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Here is an account of our seventh trip. I became a POW (30 days) and did suffer burns to my forehead. This was our third trip in "O" oboe which had been permanently assigned to us...
Packages from home are always a welcome sight. We, and the loved ones at home, continued to look for ways we could send certain items and retain the "flavour". We did experiment with apples that were wax-covered but it did not work. Today in my package, a special treat, a can of blueberries. This is special for me as I really enjoy blueberries. I placed them on the shelf over my bed for use at a later date, or for me, a special occasion. Cigarettes were also in abundance and many people from home in Canada would send me cartons of them. At the time, I did not smoke. With so many cartons arriving I would give them away. I suppose, being inundated with cigarettes, I thought that I should use them myself and did.
March 7 1945
This will be our seventh trip and the second with our newly assigned aircraft "O" for Oboe. Even though this is a new aircraft, and is permanently assigned to us, as a crew, our affection has not grown for this aircraft. I sense that to the rest of the crew, it is just another aircraft. Our crew strength is seven, since the ''accident” over Phorzheim. We now have a new Mid Upper Gunner. The crew consists of four Canadians. The Pilot, the Navigator, the Bomb Aimer and I, the Tail End Charlie. The wireless OP is from Wales, the Engineer from Lanconshire and the new Mid Upper from the London area. There are only two officers in the crew, the Pilot and the Bomb Aimer.
Briefing is set for four o’clock. We all head to the main briefing hut. All the huts are the metal Nissan types, and poorly lit. From the outside, all appear like clones. The briefing is, as always, short and sweet and there is little that I, as an air gunner, will be overly concerned about.
Tonight the target will be Dessau.
The briefing is over and we head out to the dispersal area where our aircraft is all prepped and fueled, ready for the trip. We have a certain rapport with the ground crew but I don’t think we ever were on a first name basis. My rank, is Flight Sergeant. The Gunnery Master who maintained the guns onboard was also a noncom. After all the checks are completed, we head for the take-off runway. The practice on this squadron, and I think on all others, is for some of the female members of the ground crew, the WAF on the squadron, to assemble at the end of the runway and to wave goodbye as we take off. There usually are some 10 to 15 people from the squadron waving so long. There never seems to be a face that I recognize or can relate to. Their enthusiastic waves certainly seem genuine, and they are always there regardless of weather conditions. They soon disappear from view as we head down the runway on our take off run.
We are now airborne. Just after reaching an altitude of a few thousand feet the cursor of what we are going to experience this night rears its ugly head. From my vantagepoint at the rear of the aircraft there is very little that I do not see. Any unusual incidents that I see in the air or on the ground are reported to the Navigator for logging. I now see, down below, an extraordinary array of colors as if there were a fireworks show. The colours are bright red, green and yellow. It is no doubt from a midair collision of two of our bombers. The colours that glow vividly on a large, spread out, ground area, would certainly indicate that these aircraft were from a pathfinder squadron and that their target indicators were burning. No doubt they too, were heading for Dessau. Some five minutes later, I also must report another fiercely burning sight on the ground. The colours again would indicate that the bomb load was incendiaries. Before we have reached cruising altitude, and have yet to cross the English Channel, I report two other incidents of fires burning on the ground. No doubt from other aircraft participating in this raid. This is not a good omen to see before we have even reached enemy territory.
Our flight course this night, is to cross France at a cruising altitude of 16,000 feet, and oxygen is a requirement. My electrically heated flight suit is on the top heat position as the temperature outside will be well below zero. We head towards Berlin as if to make this our target, but some fifty miles out we make a right turn, and then set our course for Dessau. Dessau is a small town where it’s reported the Germans are assembling the latest in jet technology. The Messerschmitt factory is producing the ME 262 and even though we have yet to see one in action, I suppose we felt that we should destroy the production facilities for our future welfare.
Five minutes into our new course and some 100 miles from our target, the unexpected happens. The aircraft is shaken violently and it is evident that something unusual has happened. We have been successfully attacked by the foreign element, no doubt a Night Fighter. Sparks and smoke are now visible streaming past my tail end position. I see tracer bullets coming from below us, and just far enough behind the aircraft that they are ineffective. From the cockpit comes the command that we always dreaded hearing; JUMP, JUMP, JUMP! In my end of the aircraft I can see flames streaking past my turret and increasing in intensity. I realize that this is serious and the real thing. I respond to the pilot’s command of “Jump, Jump, Jump!” by replying on the intercom "Hey, it’s okay. Do not worry, we are in good shape." I was calm as could be and there was not the slightest hint in my voice or my actions that there was to be any great concern. When I recall this incident, I am utterly amazed at my demeanor and the fact that I was so blasé and unconcerned. Hey, it’s just a picnic. With no concern, I calmly tried to remove my intercom and oxygen connectors from inside the turret and found that not only could I not see them but also with the heavy flying gloves, my sense of feel was deadened. I removed the glove from my left hand and then felt down to the connector location to remove the connections. This was not going to work as the aircraft was by now flying erratically. Suddenly, I realized that things were getting out of hand and that it was getting mighty hot in my turret. The flames streaking by had increased in intensity and I certainly could feel the heat. Abandoning my original intent to disconnect my life line, I turned the turret to the port side, to prepare to make my exit. This was the standard procedure and I popped open both the doors with my elbows and stuck my rump out the opening, falling backwards into the slipstream. I’m very happy that I opted for the seat pack, as it meant a quick exit for me. I am now out of the turret but being towed behind the aircraft. Buffeted by the slipstream, there is something amiss. I am hung up on the turret. My left foot is caught and I am being dragged behind the aircraft. Once again, as calm as could be, I reviewed my options. This review was over in a matter of milliseconds but it was a most thorough review, in my mind. I covered all the bases and options and felt secure in the decision that I was about to make. If I pulled the ripcord while being dragged behind the aircraft I might break my leg as I am pulled out of the turret, if I did nothing, I would probably follow the aircraft into a crash on the ground, so what to do? To me, the best course of action was pull the cord. It is almost daylight conditions, where does this illumination come from? I found out later that it was at this time that the aircraft blew up thereby releasing me and lighting up the sky. I remember my training and count to 10 and then I placed both my feet together and pulled the ripcord. As the sky was lit up from the aircraft burning I could see vividly that I was complying with all the rules related to jumping.
There was no sensation of the parachute opening. This was due to my having the parachute straps snugged up so tight that I could not stand up straight when the harness was on. Because I would be seated for the entire flight it was never a problem. I don’t know what special attributes I had, but the concern of using the bathroom never became an issue.
I am now floating in air. The silence overwhelms me and the sensation of falling is not evident. Now, for some reason, a degree of panic strikes. I am deathly afraid to look up or down and I gingerly look around but not up or down. I am afraid to move for fear that the harness will let go. I am now on my best behavior. My left hand is now suffering from the cold as I had removed this glove while in the aircraft. I take one of the two gloves off my right hand and place it on my freezing left.The descent to the ground will take about five minutes. Before I reach the ground, I steal a glance downward and can see the cloud cover below me obscuring the ground. I remember that at briefing, the cloud tops were at two thousand feet. When I pass through the clouds I then again remember my training and prepare to hit the ground. My calm attitude returns, and I again review in my mind the training we were given. We never did do an actual jump, or even a simulated one from a tower. There were occasions on training flights where I felt if need be, I could easily jump. A piece of cake. Relax, pull up your feet, bend your knees and be prepared to hit the ground. Before I could give it any further thought I hit the ground and rolled forward. I quickly checked and there were no apparent serious injuries.
Welcome to Germany!