��ѿ��ý

SAVED BY THE BELL

When I was 19 years old I was a rear gunner in a Lancaster Bomber of No 5
Group Squadron based at Metheringham near Lincoln. The Squadron was taking
part in our twelfth bombing mission and the second to Munich. Flight plans much
as before, we were given the height and course for the bombing run. Basic rules to
avoid collision over the target, at least that was what we thought. As I recall it was a moonlit night when we started but very cold, well it was winter January 7th 1945 to be exact.

No sign of enemy fighters as we started the bombing run. Not being a hero I felt relieved when jock our bomb aimer said bombs away. Good, I thought, now we can go home. As I was thinking this, the plane suddenly went out of control. I didn’t even have time to think what had happened, self survival is what mattered. I tried to
Bail out of my turret exit, but couldn’t, the G force was too great. After what seemed an eternity the plane once again flew on a level course.

The pilot Jim, another Scot, had managed, dare I say with Gods help to gain control. He called us up on the intercom to say another Lancaster had disobeyed instructions and had flown back into the main stream of bombers.

We had nearly collided but with great skill and quick reflexes Jimmy had averted the crash. As the planes passed each other, we had caught his slipstream. This was enough to turn us over. Thank God for a good pilot.

However, in the confusion, the bomb hatch had been ditched. Icy cold air was sweeping into the aircraft. We had to try and reach a height of 16,000 ft to cross the Alps on our way home.

The skipper asked me to vacate my turret and pass my gloves down to the navigator who needed them more than I. He was the one who we relied on to plot a course. After handing over my gloves I sat at the rear of the plane and plugged in my intercom.

Because of the conditions, the skipper decided to make for an emergency drome near Paris. After crossing the front line, the plane reduced height, I suppose to try and get a little warmer. Some time afterwards I heard the skipper ask the mid upper gunner if he could see the deck (ground) yet. With no sign of panic he said — yes skipper its right below us. It can’t be was the reply, we’re at 4000 ft, safety height for the area. The instruments must have gone haywire over the target, because within seconds I felt myself being flung forward out of my seat We had crashed into a wood.

How long afterwards, I didn’t know but I suddenly found myself upright with the harness supporting me. It had somehow got caught up on part of the fuselage structure. This had undoubtedly saved my life.

The inside of the plane was on fire, with the bullets exploding as they lay on the conveyor rack. I must get out I thought and immediately pressed the harness release button and dropped to the floor. My right shoulder was dislocated and my right ankle and lower leg was very painful, I couldn’t stand.
- 2 -
What happened next was to me impossible. Anyone who flew in Lancaster’s will know how difficult it was to open or shut the rear door. This was due to the large lever needed to ensure the door was kept shut. Was it really my hand that touched the lever and made the door open. I somehow raised myself and crawled out of the aircraft. I lay some feet away and waited, I hoped to be picked up.

As I lay there, I noticed I was lying in about six inches of snow. The moon now shone brightly and I heard many aircraft fly over head.

Dawn broke and I was still alone, thinking I was the sole survivor. How could I not believe in god when I was able to crawl out of the wood and down a path? I noticed a woodman’s hut as I crawled away.

Suddenly I heard church bells ringing and made off in that direction. At the end of the path I came to a field. Help, help I shouted. I looked up and saw people on the skyline heading in my direction. Thank God, I now felt safe. Can you believe what fate can be like? The man, Andre who helped carry me to safety was the bell ringer at the only church, Saint Evre, in the village.

Vaguely, I remember being taken to a house and having my flying boot cut off my injured foot. I was then transported to an American hospital at Commercy, the doctors and nurses were so kind, and I was so relieved when I was told that Harry, our wireless operator was also alive, but badly burned.

Frost bite had affected my injured foot and gangrene had set in. I was given continuous penicillin injections but they had to amputate half my foot. After about two weeks I was put on a hospital train and ferried back to England.

Harry, because of his burns, was taken to a special hospital near Blackpool. Luckily his facial burns were only superficial and not deep as the doctors had at first feared. I was taken to an American hospital near Southampton and then transferred by ambulance to an RAF hospital in Swindon. I was given all the medical help and kindness at the hospital. The doctors tried to save my leg, but in the end had to amputate about seven inches below my knee.

Eventually I went home, was fitted with an artificial leg and started a life in Civy Street. I married the girl who stood by me and waited for me, and we had three children.

In 1982, with my family, I visited Choloy military cemetery in France where the remaining five members of the crew who died were buried. What a tragic waste of life.

Forty one years after the crash, in 1986, I, my wife and two of my sisters and brother in law went to find the Village in France where I had crashed, Meligny Le Grand.

- 3 -
We eventually found the village and after looking around the deserted church, I met a woman. She could speak no English and I no French. She took me to me Colette’s house, not only could Colette speak perfect English but her house, was the very one where I had been taken after the crash. After listening to my story she sent for Andre, the young man who had first found me all those years ago. I shall never forget the look on his face. We shook hands and he said he couldn’t carry me now.

We then went to see the place where the plane had crashed in the middle of a small wood. Andre told me this was where he had heard me crying for help.

We were then invited back to Andre’s house where we were given wine. Andre went to a pantry and brought out two cake/loaf tines. He gave me one and said “souvenir Lancaster”, he had salvaged parts of the plane. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. At last I could thank him and the others who had saved me all those years ago.

I thank God that I heard that church bell ringing!

POSTCRIPT
I and my family have been back to Meligny several times over the years and have become very close to Andre and his family.

Harry, the other survivor and I had a plaque made for the church in Meligny
to thank the villagers and God for saving us.

There is a small military museum in Ligny en Barrois, run by a wonderful man called Frances and there are photos of myself and pieces of the Lancaster bomber that were salvaged and if you go to Meligny, traces of the crash can still be seen in the woods with missing trees and damage to the ground.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.