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Dropping into Burma

On the 50th aniversary of VJ day my local paper asked readers where they had been on that day. A piece I wrote described in some detail how I had parachuted into Burma. A few days later I had a phone call. A voice said “I read your piece in the Observer. I think I am the pilot who dropped you in.” An amazing coincidence - a chap I had not seen since I left his plane was living about 10 miles from me!

He was Terence O’Brien, who has written three wonderful autobiographical stories about his wartime experiences as a pilot. Blenheims in Europe and Hudsons in Singapore described in “Chasing after Danger”. “The Moonlit War” described his supply dropping over Burma. He also served in the second Chindit campaign in 1944 as an air liaison officer, which he described in “Out of the Blue”. A very brave man and a brilliant pilot. I knew this latter from our first meeting in Jessore in 1945: I did not know about the books till we met again a few days after his telephone call.

In Jessore we knew him as Paddy O’Brien, but now he calls himself “Pat” . He showed me the page from his log book which confirmed what he had deduced from my article:

“A/c Type No. Crew Duty Time up Down
Dak ‘A’ S.Ldr T.P.O’Brien Nutshell 6 May
W.O J.H.Middleton Antelope 0322 1408
F/Sgt R.T.Wright 5
Sgt Burley 1725N
Sgt Osmaston 9754E

“Remarks: Successful. DZ was reached at 0944 & correct reception of T of panels was recognised. 4 agents, 6 containers, 13 packages, were dropped in 7 runs - 3-500 ASL [above sea level - the 300' was for the packages, 500' for us] 10 packs nickels dropped posn 1725N 9744E at 1004 hrs. [these were propaganda leaflet often dropped during ops] weather en route - 8-10/10 S Cu [almost complete cover of stratocumulus cloud] mainly over China. At DZ - 10/10, 800' base - vis 4 miles.”

This shows we were in the plane for almost six and a half hours. The drops didn’t take long as within twenty minutes the plane was well away from the DZ dropping leaflets. The return flight took only four hours; the lighter plane would be flying faster but even so it shows that well over an hour was spent searching for that break in the clouds which enabled us to find the DZ. I shall always be grateful to Paddy

He was writing his book “The Moonlight War” when we met and when I told him I had described our flight in some things I had written for my grandchildren he asked if he could use it, so it forms part of one of the chapters of the book.

Here it is again:

Entry into Burma

We were given lots of advice before we left; most of it useless, some bad. The worst was “Get tight before you leave, take a bottle of rum in the plane, and when you jump you won’t give a damn.” I ought to have known that I could never keep drinking as long as that but foolishly we all tried it. We sat in the mess, Basil and I, with the rest who were “going in” and I stuck to gin and ginger (there wasn’t much choice) from seven till nearly eleven. Then I went in to dinner. I have no idea what I ate, but doubtless it wasn’t much. From half past eleven until one-thirty I lay down to sleep.

When they woke me I felt awful - head, mouth and stomach. The mere thought of drinking in the plane was enough to make me ill. We drove to the dispersal area; Franklin from HQ was with us and we took a good view of his getting up to see us off. We hung around for the crew, and the pilot turned out to be Paddy O’Brien. We were considerably cheered as he was the best pilot in the squadron. We had also been to a party in his mess one evening and he’d kept us in fits of laughter from beginning to end. As soon as we took off I lay down on the floor and, with my “chute” for a pillow, tried to sleep off my nausea. By five I was fully awake, and ate some of the sandwiches provided. They were so awful I left them even though I was hungry. The coffee was worse.

I was cold and the continual roar, the swaying, bumping and vibrating of the plane, made me wish I was anywhere but there. I hoped to see a glorious sunrise, but it just came up through the mist in a red ball. I looked below; mist, sea, islands and jungle crept by.We were due over the target at eight, so at seven-thirty we started getting ready. I bandaged my ankles with crepe, put heel pads in my boots, and slipped a spin-pad in my trousers. They were official precautions; unofficially I bandaged my knees as well. We had overalls on. Underneath we wore normal uniform, skeleton webbing and we had a lot of odds and ends stuffed in a bag slung round our necks and resting on our chests. I also stuffed my bush hat in my belt and by the time my chute was buckled on tightly I was so cumbersome I could hardly move, and sitting down was very difficult. I tied my helmet and tucked in the loose ends well, as in the slipstream they can give a nasty slap.

We looked out; a sea of white cloud. It was eight o’clock. The plane circled in vain trying to find a break; it daren’t go down as there were hills below. After ten minutes we turned away and any other pilot but Paddy would have turned back. We prayed for luck. To go back and wait for days more in the concentration camp would have been heartbreaking. We found the edge of the clouds and came down low over the plains. We flew south for an hour and a half I thought, but when we landed I found we’d turned and been flying north for some time.

What a flight it was. We were on thorns all the time that the navigator would come through and say “Wash-out” as petrol was not unlimited. (The front of the fuselage was filled on both sides with very large long-range tanks.) We entered a valley. Clouds still covered the hill tops on either side. It got very narrow, and from my stiff uncomfortable position I could see trees flashing by the wingtips, and trees well above us, too. We were about 200 feet up. We banked steeply at every turn and heaven knew what was round the corner. I’m sure Paddy didn’t. We cleared a ridge by inches and dropped down the other side. We were flying in a small box of trees and cloud. Basil said afterwards that he was scared. I don’t think I was. I was interested and I was aware that it seemed dangerous, but I’d have flown anywhere to find the DZ. [Dropping zone]. The thought of a five-hour flight back again terrified me. I loathe flying; and things were changing so quickly that if we went back we might never have had another chance.

We swung round a big conical peak and suddenly the dispatcher tugged my arm. I looked out his side and saw a paddy field with a big bamboo ’T’, fires, and people and some cows nearby. My heart leapt and thumped; this was it! The navigator came through all smiles, and helped remove the door. We expected to jump first, but the DZ looked so small, and the run-in so awkward that Paddy decided to let the stores go first for practice. It gave us more time to work up into a panic.We climbed to dropping height, about 500 feet, which is a bit low for jumping, and banked round the peak again. A short run and out went some packages. Next time we felt a lift as the containers went from underneath. Two or three more circuits and the plane was cleared.

My stomach went tight, my knees went loose, and my mouth went dry. There wasn’t much time. They whipped out our static lines and hooked them up. I gave mine a good tug and held it in my left hand. I was jumping first, then the two signallers, then Basil. I stood in the door, left foot forward, hands on a girder overhead. They teach you not to look down but as we swung round that peak I could see nothing but ground. I was stiff with fear. I knew I’d jump; I had faith in the parachute and I always landed safely. It was just stepping through that door. I remember saying “Thank the pilot” to the dispatcher on my left. His hand was in the centre of my back (to help me out and stop the next man jumping too soon) and he was watching the two lights. I was not supposed to look at them and the door hypnotised me anyway. I felt sure I was paralysed, and unable to move. Suddenly it came.”Action station number one” snapped the Sgt I slapped my hands on to the fuselage outside the door. My mind went blank; for a second I was just a spring. “Go.” There was a roar, a slight crack, and I saw my chute opening over me. I had a few twists and had jumped so low that by the time they had gone I was almost down.

Voices shouted the old training instruction “Pull down” and I looked to see where I was heading for. I’d no time to enjoy any of it before I was sitting down - I never do a proper roll - having just missed a paddy bund. I looked round for Basil and found there’d been only time for two to jump on that run. A fellow came up to me and said “How do you do, my name’s Bryant, all O.K?” I was in Burma.

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