.

When he was fit enough to travel, he was repatriated home. Before he left us, he cheerfully mentioned that he was being fitted for a new leg later that week!

One arrangement that gave us a lot of pleasure, and we think might be unique, was that we towed the same glider crew to Caen on D Day, to Arnhem, and across the Rhine, each time they came back there was a bigger party. They told us about their experiences at Arnhem, that eventually volunteers mostly wounded, unable to travel but able to pull a trigger, stopped behind to cover the retreat, and the survivors, under mortar fire, crossed the river at night holding on to a rope. Very sobering.

The other sober news was that this last drop, involving Simmo and the other lads, had been in vain. The Germans were well entrenched1 and their cross fire was so severe it was quite impossible to reach the containers!!

He said that some of his pals, almost at the end of their tether, had tears running down their cheeks as, with heavy caliber machine gun bullets whistling around their heads, they stood in the boundary ditch facing the dropping zone, waving their arms and shouting for the RAP to “go back”.

Scottie acquired a lot of beer showing people his ‘wound’. For a pint, he would peel back his plaster and show off his blister.

The pilot we escorted home met us in the mess and brought us beers. He said “Thanks, it was good to see you there”. We replied “A pleasure, anytime”.

Of Simmo and his crew no ‘gen’ at all filtered through. After an op. if someone didn’t return, the conversation in the mess or crew room followed a similar pattern. “Simmo bought it today, but his crew should be safe”, “Hm, pleased about the crew, but a pity about Simmo, he was a good type, we shall miss him. By the way what are you doing tonight, how about a party?” The mental curtain had dropped, and the crew was seldom mentioned again. Rooms and bunks would be cleared, flight commanders would write letters, and a replacement crew would arrive.
For me there were just two men I couldn’t completely forget. One was Group Captain Surpliss, our Station Commander and one of the finest men I had the good fortune to serve under, and the other was Simmo.

The Groupie was lost on the first trip to Norway, an operation to parachute on to a frozen lake, containers loaded with guns, ammunition and medical supplies for the Norwegian Underground movement.

Group Captain Surpliss was not expected to be operational. He had completed tours of duty several times over on the way to his command: His value to his squadrons was in his experience for planning and advising. But from the early weather forecast, Norway was obviously going to be a rough trip and being a born leader, without doubt this weather information was paramount in his decision to head the list of crews selected. Only three crews were briefed. Group Captain Surpliss, Squadron Leader Bill Stewart and ourselves. But that is another op., perhaps to be printed at a later date.

The other person I found difficult to forget was Simmo. Most crews lost were on night operations; the crews took off but didn’t return. Somehow it was a clean separation and this made it easier to drop the mental curtain.

I think the reason Simmo kept in our thoughts was because the events happened in daylight, we were there close it hand, and yet uncertain why be didn’t parachute to safety.

Breaking the unwritten rules, we as a crew talked over the possible reasons why, for him, things had gone so very wrong.

At times, luckily not too often, flack enters the aircraft from different directions and can damage not only gear but also parachutes. When aircraft damage becomes serious, on the repeated order from the Captain (pilot)~ “Abracadabra abandon aircraft” each crewmember acknowledges the command on the intercom, or if that is not possible, personally, and then follows the unwritten but inflexible abandon aircraft procedure. First, the wounded are attended to and helped out of the aircraft. The rest of the crew follow while the pilot attempts to fly the aircraft straight and level.

If a crewmember’s chute is damaged, he can use the pilots with a clear conscience. Usually the emergency is at night, there is very little time, and the top priority is to save the maximum number of crewmembers.

In conclusion, Simmo’s chute may have been damaged.

The second possibility was attributable to the poor climbing ability of the Stirling using three engines.
With recommended revs and boost, gaining height was painfully slow. Simmo was in a hurry. We were at 600 ft for the container drop and at low speed, and he wanted 1000 ft at least for his crew and himself to bail out with safety. He obviously selected fine pitch and pushed the throttles through the gates for maximum plus power. Unfortunately, with only the port outer engine on full power, and the port inner engine and wing on fire and dragging, the two starboard engines on full power pulled the Stirling on a climbing curve to port and we headed back to the perimeter of the fighting zone. The heavy flack didn’t engage us, they were intent on the other lads coming in, but a number of high caliber machine guns were having a go, and tracer was zipping past in all directions. Heavy black smoke from the volatile blazing mixture of 42 gallons of engine oil, 100 octane fuel and Aluminium, was cascading down the port wing, billowing along the fuselage and past the rear door. At times it was difficult to see what was happening and we couldn’t be certain that Simmo had his navigators type chute clipped to his chest harness when he jumped clear.

But, without doubt, during that climbing turn to port and in effect flying into the burning engine and port wing, he would have felt the searing heat from that pulsing mass of flames, and if his chute had been damaged, he may well have chosen the cleanest way of the two choices available.

However, our second solution was, we felt, perhaps the most likely explanation, that as he jumped clear he’ was hit by bullets intended for the Stirling. -.

Scottie and I are, to say the least, very disappointed that having made enquiries at the time and since, we traced no ‘gen’ at all of Simmo or his crew, and it seems now we shall never know the true answer.

At the time we were very concerned that as the crew parachuted down, the Germans might have looked on them as reinforcements for the 1st Airborne boys fighting below. If this was so, the chances of the crew surviving the drop would have been extremely remote.

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