Category: Heritage

Mother, Mother, I don’t want to die. 

By Flying Officer Les Lauzon, 432 Squadron

The words came over my emergency radio channel as I was going down in flames on a dark night just west of Cambrai, France, on June 13^th 1944.  The Leaside Squadron had been assigned the marshalling yards in Cambrai as our target for the night, flying at low altitude of 6,000ft to assure accuracy and to protect the French population.  Just as I was closing the bomb doors after the bombs were dropped the Halifax 111 four engine bomber was hit by two of four shells fired at the aircraft from the ground.  One shell went through the mid-upper gunner’s turret and another went through the port wing between the two engines, damaging both and causing a fire.  The fuel lines were cut and high octane fuel was pouring into the fuselage.  I knew the aircraft was mortally wounded so immediately gave the orders for the crew to bail out.  Calls from each of the crew, except the tail gunner, came back over my headset as they left and parachuted into the dark sky over enemy territory.

With two engines damaged on the port side I had tremendous difficulty in controlling the aircraft. I wrapped my left arm around the control column and trimmed the aircraft as best I could, but it required all my strength.  The fire, smoke and smell of cordite filled the cockpit and I opened the escape hatch above my head.  The damaged wing had to be held up otherwise the aircraft would have spun into the ground within seconds with no chance of survival.  My Flight Engineer rushed by me to exit the aircraft but fortunately I was able to grab him and get him to give me my chute.  A few seconds later my mid-upper gunner came up beside me – his parachute had been hit by flak and was burned.  I decided the best thing to do was to give him mine, so I detached it from my Sutton Harness and gave it to him ordering him to bail out.  Just below me, a few miles ahead, was a burning Lancaster crashing into the ground.  I was watching the ground to see if there was any water or something that would give me an idea of my altitude.  There was nothing – just darkness.  I prayed and turned my radio to the emergency channel and one voice came through loud and clear “Mother, Mother.  I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die” and then silence.  I prayed as I tried everything to control the aircraft and to make a judgement on my altitude.  To my surprise my gunner came up beside me – he had not jumped and had tried to put out the fires with the extinguishers – a hopeless job.  Chris Christoff was a real hero – only 18 1/2 years old and he stayed with me, later telling me he wasn’t about to leave me alone in the aircraft.  At this point I was afraid we were too low for him to bail out.  Also there was the possibility of the aircraft exploding or a fighter attack to finish us off.  Machine gun shells were exploding from the heat of the burning fuel.  I watched the altimeter and decided at 600ft that I was near enough the ground so I closed the throttles and shut down the engines.  It was a miracle – the aircraft touched down and swung 90 degrees left avoiding a raised double track electric railway line just ahead of us.  I crawled out of the canopy above me and Chris followed me onto the wing and then to the ground.  We were both overjoyed to still be alive but we were still in enemy territory!  This was just the start of the fight to stay alive and possibly escape.

This story was sent to us by Reg Miles who lives in Maryborough, Queensland.  He is 96 years old, and joined the RAF in January 1939 as an AA at Halton.  He flew with RCAF as Flight Engineer, from Tholthorpe and Eastmoor on 41 ops with 432 and 420 Squadrons. He says about Les

“Les Lauzon was the cause of me not going with them on their last op, he was distracted and failed to hold the control column while I removed the elevator lock, most FEs lost some fingers when this happened, but being solid bone from head to toe, he just mangled my hand very badly.  How he was distracted will best be forgotten.

So after many years of trying to contact Les or any of the crew, I managed to find that he was in an old peoples home in north Canada, on the phone from Australia I managed to battle my way past the Matron, and spoke to Les, a very faint old voice replied.  When I said I was his Flight Engineer from WW2, he replied, “How is your hand?”.  Tears streamed down my face, this hero had been shot down saved all his crew, been a prisoner of the Germans, got home again, married, had a family, and now, far from well, still remembered my hand, and had done so every day of his life since the 12 June 1944.  It still makes me sad when I retell it again.”

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A Father’s Tale

Alan Green was a navigator who served with 218 Sqn on Wellingtons and Stirlings during World War 11 and flew more than 20 missions, including the first 1000 bomber raid and daylight attacks on the famous battleship Scharnhorst. His son, Stuart was only 12 when his father died in 1976, aged 56.  Stuart, an airline pilot, has been researching his story.

In the course of his research Stuart has met the Dutch families who helped Alan when his aircraft was shot down. The first time Alan was shot down, in May 1942 it was by a British night fighting Hurricane over the south coast. The second time, in June that year, he was shot down by a German night fighter which resulted in him baling out over Holland.  Alan went on the run but was taken prisoner, ending up as a PoW in Stalag Luft III.  Among Stuart’s most precious possessions are Alan’s Stalag Luft III registration documents and a letter he wrote to his parents from the camp.

In May 2012 Stuart took his family who, of course, had never known their grandfather, on a trip to Stalag Luft III.  He also discovered that there was a memorial, erected in 2010, on the site of the crash of his father’s bomber, a four-engined Stirling.  He found a witness to the crash, 87-year-old Tiny De Boer, was still alive and living in the same house next to the site as she had been in 1942.

Stuart says “I visited Holland in November 2011 and met members of the family on whose land my father came down in his parachute. They said he was on the run, laying low, for three days before he was captured. They helped him as much as they could and subsequently found his chute, which was eventually used for clothing, although they kept the parachute harness buckles and presented them to me – a very special moment.

“We laid flowers at the crash site and later walked all around the site with locals pointing out exactly where my father came down. We also visited the military cemetery, where 285 bomber crew were buried, to pay respects at the graves of my father’s three crew members who died in the crash including the pilot, Sqn Ldr Ashworth, who had flown with my father 33 times and been shot down with him before. At 40 he was an old man for Bomber Command crew.

“Throughout the day, the Dutch were incredibly warm, hospitable and deeply respectful of the contribution and sacrifice”

The three crew members who perished in the crash were William Watt, Billy Whitehead and S/L Ashworth.  William Watt’s niece, Ros Bryant, made contact with Stuart in 2014 and in July Stuart and Ros met for the first time at the London Bomber Command Memorial.  Ros and her husband Graham had just visited the crash site and cemetery in Holland where William was buried.  Ros had been keen to visit Tiny de Boer to thank her for the memorial which she had helped organise but sadly, Tiny had passed away, aged 93, only a few days before Ros and Graham’s visit.

During their conversation Stuart learned that William had had a younger brother, John, who was killed whilst serving in Bomber Command.

This photo of the crew was taken 2 days before they were shot down. Alan is on the extreme left with William standing next to him. They flew together at least 10 times and survived an earlier shoot down in a friendly fire incident involving a Hurricane and a Turbinlite Havoc – all the crew survived!

W7530 taken a few days before the shoot done by an RAF Photographer who visited 218 Sq at Marham.

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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A REAR GUNNER   –   FRIDAY 23 FEB 1945.

0700 Hrs: With a quiet knock on my door, Jimmy our batman, entered with the ever welcome morning cuppa. It was his usual strong brew guaranteed to sustain body and soul against the penetrating chill of the North Lincolnshire weather. After a quick wash and shave I decided that yesterday’s shirt would pass muster for another day and at 0730, after my skipper’s stentorian call of “Ready”, from his room next door, we were off on the brisk half mile walk to the mess for breakfast. As always I devoured all placed before me; porridge, bacon, egg, sausage and fried bread followed by toast, marmalade and lashings of hot sweet tea. Even in my 21^st year I was still a growing boy, fit as a butcher’s dog and doing my utmost to remain so.

0820 Hrs: Out again into the Lincolnshire weather arriving at the Squadron Gunnery Section to be briefed on the projected activities for the day by the Gunnery leader Flight Lieutenant ‘Johnny’ Wymark, DSO, DFC and to assist him with the administration duties of the section; this included a visit to the Squadron armoury. On 103 Squadron each crew had their own set of eight .303 Brownings and each gunner was required to carry out mandatory checks to maintain the guns in sound working condition. A register was kept of every gunner’s visit to the armoury by a tiny Geordie W.A.A.F. Corporal who ruled her domain with a rod of iron and wept buckets for every gunner lost on operations. Sadly I cannot bring her name to mind but I will never forget that small figure at the end of the runway waving to all the crews at take-off time and even the worst weather never deterred that small dark-haired girl.

1000 hrs: With the crew minus the skipper (A Flight Commander) and Bill Treen, the other gunner who was away on a course, we strolled down to the `Red Shield’ canteen for the morning break. As always this large room was packed with about 90% of the station aircrew establishment and a fair number of ground crew.  The ritual of gathering at the Red Shield was threefold: a cuppa, a natter and to keep an eye on the two Post Office telephone kiosks outside the station guardroom. This was an early warning of impending operations; if service policemen emerged from the guardroom, and with a wee touch of the ceremonial the kiosks were duly padlocked, it was certain that an operation was scheduled. From that point in time all telephone calls in and out of the station were restricted to operations only and I think that remained so until two hours after the last aircraft was airborne.

I vividly recall that crews reacted in two distinct ways, some jumped up immediately leaving unfinished drinks, hurrying away to their respective sections whilst the remainder continued to linger over their drinks as if reluctant to leave the illusionary protection of the ‘Red Shield’. But eventually the canteen emptied leaving the dedicated staff of Salvation Army personnel who provided a welcome meeting place for aircrew and ground crews alike.

1100 Hrs: The ‘Battle Order’ is posted, our crew are down to fly as it seems to be a maximum effort for the Squadron, it is likely to be our first ‘Main Force’ target. It is an important day for me and although nothing had ever been said I think it was an important day for the crew as a whole. I had flown with another crew on a minelaying operation to Heligoland Bight on the 5th February, replacing Shorty Jay, a Canadian gunner who had lost a leg on an operation a few days before. Sadly that crew, skippered by Canadian Flying Officer Stephanoff did not return from an operation over Germany. Could this be the trip that we as a crew could prove with our new navigator and become fully operational with a main force target under our belts?

With Bill Treen away, I had recommended to my Skipper that Sergeant Walford, from Flight Lieutenant Anderson’s crew, would take over as Mid-upper and I would man the rear turret. I had known him from our first day in the Royal Air Force meeting him at Lords cricket ground where we had first reported as aircrew cadets. A farmer’s boy from Gloucestershire, he was legendary amongst our contemporaries in the gunnery world as an outstanding shot and in my opinion he was both conscientious and reliable.

We made our way to the armoury to check the guns, give them a pull through with 4 x 2 to ensure dry barrels then much to the embarrassment of our little Geordie W.A.A.F. Corporal, we ceremoniously placed the thick issue contraceptives over the muzzle flash of each gun to keep out the unwanted moisture which was quick to freeze in the cold hostile environment over Germany.

1145 Hrs: Back to the Section, a quick check to confirm that all gunners designated on the ‘Battle Order’ were available, and then into the Skipper’s office to report on our activities in the Armoury. He informed me that transport was laid on to take the crew to our aircraft ‘ITEM’ at 1400 hrs for pre-flight checks, and to install the guns in front, mid-upper and rear turrets.

Then a walk back to the mess to check on the daily tease of ‘Jane’, the famous strip cartoon of the era. The skipper suggested a relaxing game of snooker, and on this occasion I believe I managed to beat him. I think the menu that day was brown Windsor soup, liver and bacon, potatoes, and carrots, followed by Bakewell tart and custard. I calculated that during my wartime service I consumed about 90 gallons of custard annually, custard being one of the great fillers used by catering officers to satisfy hungry young men.

1400 Hrs: We loaded our eight Brownings onto a 15 cwt. of ancient vintage, climbed aboard and set off along the peri-track to our aircraft’s dispersal. On arrival, we off loaded each of us to our individual tasks and when all was completed as a crew we checked the intercom each in turn reporting to the skipper his position serviceable. Immediately the last report had been received the skipper initiated one of the many practice emergency drills. He always insisted on the highest standards and continued the drills until we performed them to his satisfaction. At last he was satisfied and he clambered out to have a word with our crew chief while we had a quick chat with the rest of the ground crew.

My next visit was to the PT section to see Flight Sergeant Frank Marsh the captain of our football team. Frank, a physical training instructor had been one of the famous five in Bolton Wanderers forward line that had promised to do great things in the English First Division 1939/40 season, alas they were together for just a few games when the war intervened. He became my great friend and gave me a tremendous amount of support and assistance in carrying out my ancillary duty as Station Football Officer. We were due to play a game in Scunthorpe the following day.

1630 Hrs: The crew meet outside Squadron H.Q. and we make our way to the briefing room situated in the Station Intelligence complex. An air of tension mixed in the smoke laden dim atmosphere when at precisely 1645 Hrs the Station Commander and the Squadron Commander entered, we sprang to attention and remained in that stiff posture until they reached their positions of the stage when he said, “Gentlemen be seated”. As he waited for us to settle down, this tall dark severe looking man glanced around the dim room with flashing eyes which seemed to convey encouragement and at the same time wishing that he was going on the operation. At last when the room fell silent he started to speak, “Tonight gentlemen you are privileged to strike deep into the heart of Germany; your target has never been attacked in strength before and although you will be part of a comparatively small force, I am confident you will destroy your objective in tonight’s attack. Your target is Pforzheim – hit hard and good luck”.

Then each Leader in turn, crossed the ’t’s and dotted the `i’s. My boss Johnny Wymark stressed the danger of relaxing when joining the circuit on return – the Luftwaffe were using JU88s in the intruder role, pouncing on unsuspecting victims coming in to land. As always, he ended with a reminder to all rear gunners to set the correct wing span on the Giro Gun Sight, to be aggressive, and with final “Good Luck!” the briefing was completed.

1730 Hrs: Our Night Flying Meal: bacon, sausage, egg, baked beans, chips, all washed down with a pint of milk. At 1830 Hrs. we assembled in the locker room, and the ritual of dressing up begins. Stripping down to my shreddies I don a pair of my girl friend’s discarded silk stockings, then aircrew issue silk/wool long johns, pair of everyday socks followed by electric socks. Next came my electric suit pressing in the sock connectors. Then shirt, battle-dress trousers, sea boot stockings with trousers tucked into fleece-lined flying boots, long thick aircrew sweater and battle-dress to;. all this before taking into consideration the Mae West life-jacket and parachute.

1930 Hrs: The last `fag’ is ground into the grass and we climb aboard. I slither down the slope to the rear turret, settle into my seat, plug in the intercom connection, connect the oxygen supply, turn around to pick up my gloves and then lock the sliding doors. I am now alone in my own little world. The intercom is live, and the skipper checks each crew position. I confirm I’m on full oxygen (gunners and pilot were on full oxygen from the ground, remainder of crew from 10,000 feet).

1935 Hrs: Start up time – Pilot and Flight Engineer commence the procedure, the four Merlins with their magical sound turn the metal airframe into a pulsating living machine, trembling like a maiden going out on her first date. The hydraulic system is now functioning, I unlock the turret turning the guns first to starboard then to port, then up and down – all is well and I return to the fore and aft position and relock the turret ready for take-off.

I next turn my attention to the task of gloving up. First the thin silk, then the electric (as always I struggle with the wrist connecting studs), then the RAF blue woollen gloves and finally leather gauntlets. I flex my fingers to check that my restricted digits will be able to perform their required tasks.

1940 Hrs: The wheel chocks are pulled away, brakes released and we start to roll. Eventually we reach the end of the runway, we turn starboard, line up, I place all four guns to ‘fire’ position. A ‘green’ from the caravan and our 66,000lb all up weight slowly gathers speed to free herself in her own wonderful way from Mother Earth.

As we settle down on the heading for Grantham, I unlock the turret and begin the 180 degree square search pattern which is to be my task for the next eight hours. As we climbed ever upwards through thin layers of broken cloud I can feel butterflies in my stomach. This feeling of apprehension was with me for the first and last 30 minutes of every operational flight. It was during this time I made peace with my God and I was at peace with myself and the rest of the world until 30 minutes before touch-down.

We soon crossed over the continental coastline, and as we were in the third wave of the attacking force we were right at the end of the Bomber stream, I saw few of our aircraft throughout the whole flight. At last we attain our operational height, and we press on towards unsuspecting Pforzheim, where even in homes and small workshops the Germans were manufacturing intricate time fuses, aircraft instrumentation, and parts for high technology weapons such as the `V’ weapons.

2230 Hrs: Suddenly, I feel a burning sensation on my right foot and ankle, I quickly switch off the power supply to my electric suit, the pain subsides and I estimate I will be without the warmth of my flying suit for the next five hours. I assured the skipper I can cope, but didn’t tell him my biggest worry was would I be able to play football the following day.

The skipper announces over the intercom “Target Dead Ahead.” The RT is tuned to the Master Bomber frequency, and I hear his call sign `King Cole’ calmly instructing the Main Force to use particular coloured target indicators for their aiming points as if he were officiating at a fireworks display. We were about 15 minutes away from our `bombs away’ time, and our bomb aimer made his way to his position preparing for his part in the drama unfolding over Pforzheim.

While this was going on, I had changed my wing span selections on the giro gun sight to 40 feet. The target area is FW190 and ME109 country, and I continue the never-ending search. Almost immediately, there is a movement on the starboard quarter, slightly higher than ourselves, about 800 yards range – it is a FW190 stalking us – he maintains his position and range. I calmly report to the skipper he replies “Roger” and I continued to report. The Mid Upper gunner confirms the sighting and swings his turret to port just in case they are hunting as a pair.

As we commence our bombing run, the 190 maintains his position and range and I begin to wonder if in fact he has spotted us. I can’t believe he hasn’t as we must stand out against all the glow of the target ahead. It flashes through my mind that when fired on German pilots are discouraged and usually leave wide awake crews to search for less vigilant ones. He starts to close the range without committing himself. I alert the skipper to prepare to Corkscrew Starboard remembering Johnny Wymark’s brief to be aggressive; I decide to open fire at 400 yards if he has not committed himself to a curve of pursuit attack. The Skipper concurs and I let loose with two short sharp burst of about three seconds each. A stream of tracer passes all around the enemy aircraft and a very startled fighter pilot immediately dives to port. He levels out low on our port quarter again at about 800 yards range.

I keep a beady eye on him then seconds later his starboard wing drops. He begins a curve of pursuit to layoff deflection for another target, I spot his prey low on our port beam, it’s another Lancaster and closing to 200 yards the 190 levelled off dead astern to give him a zero deflection shot – he loosed off a deadly stream of cannon shells into an unsuspecting prey. The Lancaster rolls over plunging down to Earth and to her doom. The 190 follows her down disappearing from my sight and I report the kill and our Navigator notes the time and position in his log.

The square search is resumed, our bombing run continues, left, left, steady, steady, when out of the blue the Master Bomber seems to be in trouble, in a clear undramatic voice he transmits. “This is King Cole I am handing over to King Cole 2”; he is unable to continue and his deputy takes over the task. Seconds later our Bomb Aimer calls over the intercom, “bombs away”, we have been successful in delivering our load. We have completed half our task and are on the way home.

0020 Hrs: Suddenly I begin to feel a cold chill on my behind, the excitement of the encounter with the 190 and the bombing run is beginning to wear off, I have been without the heat of my suit for nearly two hours and I am starting to feel the effects. It was a long uneventful return trip home and despite the butterflies in the last thirty minutes of the flight, I was elated when we turned onto finals and down through the funnel of airfield lights and ITEM kissed the tarmac with her wheels. Turning starboard off the runway I busied myself with selecting guns to safe, peeling off my gloves and turning off the oxygen supply as we taxied to dispersal.

As we rocked to a halt, the engines closed down creating an eerie silence. I began to unlock the guns from their mountings when one of our ground crew appeared at the open turret to assist in off loading the four Brownings. Disembarking at Squadron H.Q. the guns were conveyed to the armoury where the ever present W.A.A.F. Geordie Corporal volunteered to clean my guns whilst I went to debriefing. I accepted with grateful thanks and we made our way to Intelligence Section.

The skipper had a quick word with Doc Henderson who immediately steered me to the temporary canteen – poured a double rum into a mug and ordered me to drink as prescribed – right down, chug a lug style. The thick dark liquid flowed down my gullet and I felt the warmth spreading through my digestive system. As soon as I had finished drinking this we sat down at the table with Flying Officer Buster Brown, our debriefing officer. I told him of our brush with the F.W. 190 – the Navigator gave the time and position of the downed Lancaster, our Bomb Aimer, painting a colourful picture of the target and the aiming point he used from the directions given by King Cole 1.

The skipper paid tribute to the activities of the Master Bomber and we were later to learn that he had not survived and had been awarded the Victoria Cross, the last to be awarded to Bomber Command in WW II. His crew must be very proud to have served with such a gallant officer. It has been said the Pforzheim was the most perfectly marked target of Bomber Command’s offensive. The force of 360 Lancasters destroyed 83% of the built up area of this unfortunate medieval town.

Our story told we departed to the locker room to change back into normal uniform and went to the mess for breakfast. As we entered the dining room a fair number of officers were exchanging accounts of their individual experiences and the chances for the crew we had lost that night.

0530 Hrs: Breakfast over, the skipper and I walked wearily back to our billet. I was extremely lucky that the Doc found no sign of frostbite, and after an inspection of my burns on toe and ankle I was given clearance to play football that afternoon. Drifting into a sound sleep about 0600 Hrs, I dreamed of performing heroic deeds as the station goalkeeper later that afternoon.

Aircraft: Lancaster BIII PM – I    103 Squadron – RAF Elsham Wolds        1 Group

 From the diary of F/O W E Monteith

Crew Left to Right:	Standing: Wireless Operator W/O H.P. Cakebread RAF; Flight Engineer Sgt T. Urion RAF; Pilot S/Ldr K.J.R. Butler RAF; Rear Gunner and author of above account (in the shades!) Flying Officer WE. Monteith RAF.
	Kneeling: Navigator F/Sgt C. Cassier RCAF; Bomb Aimer F/Sgt Bonny Clark RAF; Mid-Upper Gunner Sgt V. Walford RAF.

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 Having the privilege of working in the Garton Archive at Lincoln Christ’s Hospital School, I regularly receive surprises concerning the School’s rich heritage. A recent one has been the revelation that one of the nation’s heroes from the Dambusters raid was an Old Lincolnian by the name of Edward Cuthbert Johnson DFC. Inevitably he carried the soubriquet ‘Johnny’, and is therefore the second Lincoln School legend to bear that nickname, the other being the long-serving and much-loved and respected English master, ‘Johnny’ Philips.

I am indebted to Richard Lascelles, who attended Lincoln School from 1958-63, for drawing my attention to the fact that ‘Johnny’ Johnson was an integral part of the famous  raid.

The Lincoln School Admissions Register recorded that Edward Johnson was born on 12^th February 1917, and was admitted to Lincoln School in September 1926. He lived at 4 Burton Road, and attended the Christ’s Hospital ‘Bluecoat’ School on Christ’s Hospital Terrace before entering Lincoln School. His father, J H Johnson, was listed as a cycle dealer.

Edward owed his second name to his mother Jessie, whose maiden name was Cuthbert, and who was born and raised in Gainsborough. The family also had connections with Washingborough, where Edward was baptized.

Edward was a Cathedral chorister during his time at Lincoln School, and left in April 1931 to take up an apprenticeship at the Lincolnshire Chronicle Printing Works. Interestingly, he would have been a pupil at Lincoln School at the same time as Alex Henshaw, the Spitfire test pilot, who was the subject of another recent article in the Second World War series from the Garton Archive.

The 2002 edition of the Old Christ’s Hospital Lincolnians Newsletter made reference to the Daily Telegraph obituary, which stated that Flying Officer Edward Johnson deservedly merited the DFC after the spectacular success of his role as bomb-aimer with Guy Gibson’s 617 Squadron on the night of the 15^th/16^th August 1943, when at the third attempt he was responsible for releasing one of Barnes Wallis’s bouncing bombs. The resultant devastating breach of the Eder Dam unleashed more than 300 million tons of water into the valley below. Earlier on that night, the Squadron had taken off from its RAF Scampton base at 9.55 pm. It is a sobering thought that eight of the nineteen Lancasters which left Scampton on that night failed to return.

Johnson, at 31 the ‘old man of the raid’, claimed that his own ‘Johnson sight’, a drawing of the Moehne Dam’s twin towers on the large circular window of his aircraft compartment, greatly assisted him in choosing the right split-second for his aim at the Eder Dam.  The device was described in the Daily Telegraph obituary as a primitive, if clearly effective, apparatus.

The following vivid and more detailed account of the Dams raid has been transcribed from the Dambusters Blog (www.dambustersblog.com).

There were two bomb aimers called Johnson on the Dams Raid, something that occasionally causes confusion. A third bomb aimer was called Johnston. In the inevitable way of things in the wartime RAF, both Johnsons were also known to their friends and colleagues as ‘Johnny’. The older of the two was Edward Cuthbert Johnson, bomb aimer in Les Knight’s crew, who was born in Lincoln on 3 May 1912. When his father was killed on the Western Front in 1914, he and his mother moved to Gainsborough, although he was educated at Lincoln Grammar School.

On leaving school, he worked for Woolworths and then the catering firm, Lyons, and then in a boarding house business in Blackpool with his wife’s family.
He joined the RAF in 1940, qualified as an observer/bomb aimer in early 1942, and was commissioned. After further training he was posted briefly to 106 Squadron, but then sent back to a training unit to be crewed up with Les Knight and his colleagues. They moved to 50 Squadron in September 1942, and Johnson flew on some 22 operations with the Knight crew.

Johnson and Hobday were the elder statesmen of the Knight crew, both nine years older than their skipper, and senior to him in rank. But they worked well as a team, each obviously seeing in the younger man what an outstanding pilot he was. All three were decorated for their role in the Dams Raid, Knight getting the DSO and Johnson and Hobday the DFC, and were photographed together outside Buckingham Palace on the day of the investiture.

In September, on the fateful Dortmund Ems operation Johnson jumped from the stricken Lancaster when ordered to by Knight. He yelled: ‘Cheerio boys. Best of luck. See you in London.’ He recalled later: ‘The farewells were a little hasty but lacked nothing in sincerity for that.’

Like four of his colleagues, Johnson successfully evaded capture and reached the safety of Spain, with the help of a friendly Dutch farmer and policeman, and various members of the resistance in Holland, Belgium and France. He returned to the UK, via Gibraltar. He served out the rest of the war in various ground postings, and left the RAF in 1947. He went back to Blackpool, and joined a company selling fireplaces, where he worked until his retirement.

Richard Lascelles has also recommended The Dambusters’ Raid, by John Sweetman, for an authoritative description of the raid.

The next important mission in which Johnson took part was the attack on the heavily-defended Dortmund Ems canal, used at the time for moving prefabricated U-boats to the sea from the Ruhr factories. The Daily Telegraph reported that Knight took off from Coningsby on 15^th September 1943, to which 617 Squadron had moved because of the advantage of its longer bitumen runway compared to Scampton’s grass surface. That was an important consideration given the weight of Wallis’s latest 10-ton bomb.

Johnson was in the nose viewing the target area in poor visibility, when he was horrified to catch sight of some trees ahead, higher than the aircraft. He yelled, “Up, up, for God’s sake,” but although Knight reacted swiftly Johnson recalled a horrible crunching sound, as they swept through the air at 250 mph. The Telegraph article described that fateful scene as follows:

The situation was dire, with furious flak and fire in two port engines, as Knight, hoping to make it home, coaxed the Lancaster to some 350 metres. Johnson had already jettisoned the huge bomb to gain more height and was throwing out guns and all heavy gear to lighten the load.

The bomber had reached the Dutch border when Knight, realising it was impossible to go on, ordered the crew to bale out.

He remained at the controls until his crew of six others had jumped but the skipper had left it too late and went down with the burning bomber.

Johnson buried his parachute and walked until dawn before settling into the top of a haystack in a farmyard and sustaining himself with ‘escape kit’, condensed milk and chocolate. In the morning he removed all RAF uniform insignia and called on the farmer, whose family produced hot food.

The farmer equipped him with overalls and shaving gear and Johnson set off on a trek which was to take him through Holland, Belgium, France and Spain, before reaching home from Gibraltar.

In Holland, Johnson was helped on his way by a village policeman, who provided a suit, and members of the underground, who couriered him to Belgium and on to France. There he was sheltered in a Paris flat by a woman trading in black-market food.

Travelling on in a succession of trains Johnson neared the Pyrenees and cycled until, reaching the hills, he was guided by a smuggler into Spain, where he was picked up by a British embassy car and driven to Madrid.

After the war, Johnson re-joined his wife May (née Beckwith), who had moved from Leeds to Blackpool, where he became Sales Manager, and later Director of Sellers Fireplaces, which imported marble from Italy to market the popular line of fireplaces. They were married in 1936.

Edward Johnson died in Blackpool on 1st October 2002, aged 90.The Daily Telegraph obituary informed readers that he was survived by his son.

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From the Garton Archive: Item of Interest 52 Compiled by Peter Harrod

References

Lincoln School Admissions Register 1926-35

The Lincolnian magazines

The Daily Telegraph newspaper

www.ancestry.com

www.findmypast.com

www.dambustersblog.com

Acknowledgement

I am indebted to Ian Beckwith, a friend and former colleague at Bishop Grosseteste University, who kindly provided me with background information on Edward Johnson’s family.

 

 

 

 

Kent Stevenson was a BBC correspondent who died on active duty in WW2, he was 36 years old when he was killed on 22 June 1944.

He had been reporting on an air-raid over Germany. He was in an RAF bomber of 49 Squadron which took off from RAF Fiskerton, in Lincolnshire as part of an attack on an oil refinery near Cologne. The Lancaster he was in was one of a number which did not return.

Kent had joined the BBC in March, 1941 and transferred to the War Reporting Unit when it was established in 1943. Like his fellow correspondents, he underwent rigorous training in military survival techniques and how to work in battle conditions. The war correspondents were issued with revolutionary new lightweight recording devices known as ‘midget disc recorders’, which had been specially developed by BBC engineers. Because the correspondents recorded their despatches straight onto disc, they had to learn the art of ‘instant censorship’.

On the evening of 21^st June 1944, a force of over 130 Lancasters from 5 Group was to attack the synthetic-oil plant at Wesseling, 15 miles south of Cologne.  One by one, the various specialists gave their talks, with Wg Cdr Malcolm Crocker concluding a briefing by stating that he too would be operating, and would be taking along Kent.  Also, flying this night wold be both of 49’s two Squadron Leaders.  Sadly, in just one very short evening, 49 Squadron lost 42 men, including its Commanding Officer and a Squadron Leader.  Twenty-seven-year-old Wing Commander Crocker, DFC and bar, along with his second tour crew had all perished over Germany and are buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery; alongside them lies their intrepid passenger, Kent Stevenson. https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/226883/

Photo and biography courtesy of the BBC. Also, thanks to the 49 Squadron Association.

For more information on those who served Bomber Command Click here https://internationalbcc.co.uk/history-archive/