The Final Mission

It is generally accepted by those that were there, that in a war time scenario, a bomber crew, to enhance their chances of survival, must be more closely knit than they are with their own family. Basically because each member must independently execute his specific duties in an above average manner, if the crews’ chances of defeating the “Grim Reaper” were to become reality.

Needless to say, as the experience level associated with successful missions increases, so does the possibility of over confidence raising its ugly head, this is where the pilot (who is always the designated captain regardless of rank) is responsible for ensuring to the best of his ability, that non-conformance is not acceptable, and that guilty crew members would be replaced if the situation developed. Fortunately, our crew was extremely well knit, and said situation never occurred.

At approximately 0130 AM GMT while returning from an attack on Russelsheim Germany (Opel Car works), it was my 44th mission 39th as a Pathfinder, we were suddenly attacked from below by an undetected night fighter.

All hell broke loose, there were numerous explosions and both starboard engines were on fire, there was little to no feel on my control column, and although the aileron controls seemed capable of keeping the aircraft laterally more or less level, the elevator and rudder controls seemed almost totally non responsive, and the aircraft seemed to be in a series of stalls and subsequent recoveries.

It was apparent that our only possibility of survival was to abandon the aircraft. I gave the order immediately, which was followed by the Engineer (Rawcliffe) and Navigator (Mathers) quickly proceeding to the forward escape hatch, Bart (Mathers) squeezed my shoulder as he hurried past. In that Pullin ( Bomb Aimer) was already down in the nose position, it was reasonable to assume he should be first to leave the aircraft, which was gyrating wildly almost completely out of control, and it was fairly obvious that I should be leaving.

However, in that I had not heard or seen anything of the Gunners, and in looking back down what was left of the now burning fuselage, it appeared that Corny (Wireless Operator) was dead or severely wounded, and because of smoke and other wreckage neither of the Gunners positions could be identified.

My reaction of not leaving immediately was stupid, because there was nothing else I could do under the circumstances, but I still found it very difficult to abandon the rest of my crew. Although it was likely only seconds, when I unbuckled, I found that because of the severe positive and negative “G”factors, I was being bounced around like a tennis ball, for what seemed like an eternity.

I struggled and finally reached the forward escape hatch, but as I tried to get out the hatch I spotted Bernie still sitting up forward, to this date I have no idea why he had not bailed out, and can only speculate as to the reason.

Once free of the aircraft, I tried to reach the parachute “D”ring, but for mini seconds could not find it. For those seconds I panicked, thinking that I had forgotten to secure the chute leg straps prior to reaching the enemy coast.  (The pilots had seat pack chutes which were very uncomfortable when fully buckled up, the other crew members had snap on chest packs).

In any event I finally found the ‘D’ ring and immediately pulled same, the sudden opening jolt plus the billowing noise of the deploying chute were certainly the most wonderful feeling and sounds I have ever experienced.

After the chute opened, I think I had one full oscillation, I really don’t know how many, as it’s relative importance at that time had really little or no significance, in any case the next wonderful incident was the sudden stop as I landed in the trees on the side of a mountain.

After the war, I dropped hundreds of Army paratroopers, and when I explained my experience the night we were shot down, the general consensus from the experts, was that I must have baled out at a very low altitude, perhaps as low as 500 feet above the ground, in any event I must have been in “F” for Freddy for several thousands of free fall, and certainly my survival would appear to have been in the hands of the powers to be.

After landing (so to speak), I realized that I was hanging on the side of a fairly high mountain, and that my chute was holding me off the ground because it was spread over an area of spindly sapling type trees, and when I tried to pull myself up the trees, the spindly branches would not support me, to compound the problem. It was apparent that well below me was a river (research indicates this river was the Moselle), and in the darkness it appeared that if I was to release my parachute harness, I would fall into the river far below.

While I paused to assess the situation and my options if any, I could hear the bombers passing overhead on their back to the UK, To say I felt sorry for myself would be the understatement of the century.

Now a second problem came to the fore, my mother medically was not well and I realized that when the government advised my parents that I was missing, the result could be fatal for her. So even though I really did not believe in Mental Telepathy, I kept repeating I’m okay mother I’m okay.

After the war on my return home, Dad said that at the exact time (taking into consideration the different time zones) when I was trying to mentally communicate with mother, she was resting on her chesterfield, and she woke up screaming “something has happened to Elmer” over and over again and despite dad’s attempt to assure her that she had experienced a nightmare, she would not believe dad was right. To this day I still believe that this was more than coincidence, and my concentration on her may have contributed to getting the message through.

Getting back to my immediate problem, I decided that I could not hang there all night, so I took a firm grip with my left hand on several of the limbs, and struck the parachute release mechanism with my right hand. Although I anticipated a long drop, I only fell approximately six inches, however, my poor old back sure ached for a long time afterwards, and if you have ever inadvertently stepped off a side-walk, you will have some idea of what I experienced.

After giving it some thought, I decided that I would climb up rather than down deeming it the safest, but now I could hear dogs barking above me and assumed there might be a military look-out, so I decided to maintain a constant more or less level, and skirt around the suspected enemy. So after approximately one hour of carefully avoiding enemy troops (in every case they turned out to be trees), I entered an orchard, and decided to proceed downhill now that I was in an area that was obviously under human maintenance, and as such should allow me to proceed more quickly towards the river and possibly better terrain for evading.

When I reached the bottom of the orchard, I discovered a paved road between me and the river, however, to my chagrin I could also hear human voices and laughing a short distance away, and assumed it could likely be a military check point, and in that the river appeared to be only a large stream, and with dawn not far away, and with what appeared to a heavily wooded area on the other side, I decided it would be in my best interest to get to the other side as soon as possible.

Having made up my mind, I removed my leather flying jacket and slowly entered the stream which initially appeared only waist deep with very little current. I was very happy because my swimming ability could be best described as dog paddle only, it took about 15 minutes to cross the mighty river and I only had to resort to dog paddling for maybe 2 or 3 minutes.

Once on the other side it was only a few yards to the woods which were fairly dense, but provided excellent cover and easy walking for evasion purposes. I now took out my evasion compass and set course due west, and hopefully toward allied forces. I walked for approximately 30 or 40 minutes, and as day break was rapidly approaching, I found a nice bush under which I settled down to spend the daylight hours in accordance with the accepted rules for evasion, and hopefully get some rest after the ordeal which I had just been subjected to.

In due course I did fall asleep for about two hours, when I woke up, I was amazed at the peaceful surroundings, no human or human associated noises of any kind, only birds chirping or squirrels running up and down the trees, almost like mother nature was putting on a show especially for me. After another couple of hours with nothing but natures calmness, I finally decided, that as long as I stayed in a forest environment, I would be able to make good time with little risk of being apprehended.

The theory sounded good so I packed up, put on my socks and flying boots which had become dry in the few hours I had them off, put my flying jacket over my shoulders, and trying to be very vigilant I set off westbound, stopping regularly to listen for any sounds that might be considered threatening to my evasion. I made good time with no evidence what so ever of any human habitation. However things were about to change, as I approached an opening in the forest, I slowed to a virtual stop to check out a small meadow for other human beings before breaking my cover.

The meadow seemed to be devoid of any inhabitants other than myself, so after a few more minutes of studying the area I ventured out into the meadow. Suddenly from my right appeared two uniformed and armed soldiers, both were members of the German equivalent to the British Home Guard, and had been resting just in the shade of the forest on the edge of the meadow. One of them had a rifle and the other had a double barrelled shot gun, the latter appeared to be intoxicated, and appeared to be determined to use me as a target, however every time he raised his shot gun towards me, his comrade would push the gun down and seemingly reprimand him.

After searching me for weapons, we headed off to their village (post war research indicated that it was likely the village of Papiermuhle) which seemed to be approximately 4 to 5 miles east of where they captured me. When we reached the village the locals quickly gathered to see this enemy of the Reich. I felt like a monkey in the zoo with them coming up to me, feeling my flight jacket and or flying boots, speaking to me in a language I did not understand, but at no time did I sense any hostility, only curiosity.

 I offered a couple of youngsters some of my high energy escape candies, however the man who did all the talking to the crowd, took the candy away from the kids and handed one of them to me pointing to my mouth, which I took as meaning you eat first, which I did, and after a few minutes when he was satisfied the candy was not poison , he gave the rest back to the kids smiled at me said danke, and offered me a glass of water, which was much appreciated.

Shortly after I finished drinking the water two new soldiers took over and took me to the city of Trier, the Capital of Luxemburg, the walk took about 3 hours, and when they lodged me in the local jail it didn't take long before I fell asleep. Some time later I woke with the arrival of another guest of Deutschland coming into my cell. Although we recognized one another we did not acknowledge same for some time and then only in a hand shake and whispering, it was my Australian navigator Bart Mathers.

The next morning the guards took us up to the local (we thought) Gestapo HQ, we were ushered into an office and shortly there after an officer in uniform and wearing jack boots entered the office, he stopped in front of us clicked his boots to attention, and gave us the Nazi salute, we responded with our standard salute, he then shouted nein nein and repeated the Nazi salute. Recognizing that nein meant no, I said nein nein to him and his reaction was a spontaneous punch to my face. Having had boxing as a hobby for many years, he telegraphed his punch and I went with it, so that a split lip plus youthful ego was the only damage I suffered. My natural reaction was to respond, but Bart grabbed a handful of my hair and hauled me backwards, which likely saved my life. In retrospect, it was obvious that my actions on this day, were to say the least, nothing but youthful stupidity, the result of which could have been fatal but for Bart’s intervention.

The remainder of the interrogation was questions such as, where were we based?, what type of aircraft were we flying?, what was our target? Etc. to which we answered with our name, rank and service number as required by the Geneva Convention. His demeanour appeared to be one of sheer boredom to say the least, thankfully. When we were taken from his office, we were separated, and never met again, although during the Korean War we missed one another by one day on two occasions, once in Tokyo and once in Vancouver. Bart was flying with Qantas (Australian National Airlines), and I was flying with the Royal Canadian Airforce.

After our incident with the German officer, I was taken to a Luftwaffe base fairly close to Trier where I was turned over to the Base personnel who treated me with respect that was rather overwhelming. In this regard, in the future of my tenure as a prisoner, it was generally accepted that it was the norm, for our Airforce people to be well treated by the Luftwaffe. I received my first real meal since my capture, and after dinner, the air raid sirens were sounded and the officers assigned for my security took me to the air raid shelter with hundreds of other Luftwaffe and civilian support personnel.

Shortly after arriving in the shelter, a young man about 12 or 13 years old approached me and addressed me in very good English, he stated that there were two aircrew officers that believed they were the crew who had shot me down, and wanted to meet me, I agreed and they approached me, and stated in German (interpreted by the young teenager) that they were the crew of Junkers 88 who had shot down a Lancaster bomber two nights ago. I said that , “was not a nice thing to do”, to which they laughed and replied, “better we shoot you down than you shoot us down”.

Shortly after, my escorts took me over to the shelter entrance, and pointed up ward where a great number of USAAF bombers were engaged in a very noisy battle with Luftwaffe Messerschmidt 109s and Fochewulf 190s. About that time, an aircraft was shot down enveloped in a huge plume of smoke and fire making it impossible to identify, the young interpreter said people wanted to know if it was a USAAF bomber to which I replied, no it’s a Me 109.

My guess is as good as theirs.