Aircrew: The Story of the Men Who Flew the Bombers (13 page)

Practising day after day, with help from the rest of the team, Harold’s accuracy reached extraordinary levels. His best effort, over the bombing range at Wainfleet Sands on the East coast, was when he dropped six practice bombs from 15,000 feet on to the target with an average error of only 20 yards! The squadron invited units of the Eighth American Air Force, stationed at Mildenhall, to take part in a bombing competition. The Americans were quoted at that time as being able ‘to put a bomb in a barrel from 20,000 feet!’ The B17 Flying Fortresses flew over on the chosen day and bombed the practice target. They were unable to get anywhere near the pin-point accuracy of 617 Squadron.

The crew’s first raid with 617 on 8/9 February was led by the squadron’s new Commanding Officer, Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire, when they attacked the Gnome & Rhone aero-engine factory at Limoges. Only twelve Lancasters were involved and, in bright moonlight, Cheshire and his crew went in first at low level. They made three passes over the factory to warn the workers to take shelter, then, at 50/100 feet, on the fourth run they dropped a load of incendiaries on the buildings.

The remaining eleven Lancasters aimed their 12,000 pounders at the factory, ten scoring direct hits, the eleventh bomb falling in the river alongside. No casualties among the French population were reported; in fact, a message was ‘smuggled’ through to 617 Squadron from the Mayor of Limoges, on behalf of himself and the girls working in the factory, thanking the RAF flyers for the
timely warning before the bombing began. This new form of low-level marking became a speciality of the squadron, later refined by Cheshire when he moved on to the faster, more manoeuvrable D.H. Mosquito before eventually transferring to the even speedier, single-engine long range Mustang fighter.

For the next four months they bombed numerous targets of this type, individual manufacturing plants, including the vitally important signals depot at St Cyr, near Versailles, and culminating in the most unusual task of all, when on the night of 5/6 June, 1944, 617 flew meticulously timed legs over the English Channel, while dropping out a screen of Window to simulate a huge fleet of approaching ships. This operation was designed to fool the Germans into thinking the Allied invasion of Europe was taking place further north than it actually was. The ruse worked.

Three nights later they had their first chance to put Barnes Wallis’s 12,000 lb Tallboy bomb to good effect. This was a deep-penetration weapon with a sharply pointed nose which ‘corkscrewed’ into the target. (It bore no relation to the previous 12,000 lb blockbuster). The Allied armies were establishing a toe-hold in Normandy when it was reported that a Panzer Division was approaching by train from the south and would, within hours, be passing through the Saumur railway tunnel.

The raid was mounted with great haste and Arthur Fearn’s crew were soon climbing for height, accompanied by twenty-four other Lancasters from 617. As they arrived over the tunnel the target was illuminated by flares dropped by four Lancasters of 83 Squadron and marked at low level by three Mosquitoes. Harold guided Arthur into the bombing run, released the gigantic Tallboy and scored a direct hit on the tunnel entrance. All the bombs were dropped with great accuracy and, as they exploded under the ground, they created small earthquakes which brought down tons of rocks and rubble completely blocking the tunnel.

The squadron only had a limited supply of Tallboys, though ‘Butch’ Harris’ was constantly taking up the cudgels on their behalf, demanding faster delivery. But at the height of the invasion there were pressing demands for war equipment of all kinds. The 617 ‘Lanes’ had been specially converted to accommodate the Tallboys. The bomb doors had been removed and the undersides
of the bombers contoured in such a way that the bombs, when winched up into position, formed an integral part of the aircraft’s belly. After the bombs had been released, the aircraft looked strangely concave.

Occasionally, when conditions over the target turned out to be unsuitable for bombing, the order would go out for the precious Tallboys to be brought back to base. Harold never forgot one such occasion. They had returned with their 12,000 lb bomb and, on receiving permission to land by their WAAF controller, had actually touched down on the runway. Then there was an urgent call over the R/T, ‘Bandits! Bandits in the circuit!’ Next moment all the airfield lights were switched off. Harold, who, against regulations, was lying in the nose, saw a dark shape above them. It was another ‘Lane’ and it was about to land on top of them.

‘Swerve, Arthur! Swerve for Christ’s sake!’ he yelled. Instinctively Arthur veered off to port; the bomber, with its huge load of high explosive, charged across the airfield. They missed the squadron bomb dump by feet and finally came to rest with the nose of the aircraft overhanging a water-filled Lincolnshire dyke. A female voice from the control tower came over the head-sets, ‘Where are you, E Easy? Where are you, please?’ Arthur’s reply does not bear repeating.

It was indeed fortunate that Arthur was left-handed and left-footed. In the darkness a right-handed man would undoubtedly have swerved the other way – and crashed straight into the control tower.

On 6 July Wing Commander Cheshire led his squadron to attack the V3 gun site at Mimoyecques. This battery of enormous guns, with barrels 400 feet long, and situated underground, had been installed by the Germans to blast London to smithereens. 617’s Tallboys put paid to their hopes for ever. When they returned, Cheshire was ordered by Air Vice Marshal Cochrane to leave the squadron and take a rest from operational flying. He would also revert to being a Group Captain, a rank he had relinquished in order to lead the squadron in the air. Shortly after, Leonard Cheshire was awarded the Victoria Cross for sustained courage over four tours totalling 100 operations.

Harold thought him a remarkable leader and quite different
from any other Squadron Commander he had known. In the Mess this tall, thin, studious-looking Wing Commander seemed self effacing, almost withdrawn, as if lost in thought. From personal experience he knew him to be sensitive and concerned for the needs of others.

The old lags told Harold that their retiring CO was in complete contrast to Guy Gibson, the original leader of 617. He had been a man of stocky build, a sharp tongue when the occasion warranted, yet with a boisterous sense of humour. Gibson, too, was a holder of the Victoria Cross, awarded for his outstanding conduct during the famous Dams Raid. Yet, apart from the obvious differences of physique and demeanour, these men had much in common. Their courage was unquestioned. Their ability to remain cool, flying with professional efficiency even during the most perilous moments, distinguished them as outstanding leaders in the air. On the ground they shared the intellectual gift of thinking out satisfactory answers to complex problems.

The successor to these rare commanders was a Welshman, Wing Commander Willie Tait. At first the boys of 617 found it hard to puzzle him out. With smooth black hair, a brown face and slim frame, he would stand in a group for long periods of time without saying a word. When he did open his mouth, as often as not it would be to stuff a large black pipe into it. On the occasions when he did speak, it took time for his listeners to interpret his strange brand of dry, Celtic wit.

His reputation was established in the eyes of the crews when they flew to the rocket site at Wizernes. Handling a Mustang for the first time in action, Tait lobbed his smoke markers from ground level in the teeth of fierce flak. Then, climbing steeply to 4,000 feet, he realized that haze and low cloud would obscure the markers from his Lancasters flying at 18,000 feet. Diving down again into the shell fire, and circling immediately above the building in the hope that the light would reflect off his wings, he called up to the bombers above him, Try bombing me!’

By the end of the war Willie Tait, who was 26 years old when he took over 617, had been awarded four DSOs and two DFCs-a record.

One morning on air test Arthur was not satisfied with the performance
of the aircraft. After executing a series of dives and turns he realized that there was a fault in the fuel feed system, resulting in momentary engine cut-out. A raid had been planned to take place in a few hours’ time, and he was far from happy about flying until the fault had been rectified, but there was no time to put things right. As the crew stood in the shadow of the bomber a car drew up and out stepped the CO. ‘Listen Fearn’, said Tait, ‘if you don’t want to fly tonight, then I’ ll take your crew.’

‘OK.’ replied Arthur, ‘They’ re all yours!’ Then, with mock solemnity, he walked round and shook hands with each of them in turn. Finally he said, ‘It’s been nice knowing you, boys. We’ ve been together a long time, but tonight’s the night when you all get the chop!’

Needless to say, they didn’t and Harold later flew with Tait to bomb the German battleship
Tirpitz
, then sheltering near the Norwegian port of Tromsö. The target was at the Lancaster’s extreme range, a 2,250 mile round trip. Only by removing the mid-upper turrets and other equipment, installing extra fuel tanks and taking off from Lossiemouth, in Scotland, did the bombers stand any chance of getting there and back. In the event they were thwarted by a bank of cloud which hid the ship. The
Tirpitz
was reprieved for two weeks, but was finally sunk by 617 after numerous attempts spread over many months.

Before this, Harold had flown on a mission to Rilly-la-Montage, where the Germans had stored flying bombs in an old railway tunnel. About a hundred aircraft took part, the Main Force crater-ing the approaches to the site, while 617, with its Tallboys, caved in both ends of the tunnel. Two aircraft were lost on that daylight raid. One was a 617 Squadron Lancaster piloted by Flight Lieutenant Wilham Reid VC, previously mentioned in connection with 61 Squadron. The official record says he was shot down by flak, but Harold, from his vantage point in the perspex nose of his bomber, actually watched the aircraft being destroyed – he is perfectly certain that the tail unit was knocked off by a falling bomb. Miraculously William Reid survived.

Arthur Fearn’s crew had diced with death from the beginning of September, 1943; now it was the late summer of 1944 and they were about to fly their final operation. Always a time of nervous apprehension. Having cheated Fate for so long, would she, in the end, have the last laugh? The raid was to be on the U-boat pens at La Pallice, a hot spot for flak well remembered from a number of previous trips.

Fairey Battie operating in France, Spring 1940. A sleek and ‘modern-looking’ aircraft, it was completely outgunned and outmanoeuvred by opposing German fighters
(RAF Museum)
.

Bristol Blenheim. Three years before the outbreak of World War Two this was the fastest medium bomber in the world. Yet from the start of hostilities it was outgunned by the enemy. Only the useful turn of speed from its twin engines gave crews some chance of survival
(RAF Museum)
.

Armstrong Whitworth Whitley. At the beginning of the war it was the only RAF ‘Heavy’ designed specifically to operate at night (
RAF Museum)
.