Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

After many years of “thinking about it”, and several friends suggesting that I really should “do something about it”, I have finally decided that I should sit down and call on the memories of my time in the R.A.A.F. and the Army.

My story begins in September 1941, when, with my late Father’s agreement, I decided to make application to join the Royal Australian Air Force as an Air Crew volunteer.
Towards the end of September 1941, I received orders to present myself at R.A.A.F. Headquarters on North Terrace in Adelaide, to be tested for general education and medical fitness. After most of one day I was told that I would be accepted for Air Crew training at some later date.

While waiting to be called by the R.A.A.F., I happened to be in the age group called upon to be examined for fitness to join the Army. In spite of the fact that I had been accepted to start training with the R.A.A.F. at some time in the future, and that I could therefore have claimed exemption, I decided that a time in the Army would be of some advantage and give me some experience of Service life when I finally received the call to enter the Air Force.

On 31st December 1941, I began my Army career, and on 8th June, 1942,I received my Discharge from the 18th Garrison Battalion. The next day, 9th June, 1942, I enlisted in the R.A.A.F. to start my Air Force career. With sixty other young men, one of whom I knew - George Skipworth - we were placed on a train and sent to a Training School at Shepparton in Victoria. Three weeks of intense drill instruction and fitness tests followed, and we were then
dispersed in groups of six or seven or eight or nine, in all directions to other R.A.A.F. Stations in Victoria, New South Wales and South Australia. I, with eight others, was sent
to Cressy in Victoria. Cressy was an Air Force Navigation Training Station. My group’s duty was Ground Staff as guards for the Station. After six weeks of guard duties I was posted to Somers in Victoria to begin my initial Air
Crew training. This course was like being back at school - Maths, Geography, English, Navigation, Morse Code and Physical Fitness. At the same time we were all given aptitude tests and these determined our actual careers. I was amongst those who were selected to train as Pilots.
I was sent to Parafield in South Australia to begin my flying training.

Parafield was No. 1 E.F.T.S. (Elementary Flying Training School). We commenced our flying training on DH.82’s (the Tiger Moths) on 19th December 1942. My last training
flight at Parafield was on 5th February 1943. I was next posted to No. 6 S.F.T.S. (Service Flying Training School) at Mallala, for training on Avro-Ansons.

My last flying exercise on Avro Ansons was on 25th May 1943, after which I was presented with my Pilot’s Wings by the then Governor of South Australia, Sir Malcolm Barclay-Harvey. I was then posted to the Embarkation Depot at Ascot Vale Showground’s in Melbourne, to await a posting to operations areas. While at the Embarkation Depot I was one of about a dozen pilots sent to Point Cook Flying School to do a course of Beam Flying in Air Speed Oxford Planes. After a short course of only ten days I was sent back to Ascot Vale.

I must record one really scary happening while I was on this Point Cook course. Pilots doing this Beam School flew in pairs with one Instructor pilot. My partner was Len Bence, who still lives in Burra. These exercises were of two hours flying - one hour for each of the young pilots. The one-hour’s flying was performed under a hood which meant that we could only see the instruments. On this particular flight the Instructor gave me the first exercise, but after about fifteen minutes, he said, “Right. That’s O.K. Get your mate up front." He gave Len about fifteen minutes, and said, “Right! That’s good enough. I’ll take over and do some low flying.” The Instructor took over the controls and after only a few minutes we were down below the treetops in a large creek. Suddenly the plane shuddered, and we realised that we had stuck some object. The Instructor said that he would make a landing at a satellite drome at Little River to check the plane. We landed at Little River and climbed out to see whether the aircraft had actually suffered any damage. To our horror we found that the top twelve inches of the rudder had
been lopped off! We had no option but to fly back to Point Cook and face the music. Len and I were in the clear, but the Instructor was in real trouble. We eventually discovered that we had flown under power lines, which we had not seen. What a very large slice of luck! If we had been nine inches higher, the power lines would have struck the steel aerial mast and the three of us would probably have been electrocuted!

From then on Len and I took great care when we had to do any low flying exercises. A few days later we were sent back to Adelaide by train. The next day 220 pilots were
sent by bus to Port Adelaide and loaded on to an 8,000-ton cargo vessel to begin our trip overseas to - somewhere!
Another two days passed before we were told that we were heading to England. Our trip took us through the Panama Canal and across the Atlantic. After seven weeks we were
landed in Avon Mouth, a port in the Bristol Channel. This seven-week trip from Port Adelaide included a few very unforgettable incidents!

The first unwelcome experience was a really wild storm two days out in the Pacific Ocean, after going through Cook Strait. This Strait separates the North and South Islands of New Zealand. The storm hit our ship at about 5 a.m. and buffeted us for about twenty hours. The waves were like rolling mountains, some smashing almost over the whole ship. Many times the ship rode up the wave and plunged down the other side, lifting the propeller out of the water. This allowed the prop to increase revolutions, causing the ship to really shudder, making us all fear that the vessel would break in half. The storm left us next morning, and at dawn, the crew discovered that one of the lifeboats had been badly damaged, and one life raft had disappeared!

We eventually arrived at the Panama Canal and at the Port of Panama we were able to obtain repairs and obtain a new life raft. After 36 hours in Panama Bay we proceeded through the Canal and Lakes to the outlet into the Caribbean Sea. We had been told, that before we entered the Caribbean Sea, we would have a short leave ashore in Colon. It was just about dusk, and we could all see the lights of Colon, when a fairly large barge appeared just ahead of us. We were all waiting for our ship to turn to starboard to approach Colon when we were informed that the barge in front of us was heading out to drag the huge submarine nets that were protecting the entrance to the Canal, and that we were going to proceed into the Caribbean and give Colon a miss. As you can imagine, there were 220 angry pilots, but of course we had no say in the proceedings! It was almost dark when we reached the Caribbean Sea, and we soon passed an old American Liberty Ship. Our top speed was about 14 knots; the old Liberty ship’s top speed was about 8 or 9 knots. At 3 a.m. next morning our Radio Operator received an S.O.S. from the Liberty Ship we had passed earlier, indicating that it had been torpedoed by a German submarine. Fortunately we did not turn around to give assistance, as an American destroyer had radioed that it was going to help. Another lucky one for us!

To finish off my account of the trip on this small cargo ship, the s.s.”Denbigshire”, I will mention a few memories of the conditions on board.

No. 1: We all slept in hammocks slung over our mess tables, which meant dismantling all beds before any meals could be served. Most of us had much difficulty over the first few nights in getting used to sleeping in hammocks. There were quite a few uncomfortable falls down on to the mess tables. Eventually we managed to stay in the
hammocks and to sleep very soundly.

No. 2: The food consisted mainly of boiled rabbit and vegetables. It was not uncommon to find in your pieces of rabbit, what appeared to be a small string of black opals!! It was only the great supply of chocolate and biscuits that allowed us to survive the trip.

No. 3: The toilet arrangement appeared to me (as a recent farmer) to be solid metal sheep water rough. A plank of timber with a row of about ten inch holes, spaced along the length of the trough, made the toilet a six-seater! The tin shed over the trough did not prevent the occasional wave from coming over the side of the hatchway and drenching
those in residence!

It is not hard to imagine how glad we were to vacate the ship and go ashore. We were all marched to the railway station at Avon Mouth and were sent off to the R.A.A.F. reception depot at Brighton on the coast, south of London. The R.A.A.F. had taken over three hotels along the seafront as the Australian Reception Centre. The group
which had traveled on the small cargo vessel was moved into the Hotel Metropole, which in peacetime was a well-patronised holiday hotel. The sleeping arrangements had obviously been changed for the troops as most of the rooms had been converted to accommodate six single beds each. It was certainly one big up-grade for us after spending seven weeks sleeping almost shoulder to shoulder in hammocks.

Our first night in Brighton was one scary experience, as just before midnight we were woken by the screaming of air raid sirens, and then the noise of plane motors and anti-
aircraft gun fire. We were all ordered downstairs to the basement - we were on the fifth floor. It was not what we would have called a great welcome to England. Only a few bombs exploded, and we were told that the German raid was really on a place further north towards London. These really frightening noises soon became quite commonplace and we learnt to live with them. After that first night down in the basement we realised that all the plumbing we could see were sewage, hot water and cold water pipes. We thought that if a bomb hit the hotel, we would probably drown in the basement, so from then on, when the call “Down to the basement” came, we locked our doors and watched the fireworks and searchlights weaving about trying to pick up the German planes, from the seafront windows.

Brighton was a very pleasant seaside resort, but we were all over there to do what we were trained to do, and we were all anxious to get out flying. We all got very bored as we had almost five months of doing parades, marching and fitness exercises. I must admit that we had been in Brighton for only about three weeks when I first met
Peggy at a dance hall. For the next four months, Peggy and I either went dancing or ice skating two or three times a week. Eventually I received a posting to an aerodrome in Oxfordshire, to begin flying Air Speed Oxford planes. This course was an Advanced Flying Unit. After three months of pressure training, my last exercise was night take-off and landing. A close mate of mine was doing the same exercise on the same night, and on the following day we were both to be posted to a more advanced Flying School - an O.T.U. (Operational Training Unit) - on Wellington aircraft. I had completed several take-offs and landings on this night flying exercise, when Control Tower called up and told me to do one more take-off and landing. I could complete my flight and return to parking bay - which I did. On my return to the flight room I was congratulated on completing my course and told that I would be moving on to the next further Advance Unit. I was still in the flight room when word came through that my mate, Ernie Cormack, who thought he was on his final landing, was told to do one more take-off and landing to complete his course. He took off, and on his approach to his landing, he made one mistake as he struck a tree, crashed and unfortunately was killed. It took me about three days to recover enough to go on to my next flying course.

The new course was 27 O.T.U (Operation Training Unit) at Litchfield in the County of Staffordshire. The first introduction to Litchfield was quite a big jump forward in the flying career, as we had to choose a crew to fly as a team. All new aircrew, Navigators, Bomb-aimers, Wireless Operators, Gunners and Pilots were assembled in one large hall. The exercise now was for each Pilot to wander around and find one Navigator, one Bomb-aimer, one Wireless Operator and Two Gunners to act as his crew.
This was one very large task! Fortunately each airman had his badge to indicate his occupation. It took quite a few
hours of moving around, introducing ourselves, and trying to assess if we could group as an aircrew team. Just imagine - could we get along with a chap, or would he be prepared to risk flying with me?

After quite a lot of conversations I was able to settle for a crew to fly with me - Ray Wood from Melbourne (Navigator)
Laurie Lovelock from Melbourne (Bomb-aimer) Neville Adam from Sydney (Wireless Operator) Bernie Edwards from Sydney (Mid Upper Gunner), and Bill Allen from Sydney (Rear Gunner). I consider myself very fortunate, as we were able to work together and mould into a team.
The next day we were introduced to our new aircraft - a Vickers Wellington. We were on this course for very advanced flying, preparing for operational flying, for just over six weeks.

On one occasion we were sent on a Nichel raid over France. A night Nichel raid was a leaflet-dropping exercise to suggest how the French people could assist Allied troops. The target area where we were sent to drop the leaflets was along the southern coast of Brittany Peninsula - a town by the name of Vannes. As we approached the dropping area, Ray, the Navigator, called me on the aircraft intercom to say we were getting close to the dropping area. I called Bernie, (the Mid Upper Gunner) to come down from his upper gun turret, as it was his job to push the bundles of leaflets down through the flare chute.
He replied, “On my way down!” As we were flying at 16,000 feet, we were all on oxygen. When a crewmember had to change position in the aircraft, he had to un-plug from the main supply lines and plug into a small bottle of oxygen to carry to the new work area. Bernie called me on R/T to say that he was at the flare chute. Ray called me to say, “Minute to dropping zone”. I called Bernie to prepare to start pushing bundles of leaflets through the chute. The reply from Bernie consisted of just one burst of laughter! I called again, and still his only reply was laughter. I called Nev, the Wireless Operator, to move back down the aircraft to check on Bernie. About one minute later Nev called me from down by the flare chute to tell me that Bernie was having quite a picnic. All he was doing was laughing and throwing bundles of leaflets around inside the aircraft! Nev realised what had happened. Bernie had not plugged into the main oxygen supply when he got down to the flare chute and was now quite unaware of what he was doing! Nev plugged Bernie back into the main supply and he quickly regained his senses.

We had to be very careful because one didn’t realise that the oxygen supply was not with you, and you just quietly became unconscious. We were told that without oxygen you only had about 15 minutes before you moved on to the next world! If we had to fly for any length of time above 12,000 feet, we would plug into the oxygen supply at about 6,000 feet. We experienced one rather scary exercise during our training. We were about to take off to do a cross-country trip up to Scotland and over to the Isle of Wight and back to base. We had commenced our take-off run and were about to take-off speed (which was 105
m.p.h.) when our port side tyre burst. This let the portside wing drop and let the port side motor propeller touch the ground. The old Wellington swung away off the runway in
clouds of dust. I had to immediately switch off both motors, and we came to a stop some five chains away from the runway! As it was well-known that the Wellingtons were liable to burst into flames, there were six airmen standing about 100 yards away from the aircraft in the matter of a very few seconds! That was just another case of luck being with us! If my memory serves me correctly, only a couple of minutes elapsed before a fire truck was with us, but fortunately the old Wellington did not burst into flames. We were taken back to the flight room, had a quick check, and found that we were all still in one piece. We were then taken back to our quarters, and as you may guess, we all had some washing to do!! What a fright we all had! However, we were back the next day, in a different plane, and continued with our course.

With the Wellington O.T.U. course completed, we were moved on to a new course in Yorkshire at an H.C.U. (Heavy Conversion Unit), converting on to the four-engine Halifax at Riccall. With two extra motors to deal with, we would now meet and hopefully have a Flight Engineer join our crew. Flying a twin-engine plane was quite a hands and eyeful of work to keep check on two sets of oil pressure gauges petrol gauges, speedo’s, temperature gauges, altimeter dials, compass etc. As there were no Australian Engineers available, we had to meet with a
room full of English, Scottish, Irish and Canadian Engineers, and find someone whose language at least we could understand! Eventually I met this young Irish “Geordie” - Tom Davidson. We had quite a chat and eventually decided that we could live and work together. He fitted in well and was able to get along with us six Aussies.

Our first flight with the C.F.I., (Chief Flying Instructor) was designed to see whether I could handle the four-engine plane. After two take-offs and two landings, we were sent off on our own. From then on it was a series of cross-country flights, and then night flying take- offs and landings, and then night cross-country flights. Fortunately we were able to get along well together and bonded into what I can say was a pretty good operational team.

This course lasted for five weeks and included several fighter affiliation exercises. These trips consisted of learning how best to avoid being shot up by fighter planes. Fortunately the fighter planes making the attacks were our Spitfires! The course conversion on to four-engine aircraft last five weeks. The course included night and day flights of practice bombings and cross-country trips. During this course I was promoted from Flight Sergeant to Pilot Officer. To gain this position I was first of all interviewed by our Station Wing Commander. I then had a trip to our Group Headquarters to front up to the Group Captain. Fortunately I was able to convince the Group Captain that I had the ability to fly the planes and also work with the
men in my crew, and they seemed quite happy to work with me.

From this course we were posted to an Operational Squadron, still in Yorkshire, at a place by the name of Driffield. As a crew, we were quite pleased that we had been posted to 466 Squadron - an R.A.A.F. Squadron attached to the R.A.F. This meant that all crews consisted mainly of Australians. As there were very few Australian Flight Engineers in England, we all had either English or Scottish or Irish Flight Engineers. All new crews posted to the Squadron were put through a de-compression chamber to show them what would happen if they did not use oxygen as was required. The Sergeant in charge of the “tank” as it was called, asked for two of the crew to do this exercise to show the others what would happen if they did not use the “gas”. Bernie, my Mid-upper Gunner, and I volunteered to not use the mask. The Sergeant began to de-compress the ”tank”. At 16,000 feet Bernie passed out, and he was smartly put back on to oxygen. I got to 19,000 feet, and the sergeant gave me a pencil and paper and asked me to write down the alphabet. I felt insulted! The next thing I was suddenly “brought back to life” and shown what I had written on the paper. The “A” was perfect; the “B” was reasonable; ”C” was a little bit wobbly; with “D” I just managed the down stroke; and then I proceeded to just scribble wobbly lines all over the page. It was a glorious feeling! I had just floated away to fairyland! But it showed the crew that you must not take off the oxygen mask while at high altitudes.

It was now time to be tested to find out whether I could fly this new model Halifax. The Halifax we flew at the previous course (H.C.U.) had four Rolls Royce in-line motors 1250 horsepower. This new Halifax on 466 Squadron had four Hercules Radial motors 1650 horsepower, and also an extra five feet wingspan. We now had 6,600 horsepower to
handle instead of 5,000 horsepower on the previous Halifax. The Squadron C.F.I. (Chief Flying Instructor) had to check us out. After two take-offs and two safe landings we were O.K’d to go out on our own. Before any new pilot and his crew were sent on an operational trip, the new pilot was sent on an operation with an experienced crew - just to act as second pilot for experience, and to be able to tell his crew just what we would have to front up to over enemy territory. This trip was a very scary one. It was a night operation to a town in Germany. The searchlights, the anti-aircraft fire, and the German night fighter aircraft made this a very frightening experience. I then had to explain to all my crew just what we were going to experience in our own aircraft.

We had several flights on our own, around our own area in England, including two cross-country trips, one fighter affiliation exercise, and one night flying exercise doing night
take-offs and landings. Then the day arrived - the 6th October 1944. We were placed on the Operations Roster!
It was to be a daylight raid on a synthetic oil refinery at the city of Sterkrade in the Ruhr Valley, a great industrial area of Germany. We called this area “Happy Valley”!! It was
a very heavily defended area. This raid consisted of just over 600 aircraft, most of which were Lancasters and Halifax’s. While still about thirty miles from the target, we could see a mass of black flak bursts over the target area. Suddenly I felt our aircraft shudder, and realised that our port inner motor was in trouble. I called Tom, our Flight Engineer, and he quickly replied that we had lost all oil pressure in that port motor. I switched the motor off, and feathered the propeller straight away, as if the motor was able to keep revs it would, without oil, very quickly seize, and the propeller would most likely sheer off the shaft and come hurtling into the fuselage of our Halifax. We were now slowed down, but we had to continue on to the target to drop our load of about 10,000 Ibs of bombs. Fortunately we were lucky enough to get through the target area and start our trip back to England. One of our Squadron planes just ahead and slightly to our starboard side received a direct hit and blew to pieces. I saw five parachutes open, and just as it opened, one was hit and blown to shreds. It seemed that two of the crew did not bail out. Eventually we struggled back to base at Driffield, and as I called up for permission to land, saying that we had one motor out, we were given a priority landing. After landing and out of the aircraft waiting for a truck to pick us up to take us all back to our flight room, we counted 33 holes in various areas of the fuselage and wings. One of the holes in our port side wing was the size of a house door. How lucky we were - not one of us was injured - but we were all very shaken up! The flying time for this op. was 4 hours and 45 minutes.

The very next day we were again put on Op duty. The plane we flew the day before, “T TARE”, was still under repair so we were delegated to another aircraft “P PETER”. “P PETER” was to be our aircraft when it was not out of action for repairs. “P PETER” took us out and returned us safely over 19 operational trips of the 36 trips we flew. The 19 trips in “P PETER” consisted of two-day ops and 17 night ops. The 36 trips over all consisted of 10 daylight ops and 26 night ops with my own crew, plus one trip - my first op with an experienced crew as a Second Pilot - a night operation, making my tally 37 ops.

Our first trip in “P PETER” was a daylight op to the town of Kleve. Reports from our Intelligence people told us that the German Army had boxed in the British and Canadian
troops near Kleve. This was the area where the Germans were dispersing their army reinforcements and supplies. Our aim was to “shift Kleve”, or rather to really re-organise
the whole area and let our British and Canadian troops move through. We had about 450 aircraft to carry out this raid. Each plane had about 11,000 Ibs of bombs. These 450 planes represented many different Squadrons. Our Squadron - 466 - had 18 planes on this op, of which 16 returned to our base back in England. Two days later we were given Intelligence Reports on our raid on Kleve. Kleve was almost completely demolished, and the British and Canadian troops were able to advance and push the German troops back. Flying time for this raid was 4 hours 15 minutes.

There had been a very sorry event three days before our raid on Kleve. The British and Canadian troops had called in the U.S.A. Air Force to bomb and release them from their
trapped position. Unfortunately the Americans did not identify their bombing target with much skill, and killed something like 800 British and Canadian troops. We almost had a ”war within a war” The day after the Kleve raid we enjoyed a day of rest. The following day we were put “on call” to ready ourselves for a night op. Just after darkness, our Squadron, 14 planes, took off on our way to the target - the city of Bochum. “P PETER” was our taxi again. Just over 300 planes made up the attack force, each plane carrying 10,500 Ibs of bombs, which included many incendiary bombs known as “fire sticks”. We sighted two German night fighter planes, but fortunately they did not make attacks on us. However, a few other planes were hit. Our flying time, with no troubles, was 5 hours 25 minutes.

The Squadron was in action again three days later, but we were not called on. Unfortunately our plane had been called to action and returned with some damage. The next day we were called to be on duty and as “P PETER” was not available we were allocated another plane - “V VICTOR” - to fly on a night op to Duisburg. We carried
10,000 Ibs of bombs. As we approached the target area we had to take two evasive movements to avoid German fighter planes. We bombed and returned to base after 5
hours 40 minutes flying time. The plane had only suffered three small flak holes. Over the next five days we experienced very bad weather so there was no flying.
The sixth day we were called on duty. As “P PETER” had been returned to flying condition, we would be back, much to our joy, in this special aircraft. We were briefed for the night op to Hanover. We had just crossed the English coast when the Wireless Operator, Nev Adam, called me
up on the radio to say the force was to abort op and return to base. We certainly did not ask any silly questions and very quickly did an about-turn. As we had some delay-timed
bombs aboard, we had to drop them in a dropping area about 60 miles out from the coast in an area prohibited to all shipping. It was rather unsafe to try to land with the chance that delay bombs may, on a jolt from landing, set their timer working. The delays could be from 2 hours to 144 hours. As a result we were back at base after only 1 hour 55 minutes flying time.

Over the next ten days the weather was very bad so we enjoyed a spell. The weather cleared and we were placed on Op duty again - another night trip in “P PETER” - this time to the city of Dusseldorf. We only had 6,500 Ibs of bombs. On this op we really had no problems. There was very little flak. The trip was over 5 hours 45 minutes.
We had a day’s rest and then back on night ops the next day. Again a night op in “P PETER” to Bochum with 10,500 Ibs of bombs. The flak was very heavy, but we were amongst the very lucky ones and did not receive one flak hole in “P PETER”. As we were just about to drop our bombs on the target, a plane just out on our starboard side burst into flames. I knew it was probably one of our Squadron, but was not sure. Very quickly the plane just blew to pieces and fell earthwards.

We were back at base after 5 hours 25 minutes flying. A truck picked us up from our parking bay and took us back to the de-briefing room. In this room there was a huge
blackboard where all take-off times and return times for each crew were recorded. Not long after there was only one crew without a time of return against its name. It became clear that most likely the plane we saw go down was that of Joe Herman and his crew. It was a few weeks later that we were told that Joe and his Mid-upper Gunner had been taken prisoner by the Germans. It was not until the end of the conflict in Germany that Joe and the Gunner were returned to England. We were made aware of one of the most incredible stories of the War. When their plane blew to pieces, Joe was blown out of the plane without his parachute. As pilots and captains of our crews had only the chest type chute packs we were not able to wear the chute while we had charge of flying the plane, so our chutes were placed alongside our seats by one of our crew. When the pilot thought that all of his crew were out, he then grabbed his pack, hooked it into his harness, and got
out. Joe was just about to grab his pack when he saw John Viveash (his gunner) crawling along the floor towards the exit door, so he had to try to hold whatever control he could
over the plane until John got out. Before he could grab his chute, the plane just blew to pieces. We were flying at 17,000 feet; pitch black outside; time 1 a.m.

When we met him on his return to England, Joe told us that in a few seconds his whole life flashed past him. He then bumped into something, and he grabbed whatever it was. Then he heard a voice, and he told us that he was sure it was an angel talking to him! It was only when the voice screamed, “Be careful; you’re hanging on to my legs and one is broken!” that he realised what had happened. They came down to earth with Joe hanging on to John’s legs! John must have opened his chute, and just slowed down a fraction when they collided. They were badly hurt and were taken prisoner. I guess it could be said that what happened to Joe and John was a miracle. Joe (from Queensland) died only about four years ago (i.e. in 1999). John, after surviving this miracle, was killed in a motorcycle accident at Tamworth in New South Wales in 1949.
The five other crewmembers baled out before the plane blew up. Only one was taken prisoner. The other four were not taken prisoner, but were buried by the Germans.

Our next op. was a night trip in “P PETER” to lsenkerchen in “Happy Valley”. This was a short trip - 4 hours 50 minutes with 10,500 Ibs of bombs. It was a fairly quiet trip
with only one flak hole. Over the next nine days our crew had a leave spell, which we certainly enjoyed. The day after we arrived back to the Squadron we were sent on a day op to Munster in “S SUGAR”. Poor old “P PETER” had been on a trip while we were on leave and was out
of action for repairs. This too was a quiet trip. Two days later we had to prepare for a night op in “S SUGAR” to Sterkrade. There were no problems.

Over the next five days there were heavy snowfalls so we were ground-bound. Snow ploughs kept the runways reasonably clear, but each crew had a big task with snow shovels trying to clear snow from around our aircraft. The first two days we had a ball, tossing snow at each other; after that we cursed the snow! Eventually the weather cleared and we were on ops again. The first was a night op to Duisburg in “P PETER” - 6 hours 40 minutes flying time. The flak was pretty heavy, and just as we were moving away from the target, “P PETER” lurched down on our port side. I thought that our port wing had dropped off. I had both hands on the control trying to hold “PETER” from flipping over on its back, as I knew that if we got over on our back, the plane would go into a spin, and we would not be able to recover the old girl from a spin. I could hear the rest of the crew calling out to me. We were all wearing oxygen masks, and our radio contact switch was on the front of the mask. The contact was only used very sparingly because, if the switch was left on, all the other crew just got a hiss as you breathed. My switch was off, and I knew that if I took my hand off the plane control,
we were “over and out”.

When I was not answering, the crew thought I had been hit. As soon as I felt that I had “P PETER” under control, I was able to take one hand off the control, flick my radio switch on and call out that I was O.K. I was aware of what the crew went through for a very short time. During this very short time, old “P PETER” had lost 5,000 feet of height. We never ever worked out what had happened for certain. It could have been a combination of several things. It could have been an “air pocket”, a “slip stream” from
another aircraft up in front of us; or flak burst. The good news was that “P PETER” was still flying; we had no real damage; and we were able to get back to base. It wasn’t until we got back to our interrogation room that Bill, my Rear Gunner, informed me that we nearly lost him over Germany. When I was not answering the crew calls, Bill
as the Rear Gunner, made his move to bail out. He said he was not prepared to stay in the aircraft if his driver was not driving! In order to bail out of his turret, the Rear Gunner had to turn his turret around, slide open a small door, and fall out backwards. Bill said that he had turned his turret around, had the sliding door open, and in a second or two would have been out and on his way down into Germany. When I called out that I was O.K. and in control of the plane, he said that he just reached around and closed the door! How lucky was I that at our interrogation I did not have to tell the officer that we just dropped our Rear Gunner out over Germany somewhere!

The most stressful period of our tour of ops took place in early February 1945. On the 1st February, we had a night op to Mainz - a 6 hour 40 minute flight, carrying 6,000 Ibs of bombs. On the 2nd February - a night trip of 5 hours 10 minutes to Wanne Eichel with 6,000 Ibs of bombs.
On the 4th February - a night trip of 5 hours 20 minutes to Gelsenkerchen with 7,500 Ibs of bombs. On the 7th February - a night trip of 6 hours to Goch with 8,000 Ibs of
bombs. On the 8th February - a trip of 5 hours 35 minutes to Wanne Eichel with 8,000 Ibs of bombs. Each of these five ops we flew in “P PETER”. On each of the last two trips we pilots were supplied with two Benzadrine tablets to keep us awake! These tablets were commonly known as “Wakey wakey” tablets.

When we got back to Driffield on the fifth trip of this particular period, we were confronted by a new system of runway lighting. We had been told that at some stage this new system, known as a High Tension System, would be used only in foggy conditions as it would penetrate fogs to a greater depth and thus help with landings. This particular night was a beautiful clear night. Our Wing Commander would often drive his car out to the landing end of our runway to just see (he hoped) all our aircraft return.

The first two planes to land just scraped in over the boundary fence. The Wing Commander wondered whether this new system of lights was just a bit too glary on such a clear night, so he contacted the Flying Control Tower to switch the new system off and just use the usual lights. While he was getting the new lights switched off, the third pilot came in just a fraction lower than the first two and clipped the telephone lines. I happened to be that third pilot!
To land the plane our crew Bomb-aimer was seated next to the pilot. As we prepared to touch down he would be told to “cut”, which meant that he had to hold all throttles fully off while we had to have both our hands on the controls, to sit the old craft on to the runway. As we clipped the telephone wires there was a huge blinding flash, which lit up the whole cockpit. I quickly realised that my Bomb-aimer had disappeared out of his seat. I yanked the throttles up, lifted the plane up, then let down on to the end of the runway. As we were running down the runway, Ray, the Navigator, found Laurie, the Bomb-aimer, lying on the cockpit floor with blood running from a cut on the side of his head. I quickly called Flying Control to meet us with an ambulance and a doctor as we turned off the runway. As I stopped old “P PETER” the doctor climbed in to inspect Laurie. He was quickly taken out of the aircraft and conveyed to hospital. What had happened was that one of the propellers had hooked the telephone wires,
thrashed them through the front window of the cockpit and struck Laurie just behind his right eye. He had been knocked unconscious. He spent three days in hospital and then a week on light duties, which meant no flying.

While Laurie was out of action we were sent on two ops with a “spare bod” Bomb-aimer. As a crew we were very pleased when Laurie re-joined us. This even showed us all just how much we relied on luck! Had those telephone wires smashed my side of the cockpit window and knocked me out, our plane would have crashed, and probably none of us would have survived. Fortunately for me, the fact that our Wing Commander was watching us coming in, meant that he recognised the problem we were having with those new lights, which should not have been used on such a clear night. As a result I only had to fill out a report on what I had experienced, and it was as the Wing Commander had suggested - the light glare on this clear night.
I must mention another frightening experience, which did not help relations with the ground Flight Control people. Flying Control had for some time been installing a new radio control landing procedure, which would help in foggy conditions. I think it was six crews from “B” Flight who were sent up to try this new procedure. We had twelve crews in each of “A” and “B” Flights. After flying around for about an hour, we had still not been called on to start our landing
exercise. Each crew called up Control to say that we could see a snowstorm approaching, so let’s get down! We were told to stand by, as the new equipment was not quite ready to use. As the storm arrived we all called to let us down quickly. We were told that the equipment would be in operation in just a few minutes. Within a few minutes Ground Control called us up to say the equipment was not working and to land under our own steam!

By this time we could not see the drome and runways. We had real trouble circling and trying to find the runways. On about our third circuit I sighted the runway just on our port
side, but we were too far along to have room to land and stop before the boundary. I then had to open up the motors to go on another circuit. I saw one plane had landed but had overshot the end of the runway and had come to a stop after ripping down the boundary fence. It was almost 5 chains out into a farmer’s ploughed paddock. I continued on the circuit and finally managed to sight the runway a little bit late. However, I decided, seeing that the fence had already been ripped down, to touch down rather than risk another circuit. We finished up in the ploughed paddock too. We had no damage and our plane was towed back to the hangar O.K.

We as a crew were sent on our 9-day leave break. We were back at the Squadron on the 20th February, and were placed on operations on the 21st. Unfortunately, while we were away, the Squadron had been on four ops, and our
dear old faithful “P PETER” had been shot down over Germany. The op for the 21st was a night trip of 6 hours 30 minutes to Worms in “X XRAY”. This was a smaller raid with only about 90 planes taking part. Word had come through from Intelligence that the Germans were dispersing their troops from a small railway siding in
Worms. We were sent to destroy the station, which we did!
On the 24th we had a daylight trip of 6 hours 10 minutes to Kamen.

On the 27th we were sent on a daylight raid to Mainz in “S SUGAR”, a trip we were
unable to complete. As we were crossing the English Channel, Tom, the Flight Engineer,
called me to say that we had a fuel leak of about 60 gallons an hour. I replied that I
seemed to have a power problem with the port inner motor.



It was then that I could see fuel running back over our port wing. Tom called again to say that it appeared that we were now losing over 100 gallons an hour.
To try to avoid a fire I had to cut our port inner motor. I feathered the propeller. As we
were less than halfway to our target, I decided to abort the operation. We then had to get
a course to a bomb drop area in the Channel, an area prohibited to all shipping. We made
this dropping area, dropped our bombs and then made our way back to an emergency
landing strip at Manston R. A.F. Base in the County of Kent. We made a safe landing on
the three motors and taxied around to the repairs hangar.
We had to stay at Manston overnight while the plane was inspected and repaired. The
problem was found to be a loose nut on a fuel pipe. The next day we were able to take off
and fly back to our base at Driffield.
On the 2nd March we were placed on ops - a daylight flight to Cologne in “Q QUEENIE”.
This was a real eye-opener. It was the first “over 1,000 bomber” raid that we flew in.
Just over 1,100 planes took off from all parts of England, and when we were eventually
placed and set off towards Germany, the sky seemed to be full of aircraft.
On the next night, the 3rd March, we were sent on a night op in “Q QUEENIE” to Kamen.
It was a fairly quiet trip until we got back over England and were preparing to land at
Driffield. Our Squadron had 17 planes on this op. As each one of us called Control for
permission to land, we were told that German night fighters had infiltrated our Force and
had crossed the coast with the bomber stream, but it was still O.K. to land! Eleven of us
managed to land. I was the eleventh to come in, when the other six planes still flying were told that enemy planes were in our area, and that they had to “scram” - that is, “get the hell out of here” - as landing planes would be “sitting ducks” for the German fighters.

I was able to taxi round to our parking bay and switch off our motors. We all climbed out
of “Q QUEENIE” and then had to wait for a truck to pick us up to take us back to our flight rooms. As we waited, we heard a plane, which we realised was not a Halifax. The next minute this stranger screamed over our heads. It was a JU88!
The ground crew chap who had put the chocks under our wheels was a young R.A.F. bod.
When Bluey, my Mid-upper Gunner suggested running a couple of chains to jump into a
slit trench for a bit of protection, the Pommy chap, realising that the German fighter had
disappeared, said
“ No, no. Some of the ground crew have been using the trench to crap in!”
The next minute we could hear from the aircraft screaming, that the fighter had turned and was coming back towards us. Guess who led the race to the slit trench?
All we could see were tracer bullets coming over our heads. Fortunately no one was hit,
but the plane strafed right across the drome with 20 mm cannon, and almost cut one of our hangers in halves.
Two of our craft still flying were shot up. One had only just started to climb away from
the drome when it was blasted and crashed. Only two of the crew survived. One other of
our planes was shot up and caught fire at 2,000 ft. but they were all able to bail out. Only
one was injured. He broke his leg as he hit the ground.
We had not lost one aircraft over Germany, but we lost two over our own drome. During
the whole raid, only five planes had been lost over the target, but 21 were shot down over
England.
It did seem to be more than coincidence that the German fighters attacked on this particular night. We had been told a few weeks earlier that the “Gerries” were short of fuel and that such a raid was unlikely to take place. We had two night fighter squadrons in our group as protection, but not one of our fighters got airborne, as both squadrons had been stood down for a combined night party!
It did appear that there may have been an intelligence leak. These leaks did happen both
ways. It was amazing what we were told about what had happened in the previous 24
hours at the target we were being briefed to attack - things such as the number of trains that went through the main station; what they were carrying; how many anti-aircraft guns were in the area; how many searchlights may be operating; how many fighter planes were
operating in the area.

The next day, 4th March, we had a rest and spent most of the day just trying to forget our
experience with those German night fighter planes.
We were all on deck on the morning of the 5th March, when we were called in to prepare
for another night op. When we were all seated in our briefing hall, our Intelligence Officer pulled aside the curtain covering our big map of Europe, and it showed, with the usual thin line of red tape, our route to a target.
As there was no red tape showing our route back to
England, we all thought that it was to be a shuttle bombing raid, which meant that after
bombing, we would go on to land in Russia to re-fuel and re-load with bombs and bomb
another target, probably the next day on our way back to England.
When our Intelligence Officer felt that we had all worked out what was to happen, he put
his hand in his pocket, pulled out a roll of red tape and marked a line back to England.
The target was the city of Chemnitz, now Karl-Marx-Stadt. It was to be our longest op - 9
hours 30 minutes.
After the briefing of the likely number of searchlights and anti-aircraft, we all went to our
flight rooms to get our parachutes, the weather report, and instructions as to what height we were to set course just above the cloud tops. It was to be freezing level at 2,000 feet,
which we were told would be just above the cloud top.
Just at dusk we began our take-off positions. It was quite dangerous to be in cloud as it
meant ice could form on the plane. At 2,000 feet we were still in cloud; at 4,000 feet still
in cloud; at 5,000 feet still in cloud. At 8,000 feet we were still in cloud, and I realised
that ice was building up on our wings so I decided to get down below the cloud. If too
much ice gathered on the wings it upset the airflow and made it dangerous to control the
aircraft.
At just under 2,000 feet we were just below the cloud and the ice started to clear. By the
time we got to the English Channel we were able to climb away to our bombing height of
15,000 feet. I think we had a force of about 650 planes on this raid. Our Squadron had 15
planes.
As we crossed over the Channel, darkness started to close in, and from having planes
everywhere it felt as if we were on our own.
We eventually reached our target, released our load over the target, and turned for our
return journey. For a long trip like this we had only 7,000 Ibs of bombs so we could have
an overload tank of fuel in our bomb bay. My Flight Engineer, who checked the fuel
gauges every twenty minutes and switched from tank to tank, suddenly realised that he
could not get the fuel from the overload tank, which carried 220 gallons. Tom called me on the intercom to tell me that we only had 1 hour 30 minutes petrol available. I called Ron, the Navigator, and asked what time we needed to reach the English coast.
He replied,
1 hour 25 minutes!
As our track home took us over part of the cold North Sea, I decided that it was too risky to continue on that route. I did not like the thought of not quite making the English coast
and flopping into the icy sea.
I asked Ray to give us a course to an emergency drome in France - a place called
Juvencourt. It was a drome re-taken from the German troops, and was designated as an
emergency landing for allied planes. Ray got us over Juvencourt, but it was covered with
cloud. I called up Ground Control and told them that we could see no lights, and as there
were hills around the drome, 700 feet in height, it was just too dangerous to come down
through the cloud. In those days altimeter readings could vary several hundred feet so,
until we were able to pinpoint the exact spot of the drome, I was not coming down below
1,200 feet. I asked if they would send a flare up through the cloud, as we were just above
the cloud. Fortunately they sent up a flare which lit up just above the cloud, and I was able to whip over near the flare and carry out a tight descending spiral down through the cloud until, at about 500 feet, I could see the lights of the runway.
As we touched down on the runway, two of our motors cut out, but we were safely on
”mother earth”. It was about 1 a.m. on the 6th March 1945.
The drome was controlled by Americans. We were taken from our plane to barracks and
given a meal. We were then taken to some sleeping quarters where we were able to get
about three hours sleep before being taken to the mess for breakfast.
I was informed that we would not be able to return to England until the next day, the 7th
March, as they did not have enough fuel to re-fuel our Halifax. On the afternoon of the 6th
we were invited to go, per truck, with a couple of American Army soldiers, into the city of Reims, which was the American Headquarters Depot.
The following day, the 7th, we were able to take off and return to our base at Driffield, a
flight of 2 hours 20 minutes.
Unfortunately for my parents back in Aussie, they had received word that my crew and I
had been posted as “missing in action”. They were notified the next day that we had
returned!


On the 8th March we were placed on ops again - this to be a night trip to Hamburg in “V
VICTOR”. We had a flight of 5 hours 30 minutes, along with just over 700 other planes,
each carrying 7,500 Ibs of bombs. We arrived back in England early the next morning at
about 3 a.m. with several holes in “V VICTOR”.
Just after sunrise on the morning of the 11th March, we were called on to prepare for a large raid on Essen. Just after mid-day we were on our way, along with over 1,200 other planes, with the object of re-arranging the set-up of the city of Essen. After a trip of 5 hours 40 minutes, all our 18 planes landed back at Driffield. Eleven of us had some damage to our planes, but fortunately nothing very serious. On this trip our plane was “Q QUEENIE”.
On the 12th March we were sent on a day op in “Q QUEENIE” to Dortmund - 6 hours 5
minutes, and a fairly quiet trip.
On the 13th March we went on a day op to Bottrop, also in “Q QUEENIE”. This 5 hours
30 minutes trip was not a real picnic! We got back to England and to our base with quite a lot of wounds on “Q QUEENIE”
On the 15th, a day op in “Y YELLOW” to Wuppertal was a trip, which we would describe
as “a piece of cake” - 5 hours 30 minutes of no real trouble.
On the 18th March we were alerted for a night trip to Witten. To just change my lines on
this trip, I will tell that when a new crew arrived on the Squadron, the new pilot was sent on operation with an experienced operational crew to observe, and if he arrived safely back at base, he could then tell his own crew members a few things they would experience when they went on their first operation. On this particular operation, my crew and I were chosen to take this new pilot along with us.
I knew just how this new pilot felt - as I had - when I arrived at the Squadron and was sent on the learning flight with an experienced crew.
I was introduced to Flight Sergeant Nelson who was to fly with us on this op to Witten.
His duty was just to sit in the seat alongside me, observe all that went on and ask questions if he was not too sure about anything.
I could remember the trip I had done in this” Second Dicky Trip” as it was known to the new pilot. I could also remember how frightening this experience really turned out to be. As I only had two more operations to complete my tour, I had a fairly good idea as to just what actions had to be carried out in the various situations we confronted on these trips.
On this trip we were mostly worried by the barrage of searchlights which could be very
hard to evade, and if you were unlucky enough to be caught in what we called “a cone of
lights” you were in deadly trouble, as all the ack-ack guns in that area would immediately
be turned and set to fire into the “cone of lights”. With a lot of luck on our side, and a
little bit of skill, I was able, with some fairly violent action, to escape from a “cone of
lights”, and not being “coned” again, we were able to return to our base at Driffield after a trip of 6 hours 30 minutes.
On the 20th we were put on ops - a daylight raid to Reckling Hausen in “R ROGER”. We
had a fairly easy trip of 5 hours 15 minutes. I had just one more trip to complete my tour.

On the 21st we were on ops again in “R ROGER” to Rheine. As a crew we were all on
edge, knowing how many crews were lost on their last operation. We dropped our 7,500
Ibs of bombs on our target area as we flew through fairly heavy flak. I knew that we
would have some damage, as I heard several flak bursts. If you could hear the flak burst, it was a safe bet that there would be holes in the plane somewhere.

On your last operation of a tour you were allowed a small degree of speed variation from
the given instructions. This meant that you could just increase your homeward bound
speed, making sure that you did not over-do it and harm the motors.
The overall time set for the trip was 5 hours 15 minutes. Without over-working the
engines, I was able to shorten the trip to 4 hours 55 minutes. As we were the first crew
back and on our last operation, our Wing Commander was waiting to congratulate us on
completing a tour of 37 ops. After the congratulations, the Wing Commander quietly said
to me,
“Oh Pat, I have sent a blacksmith out to “R ROGER” with a big hammer to bend the
throttles back into position.”
By suppertime it was understandable that we were all very happy with the world, and none of us had a worry in that world! I must confess that next morning that world did not look quite so good!
The worst part of my story had now arrived as we would most likely be sent in different
directions. As a crew we all realised just how lucky we were to have completed a tour of
operations and still be all in one piece. It was a miracle!
As the Captain of this crew, I can say that the dedication each one of my crew showed in
each of the duties they had to perform in their positions was Al. We were able to discuss
so many problems put to us and then come up with the answers. It made my position as
Captain easy to consider and make all the final decisions. It is hard to imagine that a crew
made up of men, or at that time - boys - from three States of Australia and one from
England, could mould together and work so well as one team.
The two Gunners and the Wireless Operator were from New South Wales, the Navigator
and the Bomb-aimer were from Victoria, and I was from South Australia, the State hardly
recognised by the rest of Australia. The Flight Engineer was from England.
It was a sad experience when we were all split up and sent on leave. The six Australians
were sent on extended leave, which meant that every ten days we had to contact Driffield to find out whether we had another posting or leave extended.
Tom Davidson, our English Engineer, was taken back into the R.A.F. (Royal Air Force)
after being on loan to our Australian Squadron of the R. A. A.F.




At the end of the first ten days I was informed that I was to report back to Driffield as I had been posted to a Training Unit. On arrival back at Driffield I discovered that I had been posted to this training unit as an Instructor Pilot. This Unit was known as H.C.U. (Heavy Conversion Unit). We would be instructing pilots converting from smaller twin-engine planes to four engine planes.
This training drome was near the town of Rufforth in the County of Yorkshire, only a few
miles west from the city of York. Driffield, our Squadron 466, was about 30 miles east of
York city, so I had not been sent all that far away.
While flying on operations, the pilot always flew the plane from the left, or port side, of the cockpit, as they were single control. As training aircraft, the Halifax had dual controls, and the instructor always flew from the seat and controls on the right or starboard side. This meant that I had to be checked to make sure that I could fly the plane from the starboard side of the cockpit.
The C.F.I (Chief Flying Instructor) of this Flying Training School was the pilot to fly with me to make sure it was safe for the trainee pilots to fly with me. I had to do only two take- offs and landings, and the C.F.I. said I was O.K. to start training the new pilots.
My first detail was to instruct a French pilot in the art of taking off and landing - usually
called “circuits and bumps”. I performed the first take-off” and landing, and then asked this Froggy” to do the next take-off and landing with his controls.
His take-off, although not a really polished performance, was a safe take-off. He started on the circuit cross wind, then turned down wind, then started his cross wind to get into line to turn on to the runway. I suggested that he had turned crosswind too early, and that he would be too high to make a landing on the runway. This pilot had been flying on this detail before, and he informed me that the other instructors had told me to turn as he had just done. I told him to carry on, and we would see what happened. He turned, and lined up his approach to the runway.
On most of the thousands of aerodromes in England one had to sneak in over the boundary fence and use the full length of the runway, otherwise you would run out of runway and finish up across the farmer’s paddock at the other end. When we were over the boundary fence we were still 300 feet up.
I ordered him to open the throttle and overshoot and go round the circuit again. He realised that he was too high, so around we went again. On the next approach he turned a little later, but I suggested that we would still be too high. It was a little better than the first approach as we were only about 200 feet at the boundary.


I said, “Overshoot again!” He suggested that he would land this time, and he started to
close the throttles.
These big old planes did not glide all that well. He was just going to squash almost
straight down. I yelled, “I’m taking over!” I opened up the throttles and lifted the old
Halifax up to circuit height, flew round the circuit, lined up on the runway, sneaked in just over the boundary fence, touched down and still able to slow down and turn off the runway before hitting the farmer’s fence.
I then taxied used up most of the runway before I was back to our dispersal bay and switched off the motors.
The French pilot said, “What are you doing?” I told him that this detail was finished! I
climbed out and made my way back to the flight room. The C.F.L saw me and came over.
He said, “How come you’re back here?” I explained that the detail had finished. He
suggested that the detail had nearly another hour to go. I then explained to him that only
three weeks ago I had completed a tour of 37 operational bombing trips over Germany, and I had no intention of getting knocked off by the pilot I had just abandoned. I told him just what had taken place. He accepted my story and said that there had been quite a lot of trouble with “these Froggies”.

Over the next three weeks I had quite a few details, including three cross-country exercise trips and several fighter affiliation exercises. These fighter affiliation trips were carried out with mock fighter attacks on our aircraft by Spitfire fighter planes. These exercises were designed to show the new pilots some of the ways to evade the fighter attacks.
I was also given one particular detail to fly one old Halifax to a scrap dump in Scotland.
The old Halifax had been stripped of most of the equipment. I had an instructor engineer,
an instructor navigator and an instructor wireless operator as my crew. We landed on a
drome at Kinloss, a town along the coast north-east from the city of Inverness.
As we slowed down from our landing we were met by a jeep with a huge
“FOLLOW ME’
sign up on the hood. I followed him along, out through a huge gap in the boundary fence,
and parked the old Halifax alongside another old Halifax. It was just like parking a car at
the Adelaide Oval north car park! I guess that there would have been several hundred
other old planes in this park. I just shut down the motors and climbed out of that old
plane.
The four of us were invited into the jeep and taken back to the flying control tower.
Within about a quarter of an hour another Halifax from Rufforth landed and taxied around to the control tower. We boarded the plane and were flown back to Rufforth.
The 28th April 1945, was the last flying detail at Rufforth, and also the last of my R.A.A.F. career.
This detail was a fighter affiliation exercise with a Spitfire making mock attacks
on Halifax “O OBOE’ The pilot under my instruction was Flight Sergeant Tamlin and his
crew. This exercise was only of 1 hour 10 minutes duration.
The following day we were all informed that the battle in Germany was quickly coming to an end. During the next week we were all anxiously waiting for that last news - “It is
over” - Germany had surrendered.

That evening most of the personnel on the Rafford Station were loaded on to buses and
taken to the city of York to celebrate. We were informed that the buses would be ready to
take us back to Rufforth at about midnight.
The group of twelve Instructors with whom I had spent the evening, all agreed that we had better get back to meet our bus as we would have struggled to walk back to Rufforth!
Two days later I was informed that I had been posted to the Australian Air Force Personnel Depot at Brighton, to await a posting back to Australia. I had spent many leaves at Brighton as I had kept in touch with Peggy during my time at various stations around England.
We had arranged to be married on the 26th May 1945, so fortunately I was back in
Brighton early in May. It meant that we had more time to make arrangements than we
thought we would have. Peggy’s sister was her bridesmaid, and my Navigator, Ray Wood, was my Best Man. My two Aussie Gunners, Wireless Operator and Bomb-aimer were able to attend our wedding. My English Flight Engineer was unable to attend as the
R.A.F. had posted him out to Egypt. Several other Aussie airmen - mates of mine - also
attended. Peggy’s mother and father and quite a number of relatives also attended. Peggy
and I spent a week’s honeymoon in the great city of London.
We had only been married for two weeks when I was placed on a draft to be sent back to
Australia. I approached the Commanding Officer of the Brighton Depot and was fortunate enough to be taken out of the draft. A week later I was again placed on a draft. After another meeting with the Commanding Officer I was again excused.
The third draft came up two weeks later. My approach to the Commanding Office this
time was greeted with, “I don’t think I can get you off this time!”
A week later I was one of 2,500 Aussie airmen to go aboard the m.v. “Andes”, a 26,000-ton troopship at the port of Liverpool. Just to make things more interesting, 2,000 R.A.F.
English airmen were also traveling on the “Andes”. Most of these R.A.F. men were
coming out to Australia to work as ground staff on R.A.F. English Transport Command
Stations.

Peggy and I had been told that it would probably be several months before she, and several hundred other English brides, would be able to complete travel arrangements to Australia.
My Rear Gunner, Bill Allen, married a girl from Scotland a few weeks after I left England.
We sailed away from the Port of Liverpool on the 12th July 1945. The ship m.v. “Andes”
was slightly different from the ship we were aboard on our way to England in 1943. The
Andes was a 26,000 ton ship against the s.s. “Denbigshire” 8,000 tons. The “Andes” had a top speed of about 30 knots; the “Denbigshire” had a top speed of about 14 knots.
Those of us who were officers had beds to sleep in - six to a large cabin. Other ranks
slept in what were known as dormitories, but also on beds. The beds were way in front of
the hammocks we had on the “Denbigshire”. The meals were 90 per cent up on our trip
over to England. We traveled from England through the Panama Canal back to Australia, so it meant that we had seen the Panama from two different directions.

The trip from Australia to England had taken seven weeks. The trip back to Australia took just 21 days, which included one day spent in the New Zealand city of Wellington.
We arrived in Sydney Harbour on the 1st August 1945, and docked at Circular Quay about mid-morning. All South Australians and Western Australians had disembarked by mid- day and were loaded on to buses and taken over Sydney Harbour Bridge to the Air Force base at Bradfield Park. We had lunch and then waited for two hours until we were loaded back on to buses and taken back over the bridge to the Central Railway Station.
After waiting some two or three hours we were loaded on to a train and set off for
Melbourne. On the morning of the 2nd August we arrived at the Spencer Street Rail
Station; supplied with a light breakfast, and told that later in the day we would be placed
on a train to Adelaide. We eventually arrived in Adelaide on 3rd August.
From the Adelaide Station we were all taken by buses to the Air Force base at Daws Road, to be given Leave Passes for time due to us. I was given 40 days leave.

My parents were able to meet me at Daws Park, so with great glee I said “Cheerio” to the
Air Force and we headed off to the farm at Maitland. What a wonderful feeling to be back home again! I was prepared to relax and enjoy myself for the 40 days until I would be back in the Air Force and probably be sent up north to continue my flying career.
The 4th and 5th days of August were wonderful - meeting up with my parents and sister
whom I had not seen for just over two years.
The 6th was to be a special day - my 22nd birthday! I was hoping that quite a few people
who knew me would celebrate with me. It so happened that most of the world celebrated!
The 6th August 1945 was the day the first atomic bomb was dropped, and a second bomb was dropped on the 9th August.
A few days later - the 15th August 1945 - Japan surrendered. What a relief! I would
surely not be needed to go back flying again. I was not interested in the 40 days leave, nor was I interested in staying in the R.A.A.F.
I went back to the Daws Road base early in September, and within two days had several
interviews with the Commanding Officer of the base who happened to be well known to
me, and also to many other people in the district of Maitland and Ardrossan. The
Commanding Officer was an Ardrossan man by the name of Perce Sanders.
After signing my name on various documents I was presented with my Discharge from the R.A.A.F., which was forward dated as from the 25th September 1945, with one small
proviso. As an officer I could be recalled at any time over twelve months to give service to the R.A.A.F. After twelve months I was given the all clear.
I returned to the occupation of farming.




It was on New Year’s Eve, 1945 that Peggy arrived in Adelaide. She had traveled with
several other English brides per ship via Fremantle and Melbourne, and then per train to
Adelaide. Peggy and I spent a few days in Adelaide and then returned to live on the farm.












About eighteen months after my discharge from the R.A.A.F., I received a phone call,
requesting me to present myself at Government House in Adelaide to receive the Award of the Distinguished Flying Cross. This was presented to me by the then Governor of South Australia, Sir Willoughby Norrie.













The citation reads -

HONORS AND AWARDS
DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS
FLYING OFFICER HUGH PATRICK GILLIS
417575
CITATION
Flying Officer GILLIS has recently completed a
tour of operational duty consisting of numerous
sorties against the most heavily defended targets in
Germany.
In December 1944, on the first of his sorties as
Captain of aircraft, Flying Officer GILLIS attacked
a synthetic oil plant at Sterkrade. He accurately
bombed the target in the face of intense anti-aircraft
fire, despite the fact that one engine of the aircraft
had been rendered unserviceable.
Later in his tour, this officer made a successful
attack against Kamen although the rear turret of
the aircraft was put out of action. The enemy
fighters were extremely active.
Throughout, the courage and devotion to duty
displayed by Flying Officer GILLIS have been
worthy of the highest Commendation.


In November 1946, our first son (Kevin Patrick) arrived; No. 2 son (Graham John)
arrived in December 1947; our third son (Neville Hugh) was born in April 1952; No 4
son (Stephen Douglas) arrived in October 1954; and No. 5 son (Michael James) was born in July 1957.

I retired (tired) from the farm in 1980 and Peggy and I still live in a house we had built in
1980 at the little seaport of Ardrossan.
Since the early years of the 1950’s there have been times of sorrow. My mother passed
away in 1956; my father died in 1964. Peggy’s father died in the early 1960’s and her
mother in the 1980’s.
Our second son, Graham, passed away in 1993.
Peggy and I now have our family of 4 sons
9 grand children, and
4 great grandchildren
in close touch with us, in spite of being spread in South Australia and New South Wales.
I am still in touch with three of my old air crew. My Navigator lives in Sorrento in
Victoria; the Tail Gunner lives in Sydney; and my Flight Engineer lives in England. The
Bomb-aimer passed away in 1972; the mid Upper Gunner passed away in 1990; and my
Wireless Operator died in 1993.
To finish my story I will just provide a few details to indicate just
how lucky my crew and I were.
The R.A.A.F. in the European theatre of war
lost 5,397 airmen, which added up to nearly one
in every four.
1st January 2004 H. P. GILLIS, D.F.C.