Short Stirling Heavy Bomber: picture of 7 squadron Stirlings
at RAF Oakington
Stirling Mk III LJ514 B – Beer, with nose art (a bear
holding a beer bottle painted on the nose ; the mission symbols carried by B –
Beer were small foaming beer mugs)
Bomber Command was stood down on 27/28 July but this was the
full moon period and on the night following, a return to Hamburg was announced
at briefings when crews were told that the raid would be on a far bigger scale
than two nights before. At Feltwell Sergeant Neville Hockaday, who was not to
be denied his trip to Hamburg, which his crew had failed to reach on 26/27
July, heard that nearly 800 bombers were planned to bomb the devastated town.
At Oakington, Pilot Officer Leslie Sidwell, the rear-turret gunner on
23-year-old Flight Lieutenant Douglas Whiteman’s crew of Stirling B-Beer of 7
Squadron, made a note that said it was another ‘Thousand Raid’. He surmised,
correctly, that the number was again being made up with OTU crews:
Out at dispersal we got everything finally checked and
ready in the sweltering heat inside the aircraft before climbing out into the
oh-so-welcome cool night air. It was lovely to relax outside on the grass and
smoke casually before reluctantly putting on the flying kit which I knew would
be badly needed for the cold later on, after the muck-sweat had gone. I donned
flying kit, regretfully and knowing full well it would be freezing at height
was soon in another sweat in the aircraft. We took off at 22.29 hours. The
weather was good. We passed over Cromer and out over the North Sea. I spent the
time taking the usual sightings from my rear turret on flame-floats we’d
dropped to check drift for the navigator. We’d been briefed to cross the German
coast north of the Elbe estuary, then to turn south 20 miles north of Hamburg
to run up to the target.
Sergeant Neville Hockaday continues:
We made the sea crossing at 200 feet and planned to bomb
from 8,000 feet, which would be just below the forecast cloudbase. This was a
dangerous place to be, as one would be silhouetted against the cloud background
but flying above it would expose us similarly to fighters. There was plenty of
activity around Heligoland as we passed safely five miles to seaward and taking
advantage of the confusion crossed the coast without interference and began the
long climb to bombing height, levelling out as we crossed the Kiel Canal near
Rendsburg. Twice I had to break away to avoid interception by searchlights and
began a time and distance run as a precaution against the target being obscured
by cloud. Ten minutes from the target there was much activity ahead: more
ferocious than I had expected. There were about six groups of searchlights;
each of which held a bomber in a cone, the flak concentrating on each. At one
time I saw five aircraft going down in flames. The cloud was barely 8,000 feet
and solid, having the effect of trapping the searchlight beams below it and
turning the sky over Hamburg into a vast mirror. I could see that it would be
no trouble identifying the aiming point if we could get to it! Just as I was
preparing for the bombing run an FW 190 came out of the target area, having
flown through his own flak and we narrowly missed a head-on collision. He was
almost on top of us before he spotted us and he sheered off as Bruce opened
fire on him. A few seconds before Drew [Sergeant Alfie Drew RNZAF, front
gunner/bomb aimer] released our bomb a blue master searchlight fastened on us
and just as ‘bomb gone’ was called we were coned in about half a dozen
searchlight beams. Standing on the rudder pedals I threw F-Freddie into a stall
turn to port, the most violent turn I had ever made. With the engines screaming
the Wimpy went down in a spiral dive, speed rising to 250 mph until,
eventually, we broke free from the lights. Heading north westerly away from the
target the vibration of the airframe and the over-revving of the engines died
down and we regained level flight at 400 feet.
Leslie Sidwell in the rear turret of Whiteman’s B-Beer
continues:
There was heavy flak and we were hit just before the run
up. Just after we’d bombed, someone on the intercom reported tracer coming up
from below and we were hit by night fighter attack from underneath. I reported
a decoy headlight out on the starboard quarter and searched around for other
fighters. I reported one coming in from above on the port side and told the
Skipper to turn to port. I think I hit him with a burst before my power went
off. A fighter came in again from the rear and continued firing. My turret was
shattered and we seemed to be in a steady dive. The Skipper gave the emergency
bail-out order, quickly followed by what sounded like his cries of pain. Then
the intercom abruptly cut off and we were on fire.
When my turret power had failed I’d been left partly on
the beam. I started to operate the dead man’s handle (emergency winding gear)
to centralize my turret so that I could get back into the fuselage to grab my
parachute and bail out. (’Chutes could not be stored in the rear turret as one
did in earlier two-engined jobs, which were dead easy for rear gunners to quit
in a hurry). I wound away like mad at the hand-winding gear behind me, very
conscious that we were losing precious height. As if in a dream, I saw a Me 110
closing in from astern with his guns blazing away. I wound away as I watched
him through the shattered Perspex. My painfully slow progress was like a
nightmare. I was conscious of the EBO order given in what seemed some time ago
… Would I be in time? He was extremely close to me when he eventually broke
away and I finally managed to move the turret sufficiently to fall back
hurriedly into the fuselage. I grabbed my ’chute from the stowage outside the
turret doors, forced open the nearby emergency exit door and as quickly as I
could, jumped out into space. In those seconds I was conscious of flame and
smoke up front in the fuselage. I gave no thought at all to any dangers of
bailing out, or that I’d had no practice in jumping. I just concentrated in
getting out of a doomed aircraft. In my haste to get out I banged my head on
something as I quit poor old B-Beer, partly knocking myself out. I pulled the
ripcord without counting as you were normally told to do. I must have done the
right thing because I came to swinging in the air. I could see the waters of
the Elbe shining below, with the full moon bright towards the south.
After all the turmoil I was now swinging gently in a
strangely contrasting silence, floating down and rather higher than I’d
expected. This peace was suddenly interrupted by a dazzling searchlight, which
probed around as if looking for me. It held me in its blinding beam. I felt
naked, vulnerable and powerless hanging there, not knowing what to expect. I
raised my arms and wondered, ‘Is this It?’ But it soon switched off, as if
satisfied that I’d been located and I was left to watch the Elbe more clearly
as I lost height and to worry about landing in the wide waters. I’d never fancied
coming down in the water and I pulled the rigging lines as instructed, hoping
to spill air from the ’chute to alter my course. Probably more by luck than
anything else, the Elbe disappeared and I braced myself for a landing, south of
the river. The ground seemed to loom up very quickly in the moonlight and it
wasn’t possible to judge my first parachute landing expertly. I landed rather
clumsily and hurt my right ankle on the hard ground but tall growing crops
helped to cushion me. My watch showed 01.10 hours just after landing. I
remembered that my first duty was to hide my chute. As I struggled to gather it
all up I thought I’d have a good view of a big ‘Thousand Raid’ but I was
surprised. Little was seen or heard and I wondered, ‘Where are they?’
Sergeant Neville Hockaday meanwhile crossed the Kiel Canal
at 2,000 feet when he saw tracer fire coming up over the port wing from behind.
I called Mike who replied that it was from a chap on top
of a building. Bruce had just fired back and all had gone quiet; he thought he
had got him. Later I checked to find that we had wandered over Meldorf and the
building was probably the local barracks. We went well out to sea to avoid
Heligoland and just as I ordered, ‘Watch out for “flak ships” ’ one opened up
at us but we were too fast for him and were soon out of range. Mike said that not
all our aircraft had reported to base after bombing and as we approached Cromer
we were all diverted to Methwold. We assumed that someone was in trouble and
that Feltwell was being kept clear for him. It was six am by the time we walked
into debriefing to learn that of the 14 aircraft of our squadron only eight had
returned. We then learned that far from there being 800 aircraft on the raid
there had been only 165 as a late forecast had predicted bad weather on return
and all except 3 Group had cancelled. If only we had been told we could have
revised our tactics to meet the new situation.
Huia Russell on 149 Squadron in 3 Group recalled:
It was a bit disconcerting when sitting at the
navigator’s table to hear ice breaking off the propellers and thumping the
fuselage of the Stirling. Ice could be a hazard at many heights and this was
the worst experience of icing that I had. There was thick cloud to about 2,000
feet but though all groups except 3 Group were scrubbed and the OTU aircraft
were recalled we tried climbing through the cloud once we were over the North
Sea. However, we had not climbed very high when we iced up and began losing
height. Eventually we tried jettisoning our load of 4lb incendiaries gradually.
It was not until we had released most of our bomb load that we were able to
maintain height at under 2,000 feet. We then returned home after this unnerving
experience.
No. 3 Group lost nine out of 71 Stirlings and 16 out of 94
Wellingtons and a Stirling crashed at RAF Coltishall. Four OTU Wellingtons,
including a 101 Squadron Wimpy at Bourn, which was involved in a collision with
a 101 CF Stirling at Oakington were lost. The Stirling crashed near Cottenham
in Cambridgeshire. There were no injuries to the crew but all five on the
Wellington died. A 10 OTU Whitley ditched in the sea ten miles south-east of
Tynemouth.
