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A LOOK AT DEATH

EXPERIENCE OF S/LDR. H. J WALTERS (100612) NO. 742072 RAF VR

It happened on the night of 2nd September 1942. By that date my rank was Flying Officer.

On 2nd September, 1942, I was stationed at 10 OTU Abingdon where I was instructing flying crews on the Armstrong Whitworth Whitley V aircraft prior to their being posted to a squadron for operational flying duties.

At the time in question I was working from Stanton Harcourt, which was a satellite station at Abingdon. It was a very happy little aerodrome to work from although the living quarters were not up to the standard of the parent station Abingdon, which was a pre-war brick built station. However we had a cosy little officers’ mess in a timber building and with only small number of staff, it did have a very friendly and cosy atmosphere.

My wife was expecting our first child, which was due in October and she was living with her mother in Sheffield at the time, so I was living on station.

On the day in question an extra instructor was wanted for one of the night cross-country flights — so I volunteered — they say you should never volunteer in the services!

The crew involved was Sgt. Peter Gammon aged 19, a Canadian pilot with four trainee crew, plus a navigational instructor.

I had flown with Sgt. Gammon about 8 times before and cannot recall that he was other than a good average pilot and had very pallid features. I have no record of the flight planned but have little doubt that it would have been Base — Boston — Dishforth — Base, which was a regular flight from Stanton Harcourt.

Anyway we duly took off in the dark from Stanton Harcourt and all went well until we were on the northward leg approaching York.

I should explain that the Whitley, for instructional purposes, was fitted with an extra seat to the right of the pilot’s seat, with an extension of the flying controls for the use of the instructor.

Sgt. Gammon was therefore occupying the designed pilot’s seat on the left and I was in the instructor’s seat on the right hand side. I suddenly noticed that the starboard engine was on fire with flames pouring out of the exhaust area.

We were then flying at a height of about 3,000 ft, it was very dark at the time and I immediately took over control of the flying.

I throttled back and operated the fire extinguisher to the engine, which extinguished the flames.

I instructed the May Day (distress) signal to be sent out and also for the appropriate distress cartridge signal to be fired from the very pistol — unfortunately the correct colour signal was not used so this produced no results.

Not a single reply was received to the May Day call, notwithstanding that we were in the vicinity of York, north of which were the 4 group aerodromes and in particular Linton-on-Ouse, which I knew well and from which I operated with 58 Squadron.

If only I could have received some reply from the aerodrome I had every confidence of being able to land with the one good engine.

However as no reply was forthcoming and there was no sign of any aerodrome, I set course back towards Abingdon but with little expectation of being able to make it, as I was unable to maintain height on only the one engine, and with only 3, 000 ft to start with I had no margin to play with.

After a short while I tried to start the engine again, a big mistake because it would not start again and the fire restarted.

We were therefore in desperate straights as we were gradually losing height and it was imperative that we find an aerodrome quickly if we were to stand any chance of making a landing with any degree of safety.

However, although we were searching in the blackness of the night for some glimpse of an aerodrome landing lights, there was nothing.

As we were now down to 1,000 ft I was desperately concerned about the safety of the crew and recognising the impossibility of landing the aircraft safely in the pitch dark, especially having no idea of the terrain over which we were flying, I decided to give the order for them to bail out.

This they proceeded to do and all went well with the exception of the pilot Sgt. Gammon and myself.

Sgt. Gammon being in the first pilot’s seat could only exit via the roof hatch or by coming over past me. The latter was not possible because I was fully engaged with difficulty in flying the on one engine and could not safely let go of the controls at such a low altitude to let him pass.

The roof exit was also difficult and dangerous. I therefore decided to try to land the aircraft. At the same time I saw what I thought to be the lights of a landing flare path.

I therefore circled to attempt a landing but suddenly realised that in fact it was not aerodrome but the lights of a town street (subsequently established as Nuneaton High Street; a number of inhabitants heard and saw the burning bomber very low over the town).

I therefore steered clear of that area and put the nose down into glide position at the same time switching on the landing lights, which to my amazement were still working. When at about 300 ft, the lights showed up a corn field, but no other features.

I offered up a prayer and proceeded to carry out an emergency landing with the undercarriage retracted as a safety measure and to restrict the landing area needed. I also opened the top escape hatch and told Peter to get out when we were down.

We were extremely fortunate and my earlier training must have come to the fore, as we made a perfect landing, skidding along the ground until we finally came to a halt with one of the wings hitting a tree on the boundary of the field.

I was obviously knocked out temporarily, because when I came to I was draped over the back of my seat with arms hanging down and my first conscious thought was ‘they will find my bones like this’. The aircraft was of course on fire, with my gloves and flying clothes burning, and I suppose that was my look at death!

Anyway I then recovered. There was no sign of Peter, who had obviously got out, so I proceeded to exit via the top hatch and over the port side where the flames were the least, and I ran clear of the aircraft.

I then saw a row of cottages not far away and shouted out for help as I did not know what had happened to Peter Gammon.

My gloves had been burning but I beat the fire out and eventually some people arrived and I was taken into the nearby farm house (now established as Sole End Farmhouse, Astley Lane, Astley, nr. Bedworth, Warwickshire, OS Map 140, ref 325 876. Vera Woodward, the farmer’s 18 year old daughter assisted me. This was not established until June 1991, during a visit to the site; Vera Woodward was still living in the farmhouse at that time). I told them to look for Peter. However he had made his way to another nearby large house, as I learnt afterwards. I think he must have gone over on the starboard side where the fire was more severe; he suffered more severe burning than I did.

I was given a cup of tea by the farmer’s wife and then the ambulance crew arrived, obviously from different sources as they started to argue as to who was going to take me to hospital.

I soon told them to stop arguing and get on with it, which they promptly did.

I ended up at the Nuneaton Emergency Hospital, which was in fact a maternity hospital. I thought that was rather appropriate as our first baby was expected in a few weeks time.

I was straight away taken into the operating theatre and given an anaesthetic after which the first thing I felt was a twinge of pain and heard the doctor say ‘he’s coming round too soon!’

Anyway, they cleaned me up and were extremely kind and considerate. The next morning I was told that I was to be moved to the burns ward of the RAF Hospital at Cosford near Wolverhampton. Eventually off we went with the ambulance bells clanging away, which gave me a queer feeling to know that I was the patient causing all the fuss.

At Cosford I was put into a small side ward together with Sgt. Gammon who was obviously more badly burnt that I was, particularly on the hands; perhaps he had not been wearing his gloves as I had been. These had obviously protected my hands, which had been affected mostly where the gloves had holes in the fingers. Likewise the flying helmet had protected the head and my injuries were limited to second and third degree burns to the hands and face.

Whilst I was at Cosford Hospital, where I was kept for some weeks, I was treated with great care and kindness. I was lucky insofar as I was treated with the saline treatment, when one’s wounds were constantly kept in a saline solution, as against the previous treatment used, that of gentian violet ointment which used to leave bad scarring.

The saline solution treatment was discovered as a result of aircrew who had suffered burns and then parachuting into sea, after which the beneficial effects were brought to light.

This treatment was pioneered by a surgeon called Sir Archie McIndoe, who later received great acclaim as a specialist in this field. He did visit Cosford Hospital on an inspection tour whilst I was there and actually came to see me whilst I was being bathed.

Shock had its effect later on, noticeably after the war, when watching a realistic flying film and one went through the same tension again.

Some 47 years later when in the area, I visited the scene of the crash with members of my family and was fortunate in being able to locate the exact spot with the aid of a man from the fire station who had actually been on the scene the next day. I was also able to meet the farmer’s daughter, Vera Woodward (who was still living in the farmhouse and remembered the night of the crash vividly), who had helped me and who, with her mother, had given me the cup of tea.

What was most interesting was to see the actual area and view the direction of the landing and the final place where the aircraft finished up. It emphasised how lucky I had been to find such a comparatively clear area when landing blindly on a very dark night. My prayer had been answered.

Sgt. Peter Gammon had a very rough time and made little progress when it was discovered that he had leukaemia and was repatriated to Canada. I had no further news of him and always regretted not being able to make contact with his family after the war, through not having their address.

As a result of my injuries I had to have a full Air Ministry Medical Examination and as a result was given a reduced flying category of A2 Non Operational, light aircraft only, day light only, height under 5, 000 ft.

I consider that to have been a rather severe restriction for the comparatively light injuries I received, but it probably did save me from as likely posting onto the Halifax heavy four engined bomber and going back for another tour of operational flying, with who can guess what results!

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