The New Boy by Ronnie J Hardy DFC, AFC (Written on 11th June 1941)

Foreword

Dont be mislead by the title. The "new boy " in question is in fact an "old boy " of WLBHS.- Ronald ("Ronnie") James Hardy. It is his contemporanoeus account of joining an RAF Bomber Squadron in 1941 after completing his flying training in Canada and operational conversion at RAF Upper Heyford.

I found it fascinating which is why I am sharing it here. It is a longish read so I have divided it into two parts:

Part1: Sprogs, is the lead up to his crew's first mission, from joining the squadron to take-off .

Part 2: Bombers' Moon describes the mission.

Part 2 : "Bombers' Moon"

There were no runways and we took off in threes, my position being number three on the left of the leader. I was surprised to see that they both became airborne before I did and it was only after I staggered over the fence that I realised that I had omitted to use flap. It was a stupid and dangerous mistake and one that I will not make again but it served as a curt reminder that whatever the circumstances the brain must think clearly as mistakes do not always have such light consequences.
The journey out went well and it was dark as we crossed the enemy coast, the weather was good, searchlights were few and the flak was spasmodic, and after passing through this very first hazard we found ourselves flying almost unmolested with everything apparently peaceful. Ahead we could see bursts of flak but close at hand all was quiet and a feeling of confidence and well-being filled the members of the crew. The wireless operator however was to old a hand to be fooled by this and his warnings of 'Searchlights' let us know that we were not alone. We were approaching the 'searchlight belt' and thanks to my failing to take sufficient evasive action it was only a matter of seconds before we were fully illuminated by perhaps twenty searchlights; the time had come for action. Before I could dive or turn I heard our guns firing from the rear, and past the side of my cockpit flew a stream of tracer bullets. Although it cannot be possible, I swear that I saw them and had the unpleasant sensation that they were passing right through me. The thought of the tough armour plating at the back of my seat gave me a great deal of comfort and crouching as low as possible I took the long delayed evasive action. At the same time there came a cry from the gunners and they reported that our attacker was down. I carried on with violent turns and dives until the searchlights were left behind, and the gunners reported that our adversary had hit the ground and was burning.

"We took off in threes"

A flight of 3 106 Squadron Hampdens in 1941. At this stage of the war the bomber pilots were still trained to fly in Vic formation during daylight operations, similar to fighter planes. Their formation flying was admired by the escorting fighter pilots.

On arrival at the target area the scene was truly impressive. Already a large number of fires had been started which made an excellent landmark whilst every few seconds a string of white lights appeared on the ground frequently changing from white to a dull red glow indicating that more fires were being started by our incendiary bombs to the discomfiture of the inhabitants below. In addition to incendiaries the continuous flash of bombs could be seen amongst the fires and as we circled endeavouring to pick up some reliable pin-point we could see the smoke pall which was slowly rising and trying to blot out the results of our efforts. Meanwhile the enemy were not idle, their searchlights combed the sky, and in a very short space of time had succeeded in locating a target in the shape of an unfortunate aircraft. Sitting in the middle of a cone of lights it looked for all the world like a silver moth and in spite of all the manoeuvring was being held was being held with apparent ease. Most of the guns in the area were brought to bear on this solitary machine surrounding it with red bursts of heavy flak whilst up the beams of the searchlights snaked long streams of coloured tracer, reaching up from the ground like the tentacles of so many octopi seeking to drag him down into the inferno below. I found it difficult to withdraw my gaze from this fascinating spectacle but bearing in mind the instructions of my Squadron Commander I began my run up to the target. Millward had taken over and lying in the nose of the aircraft directed me in on a trouble-free run. It seemed an age before he called 'Steady' and finally `Bombs gone'. There was little point in saying 'Bombs gone' because the machine lifted in my hands with a distinct jerk, and then happy in the knowledge that I had at least been instrumental in dropping one load of bombs on German soil I raised my eyes from the instrument panel and sought the best way out from the target. The cone of searchlights had gone and the episode I had been watching but a minute ago was over, but other duties had claimed my attention and I had not observed the final outcome. Losing height to gain more speed and weaving more violently than was necessary I breathed more freely when I had left the probing searchlights behind. One thing my first sortie had taught me is that searchlights although harmless themselves can be deadly when used in conjunction with fighters or flak, and I have decided that whatever the physical effort weaving may cost me I shall never take chances with them. We passed through the searchlight belt without further incident and when Millward reported that we were again over the sea I relaxed for the first time since take off.

Since the episode with the fighter (both the wireless operator and rear gunner had identified it as a ME 110) I had noticed that the machine was handling rather sluggishly on the controls but as it had stood up well to our evasive action, I could only assume that all was in order and that perhaps my imagination was playing tricks. Engaging the automatic pilot which seemed to work very well I suggested to the crew that it might be a sound idea to have a cup of coffee and a biscuit but warned the rear gunner not to relax his vigil and report any aircraft sighted. All this was a wonderful new experience to be having early morning coffee over the North Sea at 10,000 feet, that, and the knowledge of a job well done behind us was sufficient to bring a song to my lips and I sang lustily the words and tune of 'Yes my Darling Daughter'. It is a strange thing but although my oxygen mask was removed and I sang with all the power of my lungs, so great was the noise of the engines and so deadened were my ears that the words and tune could not be heard.
After this, time passed very slowly dawn was just breaking and my eyes were glued straight ahead for my first glimpse of the English coast. We crossed the coast on ETA north of the Wash but only spotted it through a break in the clouds which seemed to be building up below us. Some little time before I had noticed one or two dark patches on the wings and as the light improved, they gradually formed themselves into alarmingly large holes. My mind went back to my encounter with the fighter and I realise how accurate his aim had been. From then on, I handled the aircraft as though it were made of glass and received a message from the wireless operator with a certain amount of misgiving. The message was that our aerodrome was out in ground fog and we were to proceed to Upper Heyford where conditions were better.
We flew to Upper Heyford, circled it and were surprised to see that although we had not seen another aircraft since leaving the target here were a number of our squadron machines doing the same thing as ourselves; I suppose they also felt tired. The aircraft in front of us was flown by the crew who were on their last trip, we heard them calling their aircraft letter over the RT. When we were given permission to land, the wheels and flaps refused to come down but on final approach I operated the emergency lowering device which did the trick and we touched down heavily but safely and slewed round at the end of our run due to a burst tyre. We scrambled out and I must confess examined the damaged inflicted by the fighter with a certain amount of pride. It is difficult to explain this peculiar outlook, we had done nothing to be proud of but I think we felt we had been blooded and had passed our first hurdle in creditable style.
Later after being interrogated, we were flown back home in an Anson, having been welcomed and chaffed by our old instructors at Upper Heyford. I gave a full report to the Squadron Commander who tells me that the ME 110 was seen to crash by a number of crews and that we may count it as definitely destroyed. I apologised about the damage to our machine but he said that it did well to fly back as the damage sustained in our brief encounter will keep it on the ground for several weeks, so our ground crew will be getting another aircraft allocated to their tender care, and we chat and come in for a certain amount of good-humoured criticism when we meet them tomorrow.
It is not yet dark and I am sitting in my room overlooking the airfield. All is quiet and restful this evening and from my window I make out the shapes of the aeroplanes which are our link between the two extremes, it is barely twenty-four hours since we took off for Aachen but so much has happened in that brief space of time. I am tired but not sleepy, I must try to sleep to prepare for tomorrow. As I undress, I hum the strains of a now familiar tune, there will be a moon again tomorrow night and I now know why it is called a 'Bombers' Moon'.

Mission accomplished and returned safely.

106 Squadron Hampdens at Coningsby 1941