Role: Pilot

Service Numbers: 436106

Enlisted: 7 November 1942, Perth Western Australia Australia

Last Rank: Flying Officer

Last Unit: No. 153 Squadron (RAF)

Born: Kalgoorlie Western Australia Australia, 16 April 1916
Home Town: Port Adelaide, Port Adelaide Enfield, South Australia
Schooling: Christian Brothers College Wakefield Street Adelaide
Occupation: Police Officer, Public Servant

Died: Natural Causes, Scampton England United Kingdom, 7 May 1991, aged 75 years
Cemetery: Not yet discovered

Memorials:  

World War 2 Service:

7 Nov 1942:   Leading Aircraftman, Empire Air Training Scheme
23 Jul 1943:   Sergeant, Empire Air Training Scheme
1 Oct 1944:   Flying Officer, No. 153 Squadron (RAF), Air War NW Europe 1939-45

Biography

Flying Officer Thomas (‘Tom’) Patrick TOBIN, RAAF

Tom Tobin was born in Boulder City on the Western Australian goldfields on the 16th April 1916.  He moved with his family to Ceduna on the West Coast of SA.
He went to school at Christian Brothers College in Adelaide, leaving at the height of the Depression and returning to the West Coast.

He was 15 years old and living in Ceduna working in Irwin Brothers Grocery store when Jimmy Mollison flew over Ceduna during a round-Australia flight.  Tom was on a half day off on a Friday and saw Mollison throw something from his aircraft.  It was a rolled up Advertiser newspaper with a request for someone to call Adelaide and advise Mollison’s ETA there.  An excited Tom Tobin ran to the Post Office with his message.  The Post Master promised to relay the message to Adelaide.  Thus began Tom’s desire to fly.

He had applied to join the SA Police as a cadet, and in due course was accepted. He recalls in his memoirs that the cadet scheme was ‘akin to slave labour’ as they were paid very little and required to perform duties pretty much as per those of a sworn officer.  The arrangement was that they would be duly attested on attainment of the age of 21.

Tom recalled that he spent most of his pre-war police service in Port towns;  Port Pirie, Port Lincoln and Port Adelaide.  He was an accomplished boxer by this time and dealing with intoxicated merchant seaman in his various postings figures strongly in his recollections.  “Sailing Ships were still common and most of the crews were Swedes and Norwegians.  Sober they were no trouble but after months at sea they made the most of their shore leave and influenced by liquor they could be troublesome”.  After being involved in a tense stand-off with enraged sailors after one of their number had been locked up, Tom was left to ponder what might have happened.  “However the local people were very law abiding so mainly my stay at Port Lincoln was a happy one.  The scrapes with the sailors must have tuned me up because when I arrived in Port Adelaide, I won the Police Heavyweight Boxing title.”

In fact he won the Heavyweight boxing title three years iin succession; 1938, 1939 and 1940.  The Championship belt is in the SA Police Headquarters building in Wakefield Street to this day.

When war broke out, Tom was stationed at Port Adelaide.  He sought permission to enlist in the RAAF, and then began a long and torturous process to do so. Police officers were classified as a ‘protected occupation’, governed by the Man Power Act.  He had managed to get offside with the Police Commissioner, the legendary Brigadier Ray Leane (/explore/people/378781), a hero of WW 1.  Ray Leane had allowed his own sons to enlist, but not Police Constable Tom Tobin, nor his brother Steve. Tom was therefore unable to enlist  – at least in South Australia.  Tom eventually ‘went AWL’ from the SA Police and went to Perth in his native Western Australia in order to enlist in the RAAF.  He only just managed to evade a warrant for his apprehension, issued by the SA Police.  His brother Steve remained in SA and stayed in his role as a police officer, eventually rising to the rank of Assistant Commissioner.  Tom, however, was now on a different trajectory.

Thanks to a sympathetic Recruiting Officer and an official in the Man Power Branch, Tom managed to slip through the cracks and on the 7th November 1942, he was enlisted into the RAAF.

He was initially selected for pilot training and with the rank of Leading Aircraftsman,  was posted to No 9 Elementary Flying Training School at Cunderdin in WA, No 33 Course.  Here he learned to fly on DH 82 Tiger Moth aircraft from Feb 12 1943.  He flew his first solo sortie on 23 March 1943, a signature point in every pilot’s career.  By 7 April 1943 he had accumulated  57 hours of which 26 were solo, and 3 hours of night flying.  He was rated an ‘Average’ pilot. during basic flying training.  He was assigned to  4 Service Flying Training School, at Geraldton in WA, having been selected for multi-engine training on the Avro Anson.  By the end of July 1943, he had accumulated 194 hours flying time.  His rating of Good Average in bombing probably set in train the next course of events.

During this time, on the 5th July 1943 in the middle of winter, he was involved in an incident in an Anson, flying as second pilot on a cross country night navigation flight.  Bad weather engulfed their aircraft and he and his colleague began debating their options.  They eventually spotted a rail car through the gloom which had stopped with its headlight on, realising they were in trouble.  There was a cleared paddock adjacent to the rail lines and Tom took control of the aircraft and put it down in a ploughed field, wheels up. It turned out they landed in one of a very few suitable spots for miles around with only 12 gallons of fuel left in the tank.  The Anson was repaired in situ and flown out some days later.

On the 27th July 1943, Tom Tobin was awarded his wings and promoted to Sergeant.

After a short period of pre-embarkation leave, he embarked on the 30 August 1943 on the SS America, a fast liner of 35,000 tons.  Their destination was the USA running unescorted to San Francisco.  From there, travelling by train from West to East they took in the scenery in relative comfort.  A brief stay of leave in Boston enabled him to make acquaintance with three aunts who lived near Bangor.

On the 3rd of October 1943 then boarded the SS Aquitania  to cross the Atlantic, zig zagging to avoid German U Boats..

In the UK at No 29 EFTS it was back to basics albeit at an Advanced Flying School where he was once again flying the DH82 Tiger Moth.  Then it was on to RAF Croughton and conversion and training on a series of training aircraft including the twin-engine Airspeed Oxfords and an emphasis on navigation and night flying operations. By the end of May 1944 it was on to the next stage – conversion to the Vickers Wellington twin-engine medium bomber.  This was followed by the four-engine Handley Page Halifax bomber at the Heavy Conversion Unit Sandtoft.

Tom was posted to 153 Squadron RAF which had formerly been a night fighter squadron, but was being reformed as a Heavy Bomber squadron equipped with the legendary Avro Lancaster.  Like most RAF Squadrons at the time, its composition reflected the diversity of nations in the British Empire, with Australians, Canadians and other Commonwealth nationalities in its ranks.  Tom was among the first aircrew and relatively few Australians to join the squadron when it reformed in October 1944, equipped with Lancaster Mk III heavy bombers.

He ‘crewed- up’ with the men with whom he would fly for the rest of the war.

– Tom Tobin (Aus) – Pilot

– F/Sgt Bob Muggleton (UK)  – Bomb AimerF/Sgt Peter ‘ Paddy’ Tilson (NI) – Navigator
– F/Sgt Peter Rollason (Aus) – Wireless Operator
– F/Sgt Red Maloney (Can) – Mid Upper gunner
– Sgt Bill ‘Yorky’ Dolling (UK) – Rear gunner
– Sgt Peter ‘Jock’ Smart (Scot) – Flight Engineer

He flew his first familiarisation mission as a second pilot with another crew, to Essen. His log book then begins a pattern of recording the eventual fate of the tail numbers of each aircraft in which he flew.  The first training flights he made with his crew were in aircraft that were subsequently lost.  His log makes grim reading; a mid air collision, ‘did not return’, shot down by Ju 88 fighter attack (6 bailed out) and ‘wrecked’ accounting for the first four aircraft

Fourteen of his missions were flown in ‘W for Willie’ tail number 642.  In an incident that goes someway to explain the reputation for superstition that characterised flight crews, on the evening of 16/17th March another crew took their aircraft while they were stood down.  It was lost with all on board. They completed their tour in W1 RF 205, a replacement for their much loved W 642.

Tom and his crew went on to fly a full Tour of 30 operational missions with 153 Squadron, which are exquisitely described in his log book and a personal memoir. He and his crew completed their tour of duty just before the end of the war.  He had accumulated 204 operational hours and another 56 hours training with 153 squadron, giving him a total of 705 hours 20 minutes flying time in all.  He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC).

His trials and tribulations with his employer, left behind when he went AWL from the SA Police in order to enlist, didn’t end there.  On return to Australia, and resumption of duty with the SA Police, the award of his DFC was gazetted and he was scheduled to attend Government House in Adelaide for his investiture. However the SA Police would not grant him leave to do so.  This resulted in a furore in the Press and Tom was duly granted leave. However not long after this Tom resigned from the SA Police and gained employment with the Commonwealth Department of Immigration, where he remained until his eventual retirement many years later.

After nearly 30 years, Tom began to pick up the threads of the contacts with his time with 153 Squadron.  In 1972 he began actively seeking out his former colleagues and began travelling to do so.  He also corresponded with former squadron crew mates and historians.  He even corresponded with a German man researching one of the raids flown against his home town of Ludwighshafen on which Tom flew.  He was active in the 153 Squadron association attending a number of reunions.  It was on one of these in 1991 that he suffered a fatal heart attack.

Tom was an active member of the Royal Australian Air Force Association at Mitcham sub-branch.  He figures strongly in the 153 Squadron website.  At well over 6 feet tall he was not inconspicuous and was known by the nickname “Tiny” Tobin.  He was survived by his wife Pat and only daughter Jane, her husband Denis and grandchildren Andrea and Heath.  He is fondly remembered as a wonderful man and a ‘great bloke’.

His log book and memoir are a wonderful legacy.  It has been my pleasure to write this up – these men were indeed part of the ‘greatest generation’.

Medals:

– Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC)
– France and Germany Star
– 1939-45 Star
– Defence Medal
– British War Medal 1939-45
– Australian War Medal 1939-45

Credit: Steve Larkins July 2013

The Dresden Raid February 1945

Tom Tobin’s 153 Squadron was part of what was to become, after the war, a controversial raid on the old city of Dresden. This is extracted from the 153 Squadron Website.

On 13th February, 15 aircraft were sent to Dresden. Although afterwards it became the subject of considerable and continuing debate, as far as the crews were concerned this was just another attack in aid of the Russian armies, on which (because of the distance involved), only a comparatively small bomb load could be carried.
Thus each crew took 1 x 2,000lb bomb plus 1,800 incendiaries. In clear weather and aided by gale force westerly winds, it took just over four hours to reach and bomb the target.

There could be no argument over the effectiveness of the attack – a massive firestorm (more intensive than that on Hamburg in 1943) swept the city, and could be seen from 100 miles by crews on their 650-mile homeward journeys.

They had plenty of time to watch, because there were now fighting against the same fearsome gales that had carried them so swiftly on the outward leg. Although benefiting from a much-reduced all-up weight, it took well over five hours of juggling of the fuel valves by anxious F/Engineers to struggle home.

Many made unscheduled landings to re-fuel: others reached Scampton with nearly dry tanks.

Nearly home but with fuel dangerously low Tom Tobin and his Flight Engineer Jock Smart shut down the two outer engines to conserve fuel. With no bombs and little fuel the Lancaster could easily fly on just two engines. So they feathered the props, and struggled on. On approaching Scampton and gaining a clearance to land he declined the instruction to complete the customary circuit and flew straight in to land – which was just as well, considering he was literally ‘running on empty’.

(A grim PostScript to mull over – of the 105-crew members from 153 Squadron who attacked Dresden and returned unscathed, only 66 survived the war – which finished just two months later. 39 died in subsequent operations)

Tom Tobin’s Log Book Report

Tom kept an exquisitely detailed log book of his flying career, together with memorabilia such as maps, photographs and the like.

His log book is now in the possession of his daughter, Jane. He recorded in great detail and in very fine neat hand writing every mission he flew.

He also kept track of the tail numbers of the aircraft he flew and their eventual fate. Lancaster 642 was the aircraft in which he flew most of his missions.

One evening in March 1945, he and his crew were due to fly but his navigator called in sick and rather than split the crew, they were stood down and another crew took 642. It didn’t return. No wonder flight crews had a reputation for being superstitious.

He is mentioned repeatedly in the 153 Squadron website as one of the characters (and survivors) of the Squadron.

At war’s end his grateful crew (he had brought them home safely 30 times) presented him with a beautiful scale replica of their aircraft. On its base is inscribed the targets of the 30 missions he ‘skippered’. It is now in the possession of his grandson Heath Eblen.

https://rslvirtualwarmemorial.org.au/explore/people/48546

*All information provided by Jane Eblen, Tom’s daughter.

An occasion which remains vividly with me to this day occurred on 30th. April 1945.

Piloting a Lancaster bomber with the rest of 514 Squadron we went unarmed and at low level to Rotterdam in Holland whilst the German army was still in occupation. The Dutch people were by this time starving and relied only on eating tulip bulbs, leaves, flowers, berries and scraps found in garbage. Death by starvation was a daily occurrence..

We made several runs over the city at low level and finally dropped several panniers of food into the main square. .One could see the Dutch people waving. with happy smiling faces. An incredible sight never to be forgotten. Two days later we carried out a similar operation over The Hague. I sometimes wonder if any surviving Dutch people occasionally gaze skywards today remembering the sounds of our Lancasters merlin engines so often heard by them during WW2 and think about those terrible times..

I’m lucky, I’m still around in February 2016.
Good luck to all at IBCC. Jim Eley.

S/Ldr Kenneth George Bickers DFC
103 Squadron RAF Elsham Wolds
Avro Lancaster Bomber ME665 PM-C
(Lost night of 24/25 March 1944 over Berlin)

On 27 March 2015 we stood in a quiet field on the edge of a small forest near the village of Luckenwalde , about 30 kilometres south of Berlin , and placed a small wooden cross in memory of Kenneth Bickers and the six crew of his Lancaster who were shot down and killed on the night of 24/25 March 1944. Only three of the bodies were discovered, and they lie buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.
A Poppy Cross was placed on each Grave side in Respect. A very emotional moment in time.

To explain how my father and I came to be here with our new German friends exactly seventy-one years after that tragic event we need perhaps to explain Ken’s story. Ken was my Father’s brother, and we had come to try and find his final resting place.

Kenneth Bickers grew up in Southampton in the West End district of the City, one of five children born to his parents James and Gertrude Bickers. Ken’s father James had run away to Argentina at the age of just fifteen, but returned in order to fight in the First World War – he survived but his brother Edward was not so lucky and was killed on the Somme just three months before the end of the war at the age of nineteen.

Ken’s father was a hard-working man who was not afraid to impose himself on his young family if the need arose, but he always did his best to provide and the family lived in a small rented semi-detached house not far from the centre of Southampton – however these were the Thirties in the years leading up to the Second World War, there was no bathroom, no inside toilet and no central heating, times were hard and about to become a lot harder.

Ken studied at Bitterne Park Boys School, was very popular amongst his peers, and rose to become Head Boy – in fact his Headmaster wrote of him ‘I cannot speak too highly of this boy’s character – he has been my Head Prefect for 18 months and has done excellently, he is self-reliant, steady and most reliable’.

The Second World War broke out when Ken was just seventeen, and he was keen to get involved. As he was under age for active service he joined the Royal Artillery and trained in mechanics and searchlight operations. A highlight came when he was commended and promoted to Corporal having taken control of a searchlight at the end of Hythe Pier in Southampton during the first Blitz in November 1940.

However Ken was not satisfied with being in the Royal Artillery, and decided that he wanted to join the RAF to make a more meaningful contribution, so he switched codes in 1941 and trained to be a pilot in Terrell , Texas , USA , returning to England after 6 months to complete his training and commence operations as a Pilot Officer in 1943. His first sortie from RAF Elsham Wolds with 103 Squadron was on 7 February 1943 attacking the German-held French port of Lorient, and by the beginning of April he had already flown 15 sorties attacking amongst others Wilhelmshaven, Nuremburg, Bremen, Cologne and Berlin.

In April 1943 Ken was awarded an immediate DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) – the entry in the London Gazette of 30 April 1943 describes Ken’s heroic actions on the night of 9 April:

‘One night in April 1943, Flight Lieutenant Bickers captained an aircraft detailed to attach Duisberg. During the homeward flight , whilst over enemy territory, the aircraft was attacked by an enemy fighter. The first burst of fire from the attacker killed the rear gunner, severely wounded the mid-upper gunner and set the rear turret on fire. For twenty minutes the enemy aircraft continued its attacks and only the skilful evading tactics employed by Flight Lieutenant Bickers prevented the bomber from being shot down. The elevator trimming gear was put out of action, the engine controls were damaged, the wireless apparatus and the hydraulic system were rendered unserviceable. Many instruments were destroyed while one of the port petrol tanks was pierced , causing its contents to leak away. In spite of the tremendous odds, Flight Lieutenant Bickers, displaying superb airmanship, flew the badly damaged aircraft to an airfield in this country where he effected a successful crash landing. In the face of a most perilous situation this officer displayed courage, skill and fortitude of a high order.’

Ken came to the end of his first tour of operations on 29 May 1943, having successfully completed 30 sorties over enemy territory in just under three months. He was still only 20 years old.

Whilst based near Leicester he had met a girl called Joan whom he had fallen for, and plans were made for them to get married on April 5 1944. In the meantime on 23 November 1943 Ken was accompanied by his parents and Joan to Buckingham Palace to receive his DFC from King George VI.

Once a pilot had completed a tour of operations there was no obligation to go back and put yourself in the front line again. It was considered that you ‘had done your bit’ and you were able to continue in service by training other aircrews.

However Ken decided to go back, in spite of his near miss as described above when attacked over Germany and despite being engaged to be married. It is not clear from the surviving papers why he took this decision, but reading between the lines it can be surmised that the ‘exhilaration’ of battle and the needs of the country triumphed over any regard for personal safety that may have given him pause for thought. There is a surviving letter written to his parents in February 1944 in which he writes:

‘..as soon as I received news that we were on our way back (to recommence attacks on Germany) I nipped smartly down to Leicester to see Joan – she’s still going to marry me at Easter and wouldn’t hear of any postponement. I’m glad!’

From this it is possible to gather that Ken was well aware of the risk he was taking, but the chance to do what he could for his country in its hour of need was the stronger pull, and tragically it would mean that he would not marry Joan as planned on 5 April.

Having moved around various air bases whilst doing further training Ken returned to RAF Elsham Wolds with 103 Squadron in February 1943. His surviving letters home are a mixture of describing the conditions under which he is living (‘..all my kit dirty and damp, the temperature is freezing, not a single clean handkerchief to my name..’) , and making plans for his forthcoming wedding to Joan (..’Joan gave me the job of deciding where to go on honeymoon, was supposed to have come to a decision last week but haven’t had a real opportunity to think’..).

A surviving letter written on 12 March to his parents indicates that although operations have not yet been recommenced he is expecting to go ‘any moment now’. He comments ‘I have a very good crew and a very good aircraft. The aircraft C Charlie is brand new, it took some wrangling, but we got it in the end!’ However it is also apparent that morale is low as Ken comments that ‘the squadron has completely changed, the old squadron spirit is almost entirely non-existent….we haven’t managed to make ourselves very popular….the Wing Commander and I don’t see eye to eye on a number of things..’

Ken, now newly promoted to Squadron Leader, recommenced bombing operations on Wednesday 15 March with an attack on Stuttgart – his logbook records it as a ‘quiet trip’. His last letter home was written on Friday 17 March – in it the preparations for his forthcoming marriage on 5 April are very much to the fore – he implores his Father to come to the wedding (..’how about taking some of your hard-earned summer holidays and coming along with Mum..’) and casually mentions his raid on Stuttgart (..’Twas a long stooge (sic) but an uneventful one for us – that’s how I like ’em !’). He ends the letter ‘…Well I think I had better close so cheerio for now. My love to Bunty (his small sister) and God Bless you all. Your loving Son , Ken.’

On Wednesday 22 March Ken’s logbook records a sortie to Frankfurt, again recorded as a ‘quiet trip’. There are no further entries.

Ken and his crew, F/O Plummer, F/O Tombs, F/O Bell, F/S Wadsworth, F/S Comer and F/S Cannon, took off on what was to be their final sortie on Friday 24 March 1944 to attack Berlin. The operation to Berlin on 24/25 March 1944 was the final raid of The Battle of Berlin and the last large-scale attack on the city by Bomber Command. Forty-four Lancasters and twenty eight Halifaxes were lost from the force, 8.9% of the total.

The official entry for Ken’s last flight appears in Bomber Command Losses, volume 5 1944, page 131 by William Chorley:

‘Homebound, came down 2km east of Luckenwalde and exploded with great force. Three lie in Berlin 1939-1945 War Cemetery and four are commerorated on the Runnymede Memorial. S/L Bickers was on the third sortie of his second tour. At 21, he was one of the youngest flight commanders to be killed in Bomber Command during 1944.

There may be no finer epitaph to Ken than that contained in Don Charlwood’s gripping first-hand account of life as a Bomber Command pilot, ‘No Moon Tonight’, in which the author describes coming across Ken shortly after his DFC exploits detailed above:

‘In the morning I heard that Bickers’ crew had had a shaky do the night before. The rear gunner had been killed and for ‘Bick’ himself there was talk of an immediate DFC. Their plane had been attacked by fighters and damaged beyond belief. In the crew room ‘Bick’ was being congratulated. To everyone he gave the same brief answer, ‘It was a crew show. The way they stuck together got us back.’

‘Looking at Bickers, I felt that in him our last seven months were typified. For a Flight Lieutenant he was more than usually young. His face was finely formed and unsmiling; his eyes direct. And in his eyes was that enigmatical ops expression I had noticed so often before. I wondered what he had been before the war. I thought of him as a bank clerk, university student, even a schoolboy, but each was poles removed from the Bickers before me.’

‘It was as though he had been created to wear the battered ops cap; the battle dress with its collar whistle; the white ops sweater; to be a man to whom years did not apply. But most of all, it was as though he had been created for this very hour, to stand in this drab room of many memories hearing the congratulations of his fellows.’

2. The Search

My father (Ken’s younger brother by four years) has always been immensely affected by Ken’s death – indeed my own middle name is Kenneth in tribute. However it has only been in the last few years since the death of my Mother that I have become acutely aware of just how much he has been affected, and one day earlier this year whilst were discussing the subject, I realised that the only way for him (and me now) to try and find some peace would be to visit Luckenwalde and see if we could find the exact spot where Ken’s Lancaster had come down, we had no clues, other than the statement from the official record of Bomber Command Losses stated above, but by visiting we would at least gain some sense of time and place and how it all must have happened.

My Father was sceptical, worrying about the reaction of the local populace, but eventually I managed to persuade him to go, and I booked the flights from Liverpool to Berlin. It was only after I had booked them that I realised with amazement that the date of our flight to Berlin was 24 March 2015 – exactly seventy-one years to the day of Ken’s fateful flight. We took this as a sign that perhaps what we were doing had merit after all, and upon arriving in Berlin we picked up our hire car and drove to our hotel in preparation for the search ahead.

The next day we drove initially to Luckenwalde, a small friendly town about twenty kilometres south of Berlin near where Ken’s plane came down as described above. We decided to visit the local museum to see if we could find any clues as to the actual crash site, and eventually we were ushered upstairs to meet the Curator, a Herr Schmidt, not your average looking Curator it has to be said, looking very hippy-dippy with Panama hat, pony-tail and goatee beard (!), and also with no English, but he did everything he could to help, digging out old photos of the time showing the aftermath of the bombing raids and even producing a logbook that had noted in it details of all the bombing raids in the area. Ken’s raid was there right enough, but no details were available of the actual crash site, so we adjourned for a delightful German coffee and ice-cream next door and decided on our next move.

We knew that the Lancaster had come down somewhere between Luckenwalde and the neighbouring much smaller village of Janickendorf, so we determined to drive to Janickendorf to see if there was any visible evidence of the dreadful event all those years ago – unlikely but we had a lot of time on our hands .

The village of Janickendorf is very spread out, and to drive through it takes a good three or four minutes – at the far end is an industrial estate and next door is an overgrown piece of land full of bumps and hillocks, and we surmised not unreasonably that the undulations could well have been caused by a plane crash, so we decided to lay a cross in memory of Ken and his crew at this location, and set off to drive back to our hotel.

However I think we were both feeling frustrated by the fact that we didn’t know for sure that we had found the actual crash site, and on our way out of the far end of the village I happened to glance to my right and saw a gentleman walking up a side road towards the main road we were driving along, so I suddenly said to my Father ‘I’m going to stop and see if he might know something’ , pulled over about a hundred yards further along the road and got out to walk back to talk to him. The fact that I knew only about a dozen words of German wasn’t going to put me off !

By the time I got back to the gentleman he had crossed the road to the other side, and was talking to two other people, but I looked to my left and I saw a quaint building with the word ‘Museum’ (or the German equivalent !) on it – the barn door was open, and at that exact moment a lady emerged – so I changed tack and walked over to the lady, intercepting her as she was about to close for the day. I asked if she spoke English, and as I did so I glanced into the museum – to my utter shock there in front of me was a piece of the framework from Ken’s Lancaster, together with a list of him and his crew, and depictions of what the aircrew would have been wearing at the time. I think my reaction and the way I was looking at the artefacts made the lady understand, because she then beckoned to the original gentleman I had seen (who turned out to be her husband!) and called him over together with a young lady who was able to speak English, and suddenly all became clear. At this point my Father was still in the car, so I raced back up the road, opened the door and said words to the effect of, ‘I think we might have found the plane’.

My Father of course couldn’t believe it – when he walked into the museum for the first time and saw the piece from Ken’s Lancaster it was a very emotional moment. The German couple, Manfred and Gisela Bolke, welcomed us with open arms, and Julia Horn (the young lady) translated. We were offered tea and cake in the Museum, and gradually our story unfolded, much to the amazement of our German hosts who could not have been more welcoming and understanding.

During our conversation, Manfred said that there was a Herr Kruger that he would like us to meet – when Julia explained that this other gentleman was the boy who as a fifteen year old had found the remains of the crashed Lancaster we were stunned, and agreed to come back on the morning of our departure back to Liverpool to Manfred and Gisela’s house to meet Herr Kruger from where he would take us to the actual crash site.

So the next morning we returned to meet Herr Kruger at Manfred and Gisela’s house which is located just over the road from their private museum. On this occasion Manfred and Gisela’s grand-daughter Christina joined us in order to be able to translate which she did incredibly well in spite of a lot of technical jargon !

Herr Kruger is now eighty-six years old but he was able to recall the events of that day as if they had happened yesterday. After the initial introductions and a brief discussion Herr Kruger said he would take us to the crash site, and we all got into Manfred’s car (Julia now having rejoined us to take over translating duties from Christina) and drove about a kilometre out of the village (in the opposite direction to where we had laid the first cross) and turned right up a small narrow lane. At the top of the lane we turned right again and entered a wooded area, dense with trees on both sides, the lane became ever bumpier until eventually after about five minutes Herr Kruger asked us to stop.

We got out of the car and with Julia translating Herr Kruger told us his story. He described how as a fifteen year old at six o’clock in the morning he and his ten year old sister had come to the crash site where we were standing to see what had happened. He pointed to the ground and told us that it was at this exact spot that he had found the dead body of a British airman, and said that he was struck by the fact that a lot of his clothing had been torn off but how clean his socks were. He was able to show the exact angle at which the body was lying (this body would either have been Air Gunner Tombs or Air Gunner Cannon, both of whom are buried at the Berlin War Cemetery).

Of course at this point we were reeling with the amount of information that he was telling us, because he was making it all so real. Herr Kruger then requested that we get back in the car, and we drove a further five hundred yards or so before getting out once again. This time we walked through the trees and dense bracken to the edge of a vast field which was sewn with crops. It was here, said Herr Kruger, that he found a second body, and heart-rendingly and with great emotion he said he felt that this airman may still have been alive when he hit the ground, as there was evidence of the soil having been disturbed by the movements of one of his feet, and in his hand was a photograph of his wife and children which he must have taken out of his wallet to look at before he died (this body was probably that of Flight Engineer Wadsworth).

Herr Kruger pointed to the vast open expanse of the field and told us that this was where the bulk of the Lancaster had hit the ground. He was able to show us a photograph that he had taken of his sister in front of what looks like one of the propeller sections. He had made it all so real, and we were so very grateful. My Father laid another cross at the foot of one of the trees nearest the field (no remains of the other four bodies including Ken were ever found) and we all stood together, united in our remembrance and sadness for what had occurred here seventy-one years ago.

We then repaired to Manfred and Gisela’s house where Gisela had prepared a delightful tea and cake, and we were able to have further conversations (Julia now having left us) by virtue of the Google translator which Gisela had set up on her laptop ! Herr Kruger had driven around sixty kilometres to be with us that morning, and we are indebted to him and of course to Manfred, Gisela, Julia and Christina for the wonderful welcome that they afforded to us, which bearing in mind we had arrived out of nowhere only two days previously was nothing short of incredible.

However the story didn’t finish there. Upon our return to England, again by the use of the Google translator and email I corresponded with Gisela, and suggested to her that we might like to come back at a later date with a metal detector to see if we could possibly find any further remnants belonging to the downed Lancaster or perhaps any personal possessions relating to the dead airmen. Gisela immediately wrote back and said that they already owned two metal detectors, had been in touch with the farmer for permission to search his land and they were going to do so in a week’s time ! Words can’t do justice to the way we felt about this.

A week or so later Gisela sent us some photographs of Manfred and a younger couple with their young son all fervently engaged in metal detecting on the field of the crash site – they had unearthed several mainly agricultural items but as yet nothing that could be said to be from the Lancaster. However more intriguingly Manfred had taken a photograph of a piece of rusted metal embedded halfway up a tree which looked as though it could have come from a plane as it was slighted rounded in appearance.

Ken’s Story Continued…
Once we had returned from Germany, we continued our correspondence with Manfred and Gisela via email, and it quickly became apparent that they were determined to help us as much as possible, not only in searching for any remnants of the lost aircraft and its crew, but also in taking full responsibility for planning and organising a dedicated memorial plaque in honour of the lost airmen.

One day a parcel arrived for my Father from Germany – contained within it were a small part of the Lancaster’s fuselage, and more poignantly a part of a leather boot – we were incredulous!

My Father and I asked Manfred and Gisela if it would be possible to install a memorial plaque at the crash site, and they immediately began making enquiries of the German authorities as to whether or not this was permissible. When the answer came back that it would not be possible, Manfred and Gisela nevertheless kindly agreed that a plaque could be put up in front of the museum in Janickendorf which is only about a kilometre away from the actual crash site.

Over the next few months the design for the plaque took shape, thanks to Karl Spath, a well-known designer from Luckenwalde, and as the project progressed it became apparent that it would be most appropriate to unveil the plaque on the anniversary of the Lancaster’s demise, 24 March 2016. The timetable was very tight, but the determination of Manfred, Gisela and Karl together with the help of many friends and neighbours knew no bounds, and on 22 March my Father, son and myself travelled to Germany for the unveiling of the plaque on 24 March.

In the meantime by chance we had been put in touch with the grandson of Norman Tombs, one of Ken’s crew members also killed on that fateful day. Mel Taylor and his daughter Rebecca met us at our hotel in Luckenwalde on the morning of the ceremony and we exchanged many fascinating stories about eachother’s families before proceeding to Janickendorf.

The ceremony itself was very moving, and wonderfully organised by Manfred and Gisela. A violinist played some very moving music, and short speeches were given by the Mayor of Nuthe-Urstromtal, Gisela and myself, and then the plaque was unveiled by Manfred and Karl, a very moving moment.

The eyewitness of the time, Herr Kruger, was once again with us and following the ceremony we travelled to the crash site where Herr Kruger was able once more to tell us what he had found on that March day back in 1944. His emotion and distress were evident to all and we are very grateful for his sincerely held memories.

We then paid our respects at the tree adjacent to the crash site where Manfred and Gisela had put up a portrait of Ken along with the remembrance cross that we had left on our previous visit.

A year to the day after first stumbling across Manfred and Gisela , a permanent monument to the fallen airmen now stands outside the museum in Janickendorf, thanks to the unswerving efforts of Manfred and Gisela themselves along with all of their colleagues. It has been a magnificent achievement by them and an emotional journey for us – we thank everyone from the bottom of our hearts.