159 SQUADRON RAF

LEAP  YEAR  LOSSES: 

The Rangoon Air Combat of 29 February 1944 and its Aftermath
by Matt Poole
MATT - if you read this, please contact pecbsa@btconnect.com

                British Royal Air Force Sergeant George Plank was unable to fulfill a straightforward promise made to his wife: to return home from the war.  Flying as a wireless operator/air gunner, George disappeared during a bombing raid against Rangoon, Burma on the night of 29 February 1944.  He was never again seen alive. 

                Jessie Poole, my mother, is George's widow.   Since I was a boy I have known the pathetically bare details provided to Mom by the authorities: namely, that George's bomber was seen to go down at night over the target in Rangoon, with no parachutes spotted.  Missing, with particulars unknown!  That was it!  By January of 1990, having felt compelled to learn more for the sake of my family, and with the blessing of both of my parents, I began to investigate this mysterious man from my mother's past and the wartime tragedy which, twelve years before my birth, forever separated two young newlyweds from Liverpool, England.   

                To my surprise, a simple curiosity about one individual -- not even my blood relative -- snowballed into a far-reaching quest to untangle the complicated story of eighteen RAF airmen shot out of the night sky.  They were aboard not one, but a pair of 159 Squadron B-24 Liberator bombers, christened "Daring Diana" (RAF serial BZ 962) and "Pegasus" (BZ 926), which were destroyed in quick succession by two Japanese fighter planes working in tandem, and in cooperation with ground-based searchlights, on 29 February 1944.   

                Of the eighteen RAF victims, just six airmen from "Pegasus" were captured alive by the Japanese, but only four survived the horrors and anguish of POW incarceration in Rangoon.  The two men who died in Japanese hands are buried in marked graves in Rangoon War Cemetery. 

                Twelve men, including George and his eight crewmates aboard "Daring Diana", presumably died that night in the aerial encounter or in the ensuing crashes.  The official announcement was bleak for loved ones back home: no remains were ever located.  In remembrance of the twelve, their names were engraved on the memorial to missing Far East airmen at Kranji War Cemetery in Singapore.   

                But the official word was grossly in error.  A chance find of seven unnamed graves, made during my 1993 visit to Rangoon, led to a staggering new discovery in 1998 among the records inherited by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC): the remains of seven unidentified "Daring Diana" crewmates have, without a doubt, rested side-by-side in Rangoon War Cemetery SINCE AT LEAST 1952 -- unbeknownst in subsequent years to the commission which oversees the graves!   What for the past five years had been mere speculation on my part once again became a verifiable truth -- only 46 years after the first factual determination!    

                Denied of this news for decades, far too few next-of-kin have survived long enough to be apprised of the joyous revelation.  No more answers appear in the offing, however, and the individual identities of the seven "Daring Diana" airmen shall, in all probability, remain a mystery. 

*************** 

                In pursuing the story over the past nine years, I have gathered first-hand combat recollections directly from various participants in the air battle, both Allied and Japanese.  Detailed accounts reached me straight from the hunter and his victim:  Warrant Officer Bunichi Yamaguchi, one of the two Japanese fighter pilots who intercepted and destroyed the bombers; and Warrant Officer Donald Lomas, the sole "Pegasus" airman to still be alive 55 years after falling to the fighters’ guns and then enduring the hell on earth that was Rangoon's prison camp.  The perspectives of these adversaries are priceless. 

                From Dutch sources have come two concise accounts of the air battle written by Don Lomas’s second pilot (co-pilot), Pilot Officer Johannes "Tommy" Lentz.  A native of the Netherlands, Tommy survived the war but died in 1972, shortly after retiring from a distinguished Royal Netherlands Air Force career.  His wartime flight logbook, containing one of these summaries of his experiences, is on public display with his RNLAF uniform at the Dutch Military Aviation Museum.  Tommy’s second wartime recollection, recorded in 1951, was discovered in his RNLAF personnel file.  Though brief, each account is a telltale first-hand glimpse into the events of 29 February 1944 and after.

                I have also located a Japanese war correspondent who witnessed the downing of the two British bombers from the garden of his Rangoon office.  Bunichi Yamaguchi's personal aircraft mechanic, who saw the battle unfold above his cowering head, sent me sketches sequentially illustrating how the two fighter pilots picked off the two bombers held in the searchlights above Rangoon.  His recollections introduced precious new evidence regarding the crash site of the Liberator I believe is George Plank’s aircraft. 

                I have found ex-prisoners of war who were incarcerated in Rangoon with the six RAF airmen, including an American flyer who was Tommy Lentz’s cellmate during one of the bleakest stretches.  Another American prisoner with whom I have corresponded risked a severe beating from guards to cheer on the Allied air raid of 29 February 1944.  He clearly remembers the successive attacks upon the two illuminated bombers by the trailing Japanese fighters.  Additionally, I made the acquaintance of the senior air force officer in the jail, Wing Commander Lionel Hudson, whose secret prison diary recorded the slow death by disease of Jack King, a crewmate of Don Lomas and Tommy Lentz. 

                From archives in several countries I have amassed a wealth of documentary evidence which sheds light onto the happenings of 29 February 1944 and after.  I have written over 1500 letters worldwide and have made hundreds of phone calls overseas in my search for clues.  My research-related travels include five trips to the UK and one to Burma in order to seek answers.  The surprise awaiting me in Rangoon -- the chance discovery of the seven unnamed RAF victims of 29 February 1944 -- still seems beyond belief and is the single most astonishing experience of my life. 

                My greatest satisfaction is that I have been able to share my findings with some of those whose lives were most severely impacted by the events of long ago:  Don Lomas, his family, and loved ones of all seventeen other airmen shot down with Don.  Among these, I proudly include Jessie, my mother.   

                On Saturday, the 28^th of February 1998, my years of effort culminated in a Service of Remembrance at London's historic St Clement Danes, the Central Church of the RAF.  To mark the 54^th anniversary of the loss of the two bombers, 120 next-of-kin, friends, and former wartime comrades of the fallen airmen gathered together to pay their respects to these brave men.  Joining us, as well, was Don, the last survivor.  His stalwart wreath laying in memory of his comrades served to remind all present of life's often maddening inconstancy, echoed in these words: "There, but for the grace of God, go I."  

                Punctuating the majesty of that moment was a trumpeter's sounding of "The Last Post", followed by a minute of introspective silence, and then by the trumpeting of rejoiceful rebirth, in "Reveille."  Needless to say, we churchgoers shed a small ocean of tears throughout the service, especially during this most poignant wreath laying. 

                A post-service gathering immediately followed at one of the most historic taverns in the City of London, Ye Olde Cock, built 395 years before the two bombers were lost.   The reception allowed those in attendance a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to mix in company with so many others sharing a unique, uncommon bond.   

                The day was deeply saddening, yet ultimately, and supremely, triumphant;  a reminder of  suffering and loss, it was more so a celebration of, and thanksgiving for, precious life -- however fleeting and fragile it sometimes can be.  What a magnificent day it was! 

***************

Biographies of the
Eighteen Airmen
of Royal Air Force 159 Squadron

Shot Down over Rangoon, Burma

on 29 February 1944

THE CREW OF B-24 LIBERATOR

BZ 926

NAMED “PEGASUS”

(In Alphabetical Order)

CHALCRAFT, Stanley William, 1807507
Rank when shot down: Sergeant 
Mid-upper gunner on “Pegasus”                                                                   

Born 9 December 1923 in London 

Son of William and Elsie Chalcraft of Enfield, London                                  

Date of RAF enlistment: 4 July 1942                                                                

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 20 

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 435 at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore                                                                 

 Little is known about Stan or his family.  From 1930 to 1938 the Chalcraft family lived at 167 Southbury Road in Enfield, which was followed by a move to 40 Buckingham Close, also in Enfield.  Here lived Stan’s parents and his only sibling, a younger brother John, during Stan’s RAF service career.   

 Stan was 5 feet 8 ½ inches tall at the time of his RAF enlistment, with brown eyes and brown hair.  His civil occupation had been as a dispatch clerk.  A single man and a member of the Church of England, he had no children.  Stan was an ex-member of the Air Training Corps, and it is therefore surmised that his ambition was to fly.  Though recommended for RAF training as a pilot/observer, he received his “AG” air gunner’s half-wing brevet instead. 

 The sortie of 29 February 1944 was his ninth combat “op” (meaning “operation”) with 159 Squadron, all flown in the month of February aboard skipper Edward Stanley’s B-24 Liberator.  His operational combat record with the squadron, totaling approximately 82 hours and 20 minutes of night flying, included three sorties of over 10 hours’ duration.  A 13 hour and 20 minute trip to Bangkok and back on the 15^th was the longest, and his other destinations were Heho (twice), Thanbyuzayat, Mandalay, Sagaing, Moulmein, Mingaladon (Rangoon’s aerodrome), and ultimately Rangoon.

 On the final flight, Stan switched crew positions with Jack Harris and manned the mid-upper gun turret rather than the beam gun station assigned to him.  (The squadron records were never amended to reflect this switch.)  He died in the fighter attack or in the ensuing crash of “Pegasus,” while Jack survived the aerial encounter and his subsequent imprisonment. 

 Sue Eringer, the sister of Stan’s skipper, recalls visiting the nearby Chalcraft home with her mother, at which time Mrs. Chalcraft shared details she had gleaned from one of the four repatriated survivors of “Pegasus.” Don Lomas, a survivor, remembers sharing this information with Mrs. Chalcraft.  Faced with a delicate situation, Don tried his best to gently tell her what little he really knew about Stan’s final moments.

 Stan’s brother John emigrated to Canada in the early 1950’s but died in Toronto in 1993 without ever learning recently discovered information on his brother’s disappearance.  John had no children, and the trail leading to other relatives has run cold.  (Stan’s and John’s parents, it was learned, are long deceased.)  Neither John’s former common-law wife nor his closest friends in Canada were ever told of a brother who had died in World War II.

 At the time of his death, Stan’s daily rate of pay was 8 shillings.

DAVIS, Norman John, 1545800

Rank when shot down: Sergeant

Known as “Ginger” and “Red”

Flight engineer on “Pegasus”

Born 20 September 1923 and raised in Northampton

Date of RAF enlistment: 23 September 1941

Liberated from Rangoon Central Jail on 3 May 1945

Died of a heart attack in January 1971, age 47

One of three siblings (two boys, one girl), Norman was manager of a Northampton butcher shop when he entered the RAF.  At St. Athan, Wales he was chosen, by the final digit of his service number, for B-24 Liberator flight engineer’s training, though his classroom-only instruction did not include hands-on experience with the Liberator.  Having earned his flight engineer “E” half-wing brevet in September 1943, he shipped out late in October to India aboard a convoyed troopship, the Strathmore.  Passing through the Mediterranean on the way to India, the convoy was attacked one evening at dusk by Axis bombers, but Norman and his ship, albeit in great danger, survived unscathed. 

Arriving in India, Norman was finally introduced to the huge, complex bomber in which he would fly combat.  Posted to 159 Squadron in late January 1944, he flew as a B-24 flight engineer on six ops to Burma in February (four with skipper Edward Stanley), totaling roughly 47 airborne hours.  He participated on raids to Heho aerodrome (twice, on successive nights), Mandalay marshaling yards, Sagaing shore railway station, Mingaladon aerodrome (Rangoon), and lastly, on the fateful 29^th, to Rangoon’s Mahlwagon marshaling yards. 

In prison the sight of Norman’s auburn hair intrigued the Japanese guards.  This fact - and his diminutive size (compared to other prisoners) - made him a favorite target for mistreatment by the guards, but nothing could shake his easygoing nature.  Surely his mental strength, outwardly showing in his unfailingly friendly disposition, gave him the edge on his tormentors.  His brother Don attributes Norman’s survival to his marvellous, indomitable fighting spirit.  In the ensuing years Norman never harboured bitterness toward his former wartime enemies. 

Norman met Peg, a farmer’s daughter, after his repatriation to the UK.  Though rationing was still enforced at the time of their 1946 wedding, a stunning feast awaited the partygoers at the reception.  To Norman’s former crewmate Don Lomas, who had often dreamed of such bountiful spreads during his PoW confinement, the food was nearly as memorable as the wedding itself.   

In post-war Northampton, Norman took up the boot and shoe trade and also attended night school.  Singing and dance instruction with his brother brought him contentment during this period.  (In Rangoon, Norman sang when he could - softly and out of earshot of the guards - as it was forbidden.)  With the birth of twin daughters Wendy and Linda, Norman felt compelled to better provide for his young family, but opportunities in Northampton were limited.  The foursome moved around: to a foreman’s job in southern Ireland, then Wales, Worcester, and Burton Latimer, all the while making the most of their adventures.   

Residing in Burton Latimer, Norman suffered his first heart attack at age 40.  A second one came 22 months later, in 1964.  Unable to work full-time after that, he studied bookkeeping and tried office jobs, but his poor health was a severe handicap, and he was forced to give up employment altogether in 1970.  Peg and the daughters enjoyed having him at home, especially during the last year of his life, and despite adversity, they remained a close, happy family.   

A BBC Radio broadcast in Northampton, arranged by Stan Sampson, the founder and Secretary of the 159 Squadron Association, led to the establishment of contact with the Davis family (via Norman’s pre-war girlfriend, who heard the radio appeal).  Norman is survived by his widow Peg, brother Don, and daughters Linda and Wendy.  His sister Joyce passed away in 1993.  Reading an account of Norman’s war record in 1994, Wendy’s eldest boy commented, “Well, my Granddad was a war hero, wasn’t he?”  Indeed he was.

HARRIS, Jack, 1315284

Rank when shot down:

Flight Sergeant

Beam gunner on “Pegasus”

 Born 5 January 1923 in Pontypridd, Wales

Date of RAF enlistment: 27 February 1941

Liberated from Rangoon Central Jail  on 3rd May 1945

Died of a heart attack in February 1972, age 49

 One of seven siblings raised in the coal mining village of Ynysybwl, in southern Wales, Jack was a clever and inquisitive lad.  Unlike his brothers, who went into the coal mines as soon as possible, he attended grammar school and hoped to go to university one day.  To his dismay, his formal education came to a crashing halt at age 14 when his father commanded him into the mines, to earn his share during the difficult economic times.  “Down the pit” went Jack, despite his protests.  But he wanted to make something more of his life, and the RAF offered him a way out of his dilemma. 

Jack’s initial training was as a pilot, but he focused instead upon air gunnery and received superior proficiency ratings in the latter.  His final training course in England was at Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire, where he formed up with a set aircrew for the first time and made at least one leaflet-dropping night flight to enemy-held France.  In March 1943 he and his crew, including navigator Bobby Burn (killed aboard “Daring Diana,” the other aircraft shot down with Jack’s), completed the long journey to India in a Wellington bomber.  Following a subsequent intense period of transition training to four-engine B-24 Liberators, Jack’s 159 Squadron career began in April 1943. 

The monsoon season wreaked havoc with the squadron’s flying regimen for several months, but at long last, on the night of 21 October 1943, Jack flew the first of his 20 combat ops when 159 Squadron bombers raided the Japanese aerodrome at Heho, Burma.  Normally a rear gunner on Squadron Leader Gordon Clegg’s crew (accounting for 17 of his ops), the 29 February 1944 sortie was an opportunity for him to fly with another crew, as Squadron Leader Clegg was not scheduled for the Rangoon raid that night.   Thus Jack “filled in” as a substitute gunner on Edward Stanley’s crew, taking the place of an Australian airman who had just completed his tour of ops.   Initially assigned the mid-upper gun, he switched positions with beam gunner Stan Chalcraft before takeoff.  This move ultimately saved Jack’s life, as Stan, in the mid-upper gun turret, was unable to escape the doomed “Pegasus” while Jack successfully bailed out of the aircraft from his beam gun position.  

Jack met his sweetheart, Ethel, while rehabilitating from his 14-month PoW ordeal.  They married in 1946 and settled in her home town, Leeds, where son Bruce was raised.  Starting as a telegraph pole installer, Jack steadily advanced through the ranks of the General Post Office until, at the time of his death, he was Chief Engineer in Leeds.   

Over the years he rarely spoke of his wartime experiences, but in the months before his heart attack he became ever more willing to share his secrets with Bruce, often over a pint or two of beer.  Bruce was in awe of his big hero dad.  Like most boys, he glamourised war and did not come to the realisation that his father had suffered terribly until about the time of Jack’s heart attack. 

Ethel passed away in Bacup, Lancashire in February 1997: the same month as her husband’s RAF enlistment, final combat flight, and death 25 years earlier.  Jack is survived by Bruce and by one brother, Dennis, a former RAF cook, who still resides in Ynysybwl.  Jackie Heal, Dennis’ and Jack’s nephew, also lives in Ynysybwl.  Born late in the war while Jack was missing in action, he was named as a tribute to his uncle, whose death had been presumed.  Uncle Jack’s inspirational return provided the family with a reason to never again give up hope so prematurely. 

The Harris kin in Wales and in England were located through the efforts of Jack’s former Wellington pilot, Tony Johnstone.

KING, John William Frank, 1312142

Rank when shot down: Warrant Officer

Known as “Jack”

Rear gunner on “Pegasus”

Born 11 November 1922

Son of  William and Dorothy King of Southampton

Date of RAF enlistment: 9 November 1940 

Died in Rangoon Central Jail on 31 March 1945, age 22

Buried in Rangoon War Cemetery, Plot 9, Row B, Grave 6

The middle of three children and the only boy, Jack was a delicate, attractive child with curls his sisters envied.  He remained small for his age until late in his teens, but older sister Irene, tall from a young age, was his faithful protector.  Their bond was always exceptionally close.  Irene fondly remembers his terrific sense of humour and friendly character, exhibited even to strangers.  Returning home on leave from the RAF, Jack took Irene dancing on a number of occasions.  “I must have loved him a lot,” she says laughingly, “because he was a dreadful dancer!”  Sore toes notwithstanding, she cherishes her precious yet all-too-few memories of their grown-up moments together. 

Jack was an apprentice engineer before volunteering for the RAF.  Though he was raised in a seafaring town and was the son of a seaman (who had been hired aboard the Titanic but, remarkably, missed its sailing), his constant boyhood dream was of flying.  In truth, Jack was petrified of water but loved the thought of flying, as long as he was over land, not water.  A perforated eardrum disqualified him from fighters, but he was quite content with bombers.  Initially hoping to become a wireless operator, he concentrated instead upon air gunnery, for which he was awarded his “AG” brevet in 1941.  

In April 1942, Jack flew as rear gunner on an aircraft-ferrying trip to the Mediterranean.  The return to England was indirect: he and his crew were passengers on flights across Africa to Freetown, Sierra Leone, where they embarked upon a sailing voyage to the UK.  Owing to his water phobia, and to the U-boat menace, Jack slept little on the return journey.  (Don Lomas and Johnnie Westermark were also involved in similar sailing exploits at the same time, though Jack was not yet crewed with either). 

Jack arrived on 159 Squadron in the late spring of 1943, but the long monsoon season delayed his initiation into Far East combat flying until October.  Starting on 9 October with a nine-hour raid to Mingaladon aerodrome near Rangoon, he participated on 27 ops to Burma and Siam, all but one as part of Edward Stanley’s crew.  His operational combat flights totaled approximately 244 hours. 

Jack succumbed to beriberi in the arms of his long-time mate, Don Lomas.  In death he was afforded the rare prison honour of a military farewell: a Union Jack and flower-draped coffin and smart salutes from his loincloth-clad fellow aircrew prisoners.  (This very same flag flew above the liberated prison slightly more than a month later.)  Jack’s bronze grave marker in beautiful Rangoon War Cemetery is inscribed with the words “LIFE’S TRIALS PASSED, HIS BATTLE WON, HE SLEEPS IN PEACE, HIS DUTY NOBLY DONE.” 

Jack is survived by Irene (Bellamy), of Southampton, and by their dear cousin, Rita Blake, also of Southampton.  Contact was made with Irene and Rita after the Southampton Echo newspaper printed an appeal for help in finding this native son’s family.  Like so many of the other kin of the downed airmen, Irene willingly responded when another reaction - silence and privacy - would have been the understandable alternative.  Though brought face-to-face once again with a sad chapter from her past, Irene emphasizes that she has no regrets and is grateful to have been given, at last, a chance to acquire long-unattainable and deeply personal knowledge. 

Jack’s wartime girlfriend has not been located.

LENTZ, Johannes Harmen Hendrik, 149321

Rank when shot down: Pilot Officer

Known as “Tommy” and “Dutch”

Second pilot (co-pilot) on “Pegasus” 

Born 19 March 1916 in den Helder, Netherlands

Son of Johannes and Elisabeth Lentz of Amsterdam, Netherlands

Date of RAF enlistment: 26 November 1941

Liberated from Rangoon Central Jail on 3 May 1945

Died of cancer in the Netherlands, July 1972, age 56

Johannes, an only child, was born and raised in the Netherlands.  In 1936 he entered the Marechaussee, the elite military corps responsible for watching over the Royal Family and guarding the Dutch borders.  As a patrol commander on the Netherlands-German border, he witnessed the German invasion of his country on 10 May 1940.  Subjected to frequent Luftwaffe air attacks in the weeks to follow, he withdrew with Allied forces through Belgium and northern France to the port of Brest.  From there he made his escape by ship, arriving safely in Plymouth on 11 June.  He spent the next five months in southern Wales on Bristol Channel beach patrol duties, guarding against enemy raiding parties and infiltrators landed by U-boats. 

Eager to participate more actively in the war, Johannes volunteered for the RAF and was accepted for pilot training in late November 1941.  After initial schooling near Leicester, he was transported to Canada under the Empire Air Training Plan, and there he received the bulk of his basic pilot training in the latter half of 1942.  Returning to the UK in February 1943, he completed his advanced courses at Church Lawford and Harwell.  On the night of 21 September, Johannes carried out a successful forced landing at Little Rissington aerodrome following an in-flight fire in the port engine of his twin-engine Wellington bomber.  

Johannes was forbidden from flying above Europe due, in some way, to his Dutch military past.  A posting to India came through in October, and he joined 159 Squadron late in January 1944.  He was shot down on his seventh combat op, all but the first flown as Edward Stanley’s second pilot.  Having bailed out of his stricken bomber beyond the target, he was momentarily caught in the ray of a searchlight and was strafed, but not wounded, by a Japanese night fighter.  In desperation, he collapsed the parachute canopy to accelerate his dropping speed and received a swollen knee upon landing.  Thirty-six hours on the run, he was captured by Burmese villagers and turned over to a Japanese patrol. 

After recovering from his PoW ordeal, Johannes was granted a transfer to his native country’s Royal Netherlands Air Force.  His distinguished career took him from flight instructor, to Air Attaché in Germany, to Deputy Commander at Woensdrecht, where he retired on an honourable discharge on 1 January 1969, having attained the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.  His hobbies over the years included horseback riding and swimming.  Upon retiring, he purchased land near Woensdrecht and set to work designing and building a dream house with a marvellous garden.  Unfortunately, Johannes and his wife, Alida, did not enjoy their new surroundings for very long, as he fell terminally ill. 

Now 88, Alida never recovered from the shock of losing her husband.  Reclusive since then, she still resides in Woensdrecht, though in poor health.  She and Johannes had no children, and of other relatives, only a sister-in-law has been found. 

Alida presented Johannes’ uniform, decorations, and flight log book to the Luchtvaart Militaire Museum (Dutch Military Aviation Museum) in Soesterberg, where they remain on public display. 

The details on Johannes’ life have materialised largely through the efforts of three people:  retired Squadron Leader Tim Titchmarsh, who flew as a 159 Squadron navigator on the 29 February 1944 raid;  translator Stien Vijn-van Egmond;  and Malcolm Mason, Secretary of the Amsterdam Branch of the Royal Air Forces Association.

LOMAS, John Donald, 1360083

Rank when shot down: Warrant Officer

Known as “Don” or "Donald"

Beam gunner & 2nd wireless operator on “Pegasus”

Born 17 June 1916, raised in Mytholmroyd, West Yorkshire

Date of RAF enlistment: 14 August 1940

Liberated from Rangoon Central Jail on 3 May 1945

Resides in Mytholmroyd with wife Joan 

Though an accomplished student, Don left school at age 14 to begin working in the family woolen textile business founded by his grandfather.  By age 24 the allure of the high seas tickled his fancy, and he set his sights on entering the Royal Navy.  Despite being fully qualified, he was turned down, and with no regrets he volunteered for his second choice, the RAF, and was accepted for wireless operator/air gunner training.    

Taking off in a blinding snowstorm in April 1942, Don and his crew (including one future 159 Squadron crewmate, Johnnie Westermark) ferried a new Wellington bomber to the beleaguered island of Malta.  At that time, Malta was under frequent Axis air attack and was, says Don, “a dodgy sort of place to be flying in and out of.”   Despite some tense moments, Don and his crew, on 15 minutes notice, soon departed for Cairo (as passengers on another aircraft), escaping by several hours the destruction of the Sergeants’ Mess where they had been billeted.  The crew were then transported by flying boat to Freetown, Sierra Leone, where they eventually embarked by surface vessels for England.  (Johnnie and Don were on separate boats.)  

Due to a series of mishaps and a variety of assignments, it was not until April 1943 that Don finally left the UK, via the Middle East, bound for Bengal, India and 159 Squadron.  Following the lengthy monsoon season, his combat career in India commenced on 9 October with a nine hour op to Mingaladon aerodrome (Rangoon).  Altogether, he flew 27 sorties to Burma and Siam, 25 of which were as beam gunner/second wireless operator on Edward Stanley’s crew.  Captured the day after he parachuted from the burning "Pegasus," Don endured beatings, solitary confinement, beriberi, general malnutrition, and infected scabies during his fourteen month PoW ordeal.   

Musically talented even as a boy, Don has remained a popular pianist with his friends over the years.  So admired were his skills on keyboard that he was invited to perform on occasion in the 159 Squadron Officers’ Mess, despite his Flight Sergeant’s rank at the time.   (Word of his promotion to Warrant Officer did not reach him until 1945.)  Show tunes, air force songs, ballads, or boogie woogie - they all went over well with his squadronmates when Don played them.  On such nights his appreciative audience often plied him with drinks; the only price he paid was for aspirin, if needed the next morning.  Don also contributed musically to "Jankers Away," the squadron’s morale-boosting Christmas 1943 farcical revue.  In more recent years he has led piano-side sing-alongs at 159 Squadron reunions. 

Now 81, Don has outlived all other victims from the two bombers and both of his one-time aerial foes - the Japanese fighter pilots who shot him down.  (One pilot died in November 1944, the other in 1992 after providing his unique perspective on the demise of “Pegasus” and “Daring Diana” -- and an apology.)  He finally stepped down in his late 70’s as partner in the family textile accessories business.  The firm has passed from his grandfather to his father, to Don and his only sibling (the late Cedric Lomas), and now to Geoffrey, Cedric's son.  Geoffrey can rest assured knowing that sage counsel is only 50 feet away - in Don’s home adjoining the business.   

A soft-spoken man with a devoted wife (Joan), a son, and two daughters, Don downplays his experiences in serving his country, which he calls “not very spectacular compared to some.”  He considers himself exceedingly fortunate in life, and this includes all of his wartime experiences.  He is an inspiration for having pressed on with his post-war life rather than wallow in the sadness that he witnessed. 

Don’s whereabouts in Mytholmroyd were discovered by Stan Sampson, the founder and Secretary of the 159 Squadron Association.

O’DONOHUE, Thomas John

Royal Australian Air Force No.  404487

Rank when shot down: Flight Lieutenant

Observer (navigator/bomb aimer) on “Pegasus”

Born 24 August 1919, raised in Brisbane, Australia

Son of Michael  (died 1936) and Mary Theresa O’Donohue

Date of RAAF enlistment: 13 September 1940

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 24

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 443,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore

Single, and one of 13 siblings, Tom was educated at the Star of the Sea Convent and Nudgee College.  Always keen on sports, he represented Nudgee at football and the Brisbane Taxation Department at swimming and football.  He was also a member of the Bilinga Lifesaving Club.  Inspired by the heroic RAF during the Battle of Britain, he left his promising job as a clerk in the Taxation Department for the honour of serving in the air force.  As an observer (later called navigator), he began his first operational tour in October 1941 aboard twin-engine Wellingtons of 150 Squadron (Snaith, Yorks), following the completion of his training in Australia, Canada, and the UK.   

After 14 ops he was posted in March 1942 to 460 Squadron (RAAF), comprised primarily of Australians and based at Breighton, Yorks.  His Wellington combat flying continued against targets in France and Germany, and his reputation as a top-notch observer (and bomb aimer) grew.  On 12 April, when returning from a raid on Essen, Germany, his aircraft was attacked by night fighters and he suffered a bullet wound through his right thigh.  Despite considerable pain Tom remained at his post and skillfully navigated his severely damaged aircraft back to the English coast, all the while keeping his injury a secret until the aircraft had safely landed.   

Following a six week recuperation, he rejoined 460 Squadron for 10 more ops, including several as the observer of choice aboard the Wellington of his mate, Bill Brill (one of Australia’s most outstanding and highly decorated wartime pilots).   Tom successfully completed his tour on 2 September.  His impressive record and particularly his fortitude on the night of 12 April were recognized by the award of the Distinguished Flying Medal, presented to him at Buckingham Palace by King George VI personally.  “Pluckiest Hero of Air Squadron,” read the headline to a story of his exploits printed in his hometown newspaper.  “My son!  Oh, I’m so proud,” exclaimed his mum to the press when cabled the news of Tom’s award.  Typically modest, Tom’s reaction to his decoration was this: “I am buggered if I know what it is for.” 

After a short stint as an instructor, Tom lobbied for, and won, a new posting to operational flying duties.  Assigned in 1943 to 159 Squadron in India, he was pleased to take on a more immediate threat to his beloved homeland: the Japanese.  All but two of his 27 ops with 159 Squadron were flown as Edward Stanley’s navigator, and his hard-earned combat experiences ultimately led to his assignment as Squadron Bombing Leader.   

Tom had a premonition that he would not come home from the op of 29 February.  Prior to take-off, he handed his Distinguished Flying Medal to a fellow Australian with instructions that it be personally delivered to his widowed mother in Brisbane.  The day Mrs. O’Donohue finally received her missing son’s DFM was uniquely tragic, as it was the same day that word of her son Pat's death arrived from England.  He, too, was in the air force and had been shot down and killed over Germany.   

Tom died in the fighter attack or in the ensuing crash of “Pegasus.”  He is survived by one brother, Jack, and four sisters, all of whom reside in Australia.  Several wartime letters, telegrams, newspaper cuttings, and Tom’s medals and logbook remain within the family to remind them of one kinsman’s courage and sacrifice over half a century earlier.   The O’Donohue kin were found through the assistance of Ivor Smith of Gosford East, Australia, who is the nephew of another missing 159 airman from later in the war. 

STANLEY, Edward James Douglas, 114064

Rank when shot down: Flight Lieutenant

Pilot of “Pegasus” 

Born 19 March 1922 in London

Son of Edward and Ida Stanley of Potters Bar, Middlesex

Date of RAF enlistment: 26 July 1940

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 21

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 432,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore

One of two children of a London Transport Board Inspector and his wife, Edward was educated at Minchenden School in Southgate, London, where he was a student from 1933 to 1939.   

Little is known about his RAF experiences until his first mention in the 159 Squadron records on 5 April 1943.  As a green pilot on 159 during that spring, Edward was put through the paces flying simulated bombing runs, performing “circuits & landings” (circuits of the airfield and practice takeoffs and landings), and undergoing fighter affiliation training, all under the tutelage of “old bod” pilots usually beside him on the B-24 flight deck.  In addition to his first op of 5 April, Edward completed four more combat sorties as second pilot (co-pilot), although on another occasion, 24 July, his pilot (skipper) and he returned the aircraft to base far short of the target after encountering severe, impenetrable thunderstorms.  This flight did not count as an op in the official records. 

Due to the intense monsoon season, Edward did not fly again in combat until 9 October’s raid to Mingaladon aerodrome (Rangoon).  By then, having qualified to become skipper of his own bomber, he had been assigned to an already established crew which included four of the airmen who were shot down with him: Don Lomas, Johnnie Westermark, Jack King, and Tom O’Donohue.  Replacing a popular veteran pilot who had trained with the crew, had flown them to India, and had earned their deep trust, the far less experienced Edward would, in time, win the respect and loyalty of his skeptical new crew.   It is a testament to his skill as a pilot and leader that his final 27 official combat ops, starting with 9 October, were as skipper.  In total, Edward participated on 32 ops, two more than were required to complete a tour.   These included nine sorties to the Rangoon area and four to Bangkok. 

Mention of Edward's name has brought forth expressions of admiration and astonishment from several ex-159 Squadron pilots.  It utterly confounded some of his peers how such a small and wiry young lad could possess the strength to manhandle the behemoth four engine B-24 Liberator, but Edward made it seem easy.  In truth, it was no simple task for even the most powerful of pilots.  Retired Group Captain John Musgrave, a seasoned pilot assigned to 159 Squadron during most of Edward’s tenure, remembers him as a very good and conscientious pilot.  

159 Squadron documents held at the Public Records Office offer an insight into the less glamourous side of Edward’s career.  On 4 October 1943, for example, it is noted that Edward became Squadron Welfare Officer.  This assignment proved thankless one morning when a handful of men, upset over inferior food for several days straight, vented their outrage on their young Welfare Officer.  Edward was able to quell the uprising and to affect some improvement.  On 15 November 1943 it is noted that he assumed the duties of Officer In Charge Of Mail, overseeing, among other things, the censoring of outgoing letters and the distribution of arriving correspondence.  Such tasks, however mundane, were important for overall squadron effectiveness, and if nothing else, they helped Edward to alleviate the boredom of non-operational life in India. 

Single, Edward is survived by his sister, Sue, who faithfully wrote him weekly letters until the war’s end, in the hope that he would receive them, via the Red Cross, in a prison camp.  Sue, residing with her husband in London and the South of France, was located through a Potters Bar Times newspaper story.  In 1982 their son, Robert Eringer, a writer now living in Washington, DC, dedicated his first book, Strike for Freedom!, to the uncle he never knew.  Robert's dedication reads simply but poignantly: “In Memory of EDWARD STANLEY.” 

WESTERMARK, John, 176353

Rank when shot down: Warrant Officer

Known as “Johnnie,” “Jock,” and “Westy”

1st wireless operator/air gunner on “Pegasus”

Born 28 April 1921, raised in Bucksburn, Scotland

Son of John and Lizzie Westermark

Date of RAF enlistment:  3 August 1940

Died in Rangoon Central Jail on 10 December 1944, age 23

Buried in Rangoon War Cemetery, Plot 5, Row E, Grave 10

The son of grocers who ran their own shop, Johnnie was himself an apprentice grocer with the Aberdeen Northern Coop Society when he joined the RAF with a keen desire to fly.  It was assumed by Johnnie’s mum and dad that he would eventually take over the running of the shop - something that Johnnie did not favour.  It was therefore a strange kind of relief when he joined the air force.  A tall, fair-haired “keep fit” athlete, he is remembered by his mates for his physical presence and his enthusiasm for football.  He was a devoted fan of bandleaders Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller, and he played the mandolin.  He was also a fine student. 

Johnnie’s posting to No. 21 Operational Training Unit in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucs. in late 1941 proved to be a blessing: there he met his fiancée Eileen, a local farmer’s daughter.  So enamoured of Eileen was Johnnie that he carried a lock of her hair in his wallet as a tangible reminder of his sweetheart whenever they were separated.   

Early in his RAF career Johnnie flew twice as a wireless operator from England to the Mediterranean: first, to deliver a much-needed Wellington bomber to besieged Malta in April/May 1942,  followed by a non-stop UK-to-Cairo (and return) petrol delivery flight in November 1942, at the pinnacle of the Battle of El Alamein.  Returning from the first trip via Africa, the boat transporting Johnnie back to England from Sierra Leone broke down in mid-voyage, with no naval escort.  A fear of U-boat attack was rife, but the engine was hastily repaired and the voyage continued without incident.  (Johnnie was on a different boat from Jack King and Don Lomas.)  

In the spring of 1943 a posting to India came through for Johnnie and his B-24 crew, which by then included Don Lomas, Jack King, and Tom O’Donohue.  Departing the UK on 4 April, they did not arrive at their Bengal, India destination, 159 Squadron, until 2 June due to long delays in repairing a petrol leak in Egypt and serious engine damage from a vulture strike in Karachi.  (Bored and annoyed by the long trip, Johnnie’s mood was worsened by an unwelcomed surprise  one night at Karachi: a snake had taken refuge in his tent.)  At 159 Squadron, an aborted trip on 24 July, foiled by severe weather, was Johnnie’s only chance at combat until 13 December, due to the monsoon-caused halt in flying ops and a five week hospitalisation in September and October (for an unspecified illness). 

Despite 12 more days in hospital in February, Johnnie was fit to fly a total of 15 combat ops with 159 Squadron.  All but one sortie were as Edward Stanley’s wireless operator.  Crossing the Bay of Bengal during one night op to Rangoon, Johnnie recognized flashing lights 50 miles off the Burma coast.  As it seemed to be an SOS distress signal, Edward ordered a break in radio silence, strictly forbidden, to allow Johnnie to report the sighting by wireless.  Johnnie’s sharp vision saved the lives of several downed American flyers who were subsequently rescued by a Royal Navy boat despatched from Ceylon.  There were no penalties meted out for the infraction of breaking radio silence. 

Johnnie is survived by his only sibling, Sheila James of Ammanford, Wales; his first cousin, Ian Stables of Warfield, Berks; and fiancée Eileen Sealey of Cuddington, Cheshire.  Himself a pilot, Ian has on occasion found himself thinking of his older cousin when flying high above the earth.  “Sometimes,”  he says, “I’m sure Johnnie is looking after me when I am up solo, which can be very lonely.”   Ian was discovered through an appeal printed in the Aberdeen Herald & Post; Sheila was found via the Internet UK telephone directory; and Eileen through good luck.   

Johnnie’s grave marker in Rangoon is inscribed with the words “TOO DEARLY LOVED TO BE FORGOTTEN BY

HIS MUM, DAD, AND SISTER.”

THE CREW OF B-24 LIBERATOR

BZ 962

 NAMED “DARING DIANA”

 (In Alphabetical Order) 

ARNOLD, Allan Edward

Royal Australian Air Force No. 420112

Rank when shot down: Flight Sergeant

Pilot of “Daring Diana”

Born 30 August 1918

Son of John and Christina Arnold of Lindfield, NSW, Australia

Date of RAF enlistment: 11 October 1941

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 25

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 444,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore

A tall, introspective, and modest man, Allan was the son of a Lindfield dentist and his wife.  He was educated at Knox Grammar, a private boys’ school on Sydney’s North Shore, and was employed by an insurance firm before volunteering for the air force.  In his initial training course at Bradfield Park, NSW, he took a serious approach to his studies, intent upon winning a recommendation to a pilot training course.  Allan wanted to “do something about winning the war,” says Boy Cory, his mate at Bradfield Park, and as a pilot he felt he could truly contribute.  His diligence was rewarded with his selection for elementary flight training in Australia in the spring of 1942. 

Allan arrived in Canada in mid-August to continue his training in the skies over Calgary, Alberta.  Another sea journey brought him to England in late winter, 1943, where advanced flight training at Andover was followed by a posting to No. 15 Operational Training Unit at Harwell, Oxfordshire.  Here, at Harwell, Allan improved his efficiency in piloting a Wellington bomber on a variety of exercises, with added emphasis placed upon night flying.  Here, too, he formed up his aircraft’s crew, becoming, in effect, the leader of a team of specialists for the first time.  

Michael Davis, an air gunner on the crew, became Allan’s inseparable mate, despite an age difference of six years.  On rare days off they journeyed to visit  Michael’s relatives, including his Nottingham cousin, Mary Lee Levers.  With Mary Lee’s friend Sheila making it a foursome, they spent delightful days strolling, chatting, and playing games of croquet, tennis, and lawn bowling, all the while laughing and forgetting about the war.  In their brief time together, Allan and Mary Lee became close platonic friends, while Michael and Sheila fell in love.  A glorious September weekend in London - spent dancing, dining, and visiting Kew Gardens - was their last time together. 

In August and September 1943, Allan piloted 12 night ops over the Continent, against sometimes fierce opposition.  (It is not clear if Michael was with him at this time).  On 7 September Allan’s Wellington was shot up by fighters over Brest, and ten nights later, on a Dusseldorf raid, his rear gunner was killed in an attack by an Me 410 fighter.  Finally, on 25 September, his Wellington was severely damaged by flak over Cherbourg and by two marauding Ju 88 fighters over the English Channel.  With the starboard engine on fire, Allan skillfully ditched in the Channel, and the crew’s dinghy was spotted 10 ½ hours later by a rescue launch.  All aboard survived their harrowing experience. 

After an arduous flight from the UK to India, Allan arrived at his new assignment, 355 Squadron, in October.  With too many crews and too few bombers on the squadron, Allan kept proficient by flying 410 non-combat hours as a C-47 Dakota transport pilot between 20 October and 8 December.  Finally, after conversion training on B-24 Liberators (when he probably flew as second pilot on two combat ops), Allan was posted with crewmates Tony Burgess and Michael to 159 Squadron in late January 1944.  Beginning with a sortie to Heho aerodrome in Burma on the night of 4 February, Allan flew nine ops with the squadron: four as second pilot and the last five as first pilot (skipper).   

One of three siblings, Allan is survived by his brother’s widow, Bobbie Arnold, and by a niece and nephews in Australia.  His late sister’s daughter, Diana Sheinberg, proudly wears the sapphire that Allan purchased in Calcutta days before his last flight.  Allan’s girlfriend, Mary Lee Peebles (née Levers), currently resides in Wollaton, Nottingham and has visited the Arnold kin in Australia on several occasions over the years.  These folks were contacted through the help of Joyce Hill, sister of Michael Davis. 

BURGESS, Desmond Riversdale Anthony, 1659085

Rank when shot down: Sergeant

Known as “Tony”

Beam gunner on “Daring Diana”

 Born 3 May 1924

Son of Jimmy and Ruth Burgess

Date of RAF enlistment: 21 July 1942

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 19

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 435,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

As the children of the Earl of Mount Edgecumbe’s chauffeur, Tony and his sister Joan were raised on two magnificent estates: first at Mount Edgecumbe House, on the River Tamar opposite Plymouth, and when that was blitzed out, at historic Cotehele House in Calstock, Cornwall, further up the Tamar.  The children’s lives were lonely and isolated, separated as they were from most others of their age, but the surroundings offered special advantages and diversions: daily summer swims in the Tamar, vast estate grounds to explore, and even a chance to wave when Jimmy, their father, chauffeured Elizabeth, the present Queen Mum, during her infrequent visits with the Earl.   

Ruth, their mother, walked out on the family when Tony was 12, leaving Joan with the difficult task of looking after her brother, but despite domestic upheaval Jimmy continued to provide Tony and Joan with a good, but strict, upbringing.  Though Tony attended Nutley College, he never applied himself to his studies, preferring football, among other things, to his books.  At 15 he left Nutley for an apprenticeship on the railway, but the war changed his goal: now he dreamed of becoming a pilot, not a railway engineer.   

In November 1941 during pre-induction RAF processing Tony was classed as “unfit for all aircrew; not recommended.”  A perforated eardrum, says Joan, was the probable culprit.  Returning eight months later, this time Tony was deemed fit for pilot training, but soon after enlisting he switched to air gunnery: a move that he did not mind “as long as I flew.”  His training proceeded rapidly, and in late summer 1943 he joined his first crew (believed to have been skippered by Allan Arnold) on a Wellington bomber at Harwell, Oxfordshire.   He may have flown several difficult night combat sorties to the Continent with Allan at this time, including the 25 September op which ended with a ditching and rescue in the English Channel. (See Allan’s biography, above.) 

Departing the UK for India, Tony had forewarned his mother, working in a dockyard canteen in Plymouth, to look for his aircraft heading out over the sea.  She was thrilled to spot the bomber’s flyover, its wings dipping and rising in a telltale farewell salute to Ruth.  In India Tony and crewmates Allan Arnold and Michael Davis were first posted to 355 Squadron, and then to conversion training to B-24’s, before finally arriving on 159 Squadron in late January 1944.  Beginning with the 5 February bombing attack on Heho aerodrome, Tony flew a total of six combat ops with 159 Squadron, all aimed at disrupting the Japanese air and rail networks in Burma.   His additional sorties were to Moulmein railroad jetty, Mandalay marshaling yards, Sagaing shore rail station, Mingaladon aerodrome (Rangoon), and Rangoon’s Mahlwagon marshaling yards.   

Joan and her mum were located through an appeal broadcast on BBC Radio Devon in late 1995, and arranged by Julia Massey, a caring and dedicated Calstock, Cornwall civil servant.  Mother and daughter were relieved beyond words to learn that Tony had died quickly in the fighter attack or the subsequent crash of “Daring Diana,” never having been captured.  Ruth’s recurring nightmare had always been of her son’s mistreatment in Japanese hands.  Discovering the truth after more than half a century of anguish brought her long-denied inner peace, and at the age of 102 Ruth passed away in February of 1997, her dutiful daughter at her side.  Joan resides in Chertsey. 

A single man, Tony had a steady girlfriend in Southampton, but she has not been located.

BURN, Arthur Robert, 1319428

Rank when shot down: Flight Sergeant

Known as “Bob” or “Bobby”

Observer (navigator/bomb aimer) on “Daring Diana” 

Born 4 February 1921

Son of Henry and Margaret Burn of Ealing, London

Date of RAF enlistment: 27 May 1941

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 23

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 434,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

The only child of a postal employee and his wife, Bobby was raised in a small but tidy two-bedroom home in Ealing.  A little black Scottie was his constant companion in his youth.  Mum, Dad, and Bobby - a close family - often spent holidays together in Redruth, Cornwall, where they loved to partake of the many varied and challenging walks.  Bobby’s first cousin Colin, a month younger, remembers him as “a nice chap as a boy” who never hesitated to share his prized bicycle with his visiting cousins.  Awarded a scholarship to secondary school for his academic excellence, Bobby proved to be a clever and gifted student.  Colin’s sister Frances characterises Bobby as tall, lean, and “a good all-rounder,” with both athletic and intellectual talent. 

Colin also recalls that Bobby was a born navigator who never seemed to get lost on outings together.  (Bobby apparently shared this ability with his dad.)  He had a good eye for detail and always knew where he was taking his cousins, who thought it the natural progression of things that he should become an RAF navigator. 

Bobby volunteered for the RAF at age 20 after resigning a job as “maintenance engineer” (per his RAF personnel file).  Having been recommended “for training as Observer/Pilot,” it is certain that Bobby did indeed receive some pilot instruction, but his primary training was as an Observer (later referred to as "Navigator"), encompassing a full range of navigation and bomb aiming duties.  In January 1942 he was shipped to South Africa, where the weather was conducive to continuous flying, and there, in July, he won his coveted “O” half-wing brevet.   

After returning by sea to the UK in August, Bobby was posted to No. 21 Operational Training Unit at Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire, for final aircrew instruction prior to a first combat assignment.  There he was chosen, along with future “Pegasus” gunner Jack Harris, for a five-man Wellington crew captained by rookie pilot Tony Johnstone.  As a “graduation” from No. 21 OTU, Bobby and his crew flew on one or two nighttime leaflet-dropping assignments, called “nickel raids,” over enemy-occupied France.  Tony now can recall - with a chuckle -  that Bobby, at first, failed to forcibly expel the leaflets out of the flare tube, causing an explosion of paper from the tube back into the fuselage. Above Brest on the return home, the crew spotted intriguing red blobs on the ground far below them.  Moments later, when nearby flak bursts shook the aircraft, they realized, with a jolt both physical and emotional, that they had witnessed the muzzle flashes of anti-aircraft guns aimed at them.  But they arrived  safely back to base. 

In March 1943 Bobby, Tony, and crew departed the UK for India in a Wellington being ferried to the Far East.  Tony remembers Bobby’s innate navigational skills on this journey, which, in poor weather conditions, took them far out over the Atlantic to avoid German fighters.  Utilising his earlier flight training, Bobby also spelled Tony at the pilot controls for some stretches when “George,” the autopilot, could be engaged.  Bobby sat there, book in hand, ready to grab the controls should trouble arise.  

Arriving on 159 Squadron in April 1943, Bobby did not fly combat until October due to inclement monsoon weather.   He was navigator/bomb aimer on 28 ops to Burma and Siam, totaling approximately 236 hours in the air. 

Bobby, unmarried, is survived by his first cousins Colin, Frances, Sue, and Eric, their 102 year old mother (sister to Bobby’s mum), and also by his cousin Peg.  The kin were discovered as a result of an article printed in the Ealing Gazette newspaper.

CLIFTON, Bernard, 50589

Rank when shot down: Flying Officer

1st wireless operator/air gunner on “Daring Diana” 

Born 15 October 1920

Son of Hubert and Beatrice Clifton of Purston, Yorkshire

Date of RAF enlistment: 27 June 1939

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 23

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 432,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore

Always a fun-loving extrovert, Bernard was the youngest of three sons born to a Pontefract police constable and his wife.  Bright, ambitious, fearless, and full of zest, from an early age he showed great promise and determination in all endeavours.  At 11 he was awarded a scholarship to Hemsworth Grammar School, where, in addition to attaining high marks, he excelled at athletics and rugby, winning prestigious medals and cups in both.  In 1938 he created a record in points scored for Hemsworth Rugby Union Football Club.  Following the completion of his schooling in 1937 until his enlistment, Bernard was employed as a clerk at Sainter & Sons Fruit Merchants, still in existence in Hemsworth.  It was also during this time that he met his sweetheart, Ilsa. 

In Blackpool on a pre-war outing with brother Eric, Bernard was allowed a pleasure flight in a visiting airplane.  It was “love at first flight,” and from that moment on his goal was to fly for the RAF.  Attempting to volunteer for pilot training, he was turned down because of an eye imperfection but was wholeheartedly endorsed for wireless operator/air gunner training.  Superior proficiency ratings and very good character marks, recorded in his RAF personnel file, indicate how readily he was assimilated into the air force.  In fact, acknowledging his fondness for service life, he told Ilsa that he wished to make a career of the RAF, a goal that she enthusiastically supported. 

With the outbreak of war came Bernard’s first combat posting: to 58 Squadron, flying Whitley bombers from Linton-on-Ouse in Yorkshire.  Continuing to prosper during this period of pioneering night bombing operations, he completed 29 flights over Germany, France, Holland, and even Italy, including the first-ever raid on Berlin (25 August 1940).  In recognition of Bernard’s “gallantry and devotion to duty on night operations,” King George VI personally awarded Bernard the Distinguished Flying Medal at Buckingham Palace in October 1941.  Beaming with pride, parents Hubert and Beatrice Clifton were in attendance.   

A variety of assignments occupied Bernard’s time until his next combat posting came through in December 1942.  On the 15^th of the month Bernard and his new crew departed the UK, bound for India in a B-24 bomber, but an engine fire forced them down in neutral Spain, not far from their intended destination of Gibraltar.  Two months of internment followed, during which period Bernard and his crewmates (including his pilot of 29 February 1944, Vic Whitehall) were treated exceptionally well by their Spanish counterparts.   This time, at least, the “missing airman” telegrams sent to the Clifton and Whitehall families proved to be false alarms, unlike those of 16 months later. 

In mid-summer 1943, and now engaged to Bernard, Ilsa sang him a goodbye tribute, “My Hero” from The Chocolate Soldier, amidst tumultuous and appreciative cheers as his train departed the blacked-out Sheffield rail station.  It was like a scene from a cinematic love story.  Days later Bernard and Vic were off again to India by air, this time successfully completing the journey in July.  Bernard was lost on the 24^th op of his 159 Squadron combat tour, all of which were flown as first wireless operator/air gunner.  

Bernard is survived by his brother Eric, living close to daughter Lorna Breckon in Rothwell, Leeds.  Eric was located through an appeal broadcast on Charlie Chester’s national BBC radio programme, "Sunday Soapbox."  Ilsa McNicol-Kenney (née Nuttall), Bernard’s fiancée, lives in Northallerton, North Yorkshire, near Jane, her younger daughter, who wears Bernard’s engagement ring in tribute to her mum’s first love.  Ilsa was found through a Barnsley, Yorkshire Chronicle story and with the assistance of Dave Mason, the current owner of her mother’s Cudworth, Yorkshire wartime home.

DAVIS, Michael Ludlow

Royal Canadian Air Force No. J.86883

Rank when shot down: Pilot Officer

Rear gunner on “Daring Diana” 

Born 7 June 1924, son of Herbert and Olga Davis of Bombay, India

Date of RAF enlistment: 8 June 1942

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 19

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 443,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

Of English nationality and born in Rangoon, Michael died there just three months shy of his 20^th birthday.  Lean, tall (over 6 feet), and the youngest of the 18 downed airmen of 29 February 1944, he had the day before attained a commissioned officer’s rank - an accomplishment which would have pleased his father, a distinguished career naval officer whose wartime assignments were twofold: Nautical Advisor to the Government of India, and Controller of Indian Shipping.  Captain Davis’ duties allowed him little time away from India, and Michael’s early years, and those of his older sister Joyce (his only sibling), were spent primarily in England: with relatives, at boarding schools, or with their mother when she could return from India for longer periods than her husband. 

Michael’s public school education was of the highest standard.  He was particularly adept at poetry, surviving examples of which are cherished by Joyce.  His later ambition, he told his proud and supportive parents in 1943, was to study journalism at Cambridge University.  

When war came, Michael was still at boarding school in England, though Joyce, at 18, had already accompanied her mother back to India.  Fearing for his safety as German air attacks loomed, his parents shipped him in 1940 to Kelowna, British Columbia, where the now-16 year old joined cousins Bobby and Betty in the household of Captain Davis’ brother.  With close family support and the company of cousins and new friends, Michael blossomed in Kelowna: “the Wild and Woolly West,” as he put it.   There the amenities were many:  swimming, hiking, fishing, hunting, camping, and ice skating, to name a few. 

Yet Michael found his new high school “frightfully boring” and academically unchallenging.  Clearly homesick for England and intent upon returning as soon as possible, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force a day after his 18^th birthday.  Deciding that the quickest route overseas would be as an air gunner, he eschewed the pilot courses for which he had qualified in favour of more streamlined gunnery training.  This completed, he arrived in the UK in March 1943 and proceeded to Harwell for final operational instruction, which may have included some combat.  Allan Arnold became at once his pilot and inseparable mate during this time frame, and it was also then that Michael fell in love with Sheila, his cousin Mary Lee’s friend.  (See Allan’s biography, above.)   

In a surprise coup possibly initiated by his influential father, Michael (with Tony Burgess and Allan) received a posting to India, arriving by air in October 1943.  After more than four years’ separation, Michael delighted in his reunions with Joyce and his parents in Bombay and with his Uncle Jack in Calcutta.  Though these precious leaves were achingly brief, he was bolstered by the promise of more to come.  Assigned initially to 355 Squadron, he, Allan, and Tony were transferred in late January 1944 to 159 Squadron, where Michael flew as rear gunner on five combat ops, totaling approximately 37½  hours airborne.  His destinations were the Prome storage dumps, Mandalay marshaling yards, Sagaing shore rail station, Mingaladon aerodrome (Rangoon), and Rangoon’s Mahlwagon marshaling yards. 

Ken Baverstock, a squadronmate, calls Michael “probably the most handsome chap I have ever seen” and ”one of nature’s true gentlemen.  He would have made his mark on the world.”   Michael is survived by Joyce (Hill) of Dunster, Somerset; cousins Betty Burns and Joyce Denley in Kelowna, BC; and cousin Mary Lee Peebles in Wollaton, Nottingham.  Contact with the family was established when an appeal run in the Kelowna Daily Courier was immediately answered by Joyce Denley and Betty in 1994.

LEAK, John Henry Starmer, 1682798

Rank when shot down: Flight Sergeant

Flight engineer on “Daring Diana” 

Born 12 December 1922, son of John and Ada Leak of Hull

Grandson of Mrs. Ada Glenville of Hull and Aldbrough

Date of RAF enlistment: 22 December 1941

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 21

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 436,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

The eldest of five children, John was born during a period when his parents lived in the Hull home of his paternal grandparents.  With John’s mum pregnant with brother Leslie and there being, in Les’ words, “no room at the inn,” it was decided that John would go to his maternal grandparents, the Glenvilles, also in Hull.  John was their first grandchild, and the move seemed a happy arrangement in a nurturing, loving household.   

By Leslie’s birth in March 1924, John senior and his wife had a place of their own, but baby John remained with his grandparents.  Three more siblings followed, all of whom lived with their parents from birth.  Naturally, John saw them frequently (his parents, two brothers, and two sisters), though not on a day-to-day basis.  After a long illness, Ada, their mum, died in 1937. 

John’s Uncle Bill Glenville and his five sisters - John’s aunts - adored the boy.  Says Bill: “He was our main lad, was John.”  A dressmaker widowed in 1930, Grandma Glenville doted on John and raised him to be a loyal, caring, and thoughtful young man with a fine sense of humour.  Clever and very bright, John took an apprenticeship in plumbing upon leaving school and was doing quite well when an opening arose for him in the colour matching department of Reckitt & Colman, the highly-regarded Hull firm.  With such secure, quality jobs scarce, he accepted the position with Reckitt & Colman after much soul searching, and he quickly embraced his colour striker’s responsibility: inspecting the blue laundry powder, heated in kilns, for proper colour parameters.  He was well liked at Reckitt & Colman and took night courses to improve himself even further. 

In 1940 or 1941 the Glenville home was seriously damaged in a German Luftwaffe raid, so John’s grandmother led the Glenvilles to the safe haven of the family’s Aldbrough summer bungalow, roughly 12 miles to the east.  On mornings when their schedules - and the Luftwaffe’s - allowed, Bill and John commuted together to and from Hull, first by motorbikes and then in a three-wheel car that John was quite fond of.    

John’s decision to volunteer for the RAF was a surprise to the family.  His position at Reckitt & Colman allowed him a military deferment, but he felt it was time to do his duty by joining the RAF.  Trained initially as an aircraft fitter and flight mechanic, his career shifted in June 1943 when, at St. Athan, Wales, he was chosen for aircrew training as a B-24 Liberator flight engineer.  His coursework in Wales and at Harwell, Oxfordshire completed, he bade farewell to his large family and to his Gosport girlfriend and sailed on the troopship Strathmore in late October 1943, bound for India and 159 Squadron.  Along the way he survived unharmed a German air attack on his Mediterranean convoy, alongside fellow flight engineer Norman Davis (also shot down on 29 February 1944). 

After conversion training aboard B-24’s, John arrived at 159 Squadron in early January 1944.  The first of his six combat ops with 159 was flown on 16 January, to Rangoon’s central rail station.  His other sorties were to Meiktila, Mandalay, Sagaing, Mingaladon (Rangoon), and finally to Rangoon on the 29^th of February.  Ken Baverstock, his mate on 159 Squadron, said this of John: “He was a very decent man who lived quietly, sending most of his pay to support his grandma.”     

John is survived by brothers Les and Lawrence, sisters Vera and Jean, their Uncle Bill, his wife Olive, Bill's sister Jean, and several cousins.  Says Bill: “He is never out of our thought.”   Bill and his kin were located through a Hull Daily Mail newspaper appeal. 

PLANK, Charles Alfred George, 1435434

Rank when shot down: Sergeant

Beam gunner & 2nd wireless operator on “Daring Diana” 

Born 15 March 1923 in Liverpool, son of Alfred & Margaret Plank

Grandson of Mr. & Mrs. Charles Plank

Date of RAF enlistment: 24 May 1941

Service commenced 9 October 1941

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 20

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 436,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

George was the only child of a Liverpool dental surgeon and his wife, a bank teller.  After his father’s unexpected death when George was three, his mum relocated to London with her young son, but within months she, too, died after a sudden illness.   George was returned to Liverpool to be raised by his paternal grandparents in a happy and caring environment.  Four years older than George and sharing a bedroom with him was Alf Irwin, the housekeeper’s son.  Until the day he died in 1996, still residing in the same house, “big brother” Alf adored “young hero George,” as he so reverently called him.  Said Alf: “He had a character of platinum, a heart of gold, and limitless potential.” 

Educated at Marlborough College, George was a superior scholar and athlete.  Learning seemed effortless to him, according to Alf and other school chums.  In sports George played tennis and football on the school team, once scoring 4 goals in a match against rival Claughton School.  He was often kidded about his “10-to-2 feet,” widely splayed, which, joked his headmaster, gave him an advantage on the playing field.  More to the point, it was his speed, strength, determination, skill, and boundless self-confidence which held him in good stead versus his rivals. 

When war came, George was employed as a shipping clerk in a Liverpool tea firm.  He soon joined the Home Guard and “marched with his broomstick,” says Jessie, his widow.   It was in a Liverpool air raid shelter in 1940 that George met Jessie, but little did they know then that an air raid on Rangoon would separate them forever.  With his hometown taking a terrible beating, and resolved to fight back, George volunteered for the RAF at 18 and began full-time training in October 1941. 

From Blackpool to Yatesbury (Wiltshire) to South Kensington (London) to Madley (near Hereford) to Stormy Down (Wales) to Wigtown (Scotland) to Harwell (Oxfordshire), George advanced steadily to become a skilled wireless operator/air gunner by mid-1943.   Joining him at many of these postings were fellow wireless op/air gunner mates Reg Payne and Eric Melhuish, who, like George’s schoolmates before them, admired his natural ability.  Reg and Eric fondly recall two further outstanding characteristics in George:  his utter passion for jazz, swing, blues, and other music (including Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the Andrews Sisters), and a bone-dry sense of humour delivered in a quiet, unassuming voice, often with devastatingly hilarious results. 

Granted only a 24-hour leave by his commanding officer, George married Jessie in Liverpool on 17 July 1943, but back he went the next day to No. 15 Operational Training Unit at Harwell for the concluding month of his final aircrew training in the UK.  He spent his two week embarkation leave honeymooning with Jessie in Yorkshire, and all too quickly he was off to India by air at the end of August with an unfamiliar (and unknown) crew.   After a temporary assignment with 355 Squadron, George reached 159 Squadron on 10 January 1944.  Beginning with a 22 January sortie to Meiktila, Burma, he flew nine combat ops with the squadron, totaling 74 hours aloft. 

George feared but one thing: the month of February.  If he could get through this month unscathed, he felt that nothing could harm him, though he could give Jessie no logical explanation for his troubling thoughts.  He died at approximately 9 p.m. on that leap year 29^th day of February, only three hours shy of clearing his self-imposed hurdle. 

George is survived by Jessie, now Mrs. James M. Poole, of Wilmington, Delaware, USA.  Jim’s and Jessie’s son, Matthew, has been investigating the 29 February 1944 air combat and its aftermath since January 1990.

STOUT, Ansel Ernest Blackburn, 771563

Rank when shot down: Sergeant

Mid-upper gunner on “Daring Diana” 

Born 12 December 1916

     in Calcutta, India

Date of RAF enlistment: 16 January 1940

Missing, declared killed in action,

     29 February 1944, age 27

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 436,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

Like Stan Chalcraft, the other mid-upper gunner lost on 29 February 1944, very few details on Ansel’s life have materialised.  Not a single living relative has been located since this project commenced in 1990, making the Stout clan unique among the 18 families directly affected by the downing of the two Liberators on 29 February 1944.  Furthermore, no 159 Squadron veterans with recollections of this airman have been found.  Naturally, the squadronmates who perhaps knew him best - his crew on the final op - died with him.   

Still, some basic facts have been gathered which paint a sketchy portrait of a volunteer who was well on his way to completing his tour of combat flying with 159 Squadron when he died. 

It is known that Ansel was born in Calcutta, India.  In April 1915, twenty months earlier,  a baby named Charles Edwin Winifred Stout was also born in Calcutta, and it is possible that this was Ansel’s brother.  A check of records at London’s Oriental & India Office has revealed no further family details. 

From another source, however, it has been established that Ansel lived at 17 Hall Road in the Richards Town section of Bangalore, India at the time of his enlistment.   His civilian occupation was hotel manager, which explains in part why he was already 23 years of age when he joined up.  His next-of-kin, possibly his mother, appears to have been a  B. Stout, also of 17 Hall Road in Bangalore.  It certainly is not a wife, as he was single with no children.  A letter written to this address in 1995 was unanswered. 

Of British nationality, Ansel was a Roman Catholic.  He was 5 feet 7 ¾ inches tall with a 29 ½ inch chest, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a tan complexion.  Photos of him show a slim, pleasant looking young man with a warm smile and neatly kept hair.  Upon enlisting in January 1940, Ansel was recommended for training as a wireless operator, but at some unknown point in his RAF career he switched to the air gunnery specialisation instead.  Allegedly 159 Squadron was his first operational assignment, but this tidbit does little to clear up the mystery of his 4 years and 45 days of total RAF service.

Ansel’s name first shows up in surviving 159 Squadron records on 20 January 1943, when he flew as a gunner on a 6 hour and 17 minute combat sortie to Toungoo, Burma.  He participated on one more op in January and three in February, followed by a 1 April cross-country practice flight.  He does not, however, show up again in the records until a 15 November combat op to Pegu, Burma.  He flew a further three November ops, followed by another six weeks away from flying.  Finally, starting on 10 January 1944, Ansel flew regular combat sorties continuously until his death. 

In total, Ansel participated on 20 known ops with 159 Squadron.  One final fact: his Sergeant’s daily rate of pay was 9 shillings, 3 pence as of his date of death. 

WHITEHALL, Victor Ernest, 1262742

Rank when shot down: Warrant Officer

Second pilot (co-pilot) on “Daring Diana” 

Born 19 February 1916

Son of Henry and Lilian Whitehall of S. Tottenham, London

Date of RAF enlistment: 22 August 1940

Missing, declared killed in action, 29 February 1944, age 28

Commemorated on Singapore Memorial, Column 433,

at Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore 

Single and the oldest man shot down on 29 February 1944, Vic was born in Stoke Newington, London as the second son of an optical instrument maker and his wife.  The family moved in Vic’s youth to nearby South Tottenham.  Though Vic and his only sibling Norman were born just two years apart, they tended to go their separate ways, even as young boys.  Still, despite the lack of a close bond between the brothers, the Whitehalls were a happy family. 

A  friend of the Whitehall brothers, Doris Needs, recalls that Vic was the quiet, reserved one and was more studious than Norman.  Vic also was “a bit of a sportsman,” she says.  Of his schooling little is known, but it seems that he attended Stoke Newington Central School, and he may have taken mathematics courses at the University of London.  

Upon leaving school, Vic was employed as a clerk with the Stoke Newington Town Hall until volunteering at age 24 for the RAF.  Though he may have been granted a military deferment due to his civil servant status, he felt compelled to join up two days before Luftwaffe bombs first fell on Central London.  Looking skyward during this period, and no doubt worrying about his family in London, perhaps he saw a way to get even with the Germans: by becoming a pilot. 

Vic progressed well in the RAF, earning his pilot’s wings on 14 June 1941 and  receiving his first combat posting in September to 207 Squadron, then at Waddington, Lincs.  This was a difficult period not only for Vic, but also for his entire squadron, as 207 was the first to fly the new and troublesome Manchester bomber, forerunner of the great Lancaster.  In an aircraft type plagued by mechanical problems, Vic completed nine ops as second pilot to John de Lacey "Dim" Wooldridge, one of the most colourful and audacious pilots of the war (and a noted author, composer, and playwright, too).  Then, with the spring 1942 arrival of Lancasters onto 207 Squadron, now relocated to Bottesford, Leics, Vic flew an additional 10 ops over Europe, all as second pilot (three with skipper Dim Wooldridge).   

Reassigned before his tour was completed, Vic prepared for a new mission: to fight the Japanese in the Far East using long-range B-24’s.  On 15 December 1942 he (as second pilot) and his crew, including wireless operator Bernard Clifton, departed the UK in a B-24, bound for India.  After an in-flight engine fire forced them to crash in neutral Spain, the men found themselves comfortably interned in the mountains at Alhama de Aragón.  Loved ones back home, however, first received a “missing airman” telegram before the joyous news of the men’s well-being reached them.  The British government soon arranged for safe passage home from Spain.  Finally, in July 1943 Vic’s B-24 departed England and arrived in Karachi, India (now Pakistan), via Gibraltar, Libya, Egypt, and Iraq.  Because of weather, training, and hospitalisation (unknown illness), he did not fly combat again until 16 January 1944, to Rangoon.  It was the first of his 11 ops with 159 Squadron, all flown as second pilot. 

In 1949 at Stoke Newington Town Hall the National Association of Local Government Officers dedicated a memorial oak bench in honour of Vic and two other local members who had died in the war.  Robbie, Vic’s sister-in-law, discovered the bench in 1996 at the Town Hall, a bit worse for wear after 47 years but still bearing a suitably inscribed bronze plate.  Framed photos of  Vic and his two fellow honourees remain on the wall behind the bench. 

Robbie, who never knew Vic, was found through a Crawley News story.  Her husband, she says, always felt Vic’s loss deeply and would have been grateful for new details on his disappearance, but Norman passed away two years before the newspaper article was printed.  Vic and Norman are survived by their Uncle Ernie and Cousin Iris in Australia.  Now age 100, Ernie still keeps Victor's framed photo by his bedside.  They share the same birthday.

Matthew J. Poole 
12307 Middle Road
Wheaton, Maryland 20906 USA
E-mail: feb2944@aol.com

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