All in a Day's Work Volume Two: Some experiences of 35 RAAF Aircrew and Ground Staff 1939-1967

By JimTurner

This book captures a day in the lives of 35 Aircrew and Ground Staff serving in Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) from 1939 through until 1967 including incidents World War II, Korea, Malaya and Vietnam.
Some days are routine but others are not, and the combination of individual skill of the Aircrew or Ground Staff combined with good or bad luck on a particular day makes for interesting reading

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992432638

Book preview

Chapter 1

Col Badham

Navigator

172 Squadron RAF (Wellington)

English Channel

23 Squadron RAAF (Liberator)

Celebes, Makassar & Timor

I joined the RAAF on January 6, 1941, completing initial training at No 2 ITS Bradfield Park at Lindfield in Sydney. On April 21, 1941 I boarded the Awatea for an unknown destination, a few days later we were in Auckland, then sailed to Fiji and then on to Vancouver in Canada which reminded me in many ways of Sydney.

We arrived at Edmonton on May 20, 1941 a month after leaving Sydney. My new home was No 2 Air Observers’ School at Edmonton. No time was wasted! We began work the next morning, seven days per week with a couple of hours break on Saturday evenings until about 10.30 p.m. The navigation course at No 2 A.O.S. was interesting and exacting, though at times we grew somewhat weary of the school atmosphere.

The practical flying section of the course held the greatest appeal and, except for the first trip I enjoyed it immensely. We soon discovered that the practical side of navigation was somewhat removed from the theory and held many secrets which we simply had to master as repeated errors earned black marks which could not be overlooked. The possibility of being ‘scrubbed’ was ever-present.

Stage Two of the Air Observer training programme under the Empire Air Training Scheme was the completion of a bombing and gunnery school. We went by train to Moosejaw and then to Mossbank, We loathed the Fairy Battles! Contending with glycol fumes from the engine a we tried to adjust the bomb sights and battling air sickness as a result did not endear us to the service in general of to these planes in particular. We spent a few long drawn-out, months in this god-forsaken place. In general, morale at this station was at a low-ebb and this was reflected in the flying program. Often we would sit and wait all day for aircraft to become serviceable so we could complete our air exercises in bombing and gunnery.

My practical results were barely average, scoring only a very occasional hit on the drogue and on the bombing range. However, along with most of the rest I passed due mainly to fairly good marks in the theory papers. In fact I finished in the top ten. I received my wings on September 14, 1941

Then we were off to Rivers in Manitoba for No 1 Astro Navigation School which was Stage 3 of the E.A.T.S. program. Morale of both staff and trainees was high, and without exception everyone enjoyed the couple of months at Rivers. As we neared the end of our course we were informed that we would be going to 31 Operational Training Unit at Debert in Nova Scotia. I first served with RAF Ferry Command and then with 172 Squadron RAF.

During just two months of attacks on allied merchant convoys in the spring of 1941, German U-boats sank 142 ships, with their cargoes of food and war materials totalling 875,000 tons. While the experts had their own ideas on how to solve the problem of U-boat attacks, Wing Commander Leigh of Coastal Command came up with his own solution to the problem. He was faced with the problem of getting his idea accepted by those in authority.

At the beginning of 1942 we had no knowledge of Leigh’s connections except that the light bore his name, and we called him ’Searchlight Sammy’. There were two key factors in Leigh’s idea. The first was the Special Equipment (SE), or Mk II ASDV 1 1/2-metre radar, which could detect a surfaced U-boat at maximum range of 10-12 miles. The second was the Leigh Light, a 22 million-candlepower searchlight. The navigator lowered this from its housing in the Wellington’s fuselage and then the co-pilot controlled its movement vertically or laterally using controls in the nose gunner’s position. As the aircraft approached the target, the radar operator would call out its bearing. The Leigh Light operator would adjust the position of the light accordingly, while making corrections for wind drift and movement of the target. It was then that the light would be switched on and the attack commenced and, if all went according to plan, the submarine would be caught in the beam of the light and four depth charges dropped on it from a height of approximately 50 feet and straddling the target as the aircraft flew overhead.

At 8.30p.m., on August 11, 1942 we took off on an anti-submarine patrol over the Bay of Biscay. I was the navigator on Wellington ‘D’ for Donald, which was fitted with radar and a Leigh Light which enabled us to carry out night attacks on German U-boats. Our crew consisted of Alan Triggs (pilot), Walker (2nd pilot), Cartwright (radio operator), Mclean (radar operator), Devonshire (rear gunner), and myself as navigator. It was a dark night, with 10/10ths cloud at 3,000 feet.

Our problems began shortly after an abortive attack on a U-boat that was submerging as we switched on the searchlight. The rear gunner reported a trail of sparks about 100 yards long streaming from the starboard engine. Alan checked the oil-pressure gauge and watched as it fell to zero. The engine sounded rough and suddenly seized as he began to throttle it back. He increased revs on the port engine but we continued to lose height. An S.O.S. was sent and we began to jettison all loose equipment.

With the port engine now overheating it was obvious that we would have to ditch, and we each took up our assigned stations and carried out final checks. My job was to jettison the astro dome and operate the flotation gear. I then braced myself against the main-spar of the aircraft directly below the astro dome. We hit the water tail first just near the top of a swell that stopped the aircraft almost instantly.

Water began to pour in from the open escape hatches as Cartwright helped McLean up through the astro-hatch. I operated the dinghy release lever and then began to climb out. ‘Where’s the dinghy?’ I shouted. ‘Did you pull the release?’ came, the reply. ‘Of course I did.’

I then went back inside and pulled the release again, but by now the water was up to my armpits so I had no choice but to get out. The outside manual dinghy release also failed to operate, so Alan came along the wing and prised the lid off the stowage with his bare hands.

As the dinghy was inflated I noticed the yellow emergency ration pack being washed off the wing and as I tried to grab it I ended up in the sea. I climbed back onto the port wing and then over the fuselage, using the Special Equipment aerials for support. Using light from the submerged landing light, Alan retrieved the rations and passed them into the dinghy. He then climbed back onto the wing and moved the dinghy along towards then wingtip, making sure it cleared the aerials.

As the wingtip sank beneath him I helped Alan onboard the dinghy, the time from ditching to total disappearance of the aircraft was about two minutes.

We were soon all violently sea sick, but the dinghy performed well in the heavy seas. With dawn we found that we had sufficient food and water for several days and two distress rockets.

We saw a number of aircraft during the day, and late in the afternoon a Whitley informed us that a Sunderland was coming. It arrived just before 8p.m., and Alan fired off a Verey cartridge marking our location. It acknowledged our flare, dropped its depth charges some distance away and jettisoned fuel before finally dropping a smoke float. It then began a long, low landing approach, sometimes obscured by the swell.

It hit the top of the first wave, then, bounced into the next wave slightly more nose up. It continued on and touched a third wave, still nose-up, as a large cross-wave hit it from the port side. This wave swamped the port wing and swung the aircraft about 90 degrees to starboard. The starboard wing minus the wingtip pointed skywards at an angle of about 45 degrees. The starboard out engine screamed as it lost its propeller, while the starboard inner caught on fire.

The Sunderland then settled into the water nose-down and began to sink, though all the crew survived the landing, only F/O J.F. Watson, a lifesaver from Sydney, managed to swim to a dinghy dropped to us previously by a Hudson from Air Sea Rescue. Four days later we again made contact and hauled Watson on board our dinghy.

The following morning we were picked up by HM Launch Q180 and finally entered Newlyn harbour at 5.29p.m., that afternoon, 5 1/2 days after taking off from Chivenor.

Following the ditching of Wellington ‘D’ Donald in the Bay of Biscay on August 12, 1942 our crew was restructured with P/O ‘Johnno’ Johnston (2nd pilot) and Sgt McLean (SE operator) joining us. From early October we were back on patrol again searching for U-boats in the Bay of Biscay.

At 8.30p.m., on October 25, we took off from Chivenor, near Barnstaple in North Devon and headed south into the Bay of Biscay. At about 1a.m., Jock Mclean, the SE operator, picked up the contact at about 15 nautical miles. We were about 100 miles off the Spanish coast. The lights of northern Spain were clearly visible in the distance.

As this country was not at war these lighthouses were well known to us and often helped us to fix our position. I must say, too, that in this general area we were at the extremity of our range.

We were flying at the usual height of 1,000 to 1,200 feet, with excellent visibility, and were confident from the outset that the blip would be a U-boat because fishing boats were not seen in this area. Base Intelligence also had information that U-boats were now using the waters off the north coast of Spain to gain access to the Atlantic in preference to running the gauntlet through the centre of the bay.

As usual, I let the searchlight out into the slipstream in preparation for the attack. Johnno, the second pilot, took up his position at the searchlight controls in the nose of the plane, and Alan Triggs, the pilot, opened the bomb doors as he steadily decreased height and heeded the directions of the SE operator. These directions were the only sound on the intercom.

At the commencement of an attack the most desirable position of the aircraft in relation to the contact was a distance of a quarter of a mile at a height of 400 feet. Alan was expert at judging this, and in this instance immediately the light went on it lit up the U-boat. It was almost dead ahead.

Ideally, the U-boat was travelling at 90 degrees to our heading and immediately began to submerge. A photo of this incident, probably one of the first ever taken of a Leigh Light attack on a U-boat, shows that we were flying very low when Alan released the depth charges. We were confident that the attack was successful, as the rear gunner reported seeing the depth-charge explosions while he was raking the decks of the U-boat with machine-gun fire. Naval Intelligence confirmed that this attack was a ‘kill.’

On January 6, 1943, luck was definitely on our side. Here again Triggs showed his superb airmanship over a lengthy period and in somewhat extraordinary circumstances. Throughout our patrol we had a very quiet and uneventful night and had even indulged in some light-hearted banter over the intercom about the apparent lack of activity by those persistent and mischievous gremlins that plagued aircrew constantly. These curious sprites, whose ‘existence’ was first revealed in a story by author Ronald Dahl, lurked spitefully in and around the aircraft machinery always ready to interfere with the essential workings and thus continually exposing the crew to unknown and unscheduled danger, especially in periods of relative calm and thoughtful contemplation. Any contribution to the fantasy was most welcome over the intercom.

Suddenly, within 100 miles or so of the Scillies, and looking forward to the run home up the coast of Cornwall, all hell broke loose! Johnno Johnston, the second pilot, was at the controls while Triggs was having a break, when without warning the whole plane began to shake violently from nose to tail. I think we all thought the same thing, that we had been hit by a shell or something. Our excellent crew cohesion, built up over a long period, immediately brought results. Triggs and Johnno changed seats, as there were no controls for the second pilot in the Mark VIII Wellingtons. This change-over in itself was quite a feat as we were probably only 2,000 feet up and the starboard engine was virtually dead. With great difficulty I scribbled a quick position report for McLean to send out an S.O.S., and immediately went to the auxiliary oil tank to wrestle with the pump handle as Triggs’ first request was for oil. Upon taking over the controls he had noted immediately that the starboard engine temperature had risen alarmingly and the oil pressure was at a dangerously low level.

The whole body-work of the Wimpy continued to take a terrific pounding and, the extreme as yet unexplained vibration was increasing. In fact it was very difficult for us in the fuselage to even recognise one another was we went about our emergency duties. Everything that we could find loose was heaved overboard to lighten the load. Of course the depth charges went first!

Slowly, ever so slowly, Triggs got the plane under control and we will never know just how close to the sea we came. However we gradually gained height and perhaps reached 3,000 to 4,000 feet when just as suddenly as it had all begun the vibration ceased as the starboard airscrew flew off and fortunately missed contact with the fuselage. Immediately the engine screamed as its revs increased then it too fell away from its mountings to its final resting place in the waters below. All was the comparatively silent as Triggs wrestled with the controls.

Wellingtons equipped with the original Pegasus engines were not capable of being flown on one engine for more that a short period, as the increased revs and boost required to maintain height rapidly caused over-heating. In addition all our oil from the remaining auxiliary tank had been expended in our attempt to keep the dud engine alive. Holding any set course heading was now almost impossible and about all I could do was to keep informing Triggs of new headings to reach the Scillies. These readings constantly changed as the plane crabbed sideways and slowly lost height and we approached Land’s End along a track which was later found to be almost semi-circular.

At this stage there seemed to be no alternative but to ditch once again, and again in the dark, but we felt rather confident because the sea was quite calm and would be even calmer still if we could reach a spot somewhere in the lee of the Scillies. The remaining engine performed brilliantly and was being asked to do what probably not many engine of this type had ever been asked to do. With no reserve oil and much overheated engine Triggs did a tremendous job as we chugged on ever so slowly towards the coast and informed base of our intention to ditch near the Scillies. Because of the tremendous drag on one side caused by the loss of one engine and the corresponding pressure needed on the rudder pedals to counteract this both Johnno and I helped by pulling on the pedals with our hands to help take off some of the pressure being applied by Triggs.

Once again came the moment of truth in our flying career! Upon reaching the Scillies we still had about 1,000 feet in height and about 20 miles or so to reach Land’s End. Triggs decided to try and make it.

The large air force base at St Eval took over control at this point and gave us courses to fly to reach Port Reath aerodrome on the north coat of Cornwall. To add to our difficulties a thin layer of cloud, with base down to a few hundred feet, covered the mainland but dead ahead we could see the cone of searchlights piercing the cloud with the central vertical light indicating our destination very clearly. The remaining engine by this time was glowing red hot but the distance to the drome was rapidly growing less and less as we came down through the cloud layer. At last the drome was dead ahead as we came straight in on an anti-clockwise circuit. Banking to port on the good engine and with the starboard wing high we hit the runway with a massive jolt. The plane predictably ran immediately away to the left and down another runway before coming to a halt. Naturally we wasted no time getting out, especially as the smell of petrol from broken pipes was all around us.

An explanation given later for what had happened was that apparently the gears in the reduction mechanism between the propeller and the engine had broken down.

The plane was quite and attraction, especially to the Chivenor crew who arrived towards dusk and transported us back to the squadron. We were met on the tarmac by the CO and given a few days leave. Back on the squadron we soon resumed normal routine and on January 11, Triggs and I were informed that we had each been decorated with an immediate award of the D.F.C.

We were met upon arrival at the Palace by scarlet robed Beefeaters and ushered into a large room where we were briefed as to procedure and placed in order of presentation. Briefly the process was quite simple with virtually no frills. We filed into a long room, mounted a small platform then stepped forward and bowed to His Majesty George VI. The King spoke to Triggs at length, mainly appreciative remarks about Australians in England, but confined his questions to me by asking about my family, how long I’d been in England, and where I was stationed. He pinned on the gong, shook my hand and a very nervous CB back-pedalled forgot to bow the second time and stumbled away. Many of the English recipients had friends and relations present as guests and of course we envied them somewhat. How wonderful it would have been to have some kith or kin with us.

Soon after 172 Squadron underwent a major re-organisation with the introduction of new Mark XII Wellingtons. These were equipped with Hercules engines, virtually doubling their horse power, and at last enabling us to fly with ease on one engine.

The introduction of Mark III SE was a major step forward in British technology and arguably did as much to end the war in Europe as did any other single scientific discovery. Even the newest crews on 172 Squadron were having positive results and squadron morale was at an all time high. I completed my tour of 500 hours operational flying late in October 1943.

The CO of our squadron asked Triggs and I, where we would like to do during our enforced lay-off from operational flying. I expressed an interest in furthering my navigation studies and went to No. 1 Central Navigation School at Cranage not far from Liverpool. The three month course at Cranage was most demanding both practically and theoretically, probably the most difficult course I have ever done. I worked hard with a definite purpose in mind and did quite well with an average of 89%, virtually assuring me of a posting as a Station Navigation Officer, usually with the rank of Squadron Leader.

Soon after I was heading home first I embarked on the TSS Andes at Liverpool to New York then went by train to San Francisco. Here we boarded an aircraft carrier the USS Copahee finally docking in Brisbane at 2.30p.m., on New Year’s Day 1944.

After some leave I was posted to Bairnsdale (GRS) then to Tocumwal (OTU) where I managed a couple of weeks leave at Hartley St. Casino following the birth of my son Ian. At Christmas 1944 I received a posting to 23 Squadron Liberators and Leyburn in Queensland.

As no aircraft were serviceable I returned to Casino on the understanding that Triggs would fly down to Casino and let me know when to return. He certainly did a thorough job at about 20 feet and with all engines in fine pitch repeatedly screaming across Hartley Street and the centre of the town. The movement details were written in lurid language on the back of a map and dropped fair on target on the front lawn at Hartley Street to the delight of us all. However the main outcome of the crew’s aerial visit to Casino and Warwick on the way back was to be virtually grounded.

While the majority of the squadron flew to Long strip south of Darwin we were sent by train. However on reaching Mt Isa we acquired a weapon carrier from an army camp and drove it to Long strip 100 miles south of Darwin. We arrived to find we had been posted AWL as we could not be found on board the train.

We began flying operationally again in April 1945 being based at Long, Morotai and Darwin. Most of these trips were twelve to fifteen hours long and covered an area north to the Celebes, west to Makassar and along the coasts of Indonesia and Timor. We had a few minor skirmishes when searching for ‘blockade runners.’ These were former Indonesian vessels commandeered by the Japanese and used as supply vessels for their own widely scattered bases.

When we finished Triggs and I had flown over 1,300 hours together including almost 900 hours of operational flying involving 102 trips.

For further reading see BADHAM, C., Biscay to Balikpapan by Col Badham, DFC, 1996.

Letters to author Handwritten and dated April 14, 1999, Biscay to Balikpapan 1996 Copy No. 48 signed by author and dated November 8, 1996.

Biographical Details

Flight Lieutenant C. Badham DFC

Prior to the outbreak of WWII he worked as a teacher, and in 1939 was appointed teacher-in-charge of Backmede Public School. In early 1940 he decided to enlist in the RAAF as an Observer, one of the three categories of aircrew at that time. he was placed on the RAAF Reserve list and did a correspondence course in navigation. He joined the RAAF on January 6, 1941, completing initial training at No 2 ITS Bradfield Park at Lindfield in Sydney. On April 21, 1941 He boarded the Awatea for an unknown destination via Auckland, Fiji and then Vancouver, Canada on May 20, 1941 he arrived at No 2 Air Observers’ School at Edmonton. He then completed Stage 2 at a bombing and gunnery school at Moosejaw and then to Mossbank. He finished in the top ten and was awarded his wings on September 14, 1941. Then posted to Rivers in Manitoba for No 1 Astro Navigation School which was Stage 3 of the E.A.T.S. program then to 31 Operational Training Unit at Debert in Nova Scota. Then posted to RAF Ferry Command and next to 172 Sqn RAF. This was followed by No. 1 Central Navigation School at Cranage not far from Liverpool. Then it was back to Australia and Bairnsdale (GRS) then to Tocumwal (OTU) then in December 1944 to 23 Squadron Liberators and Leyburn in Queensland. In April 1945 based at Long, Morotai and Darwin he completed his discharge in Sydney on January 21, 1946 and began teaching at Woolners Arm near Casino on January 29, 1946, followed by Burren Junction, Gilgai near Inverell then Henty Public School, followed by a move to Kempsey. He retired in 1979 after 38 years with the Department of Education.

-oo0oo-

Chapter 2

David Bernard

Fitter IIE

23 Squadron RAAF

No 1 Rescue and Communications Squadron RAAF

It was July 1940 and I was among 100 volunteers, the largest group to leave Brisbane up to that time, we even had a police escort and our photograph in the paper. You would have thought we had already won the war with the ticker tape send off