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RAF Stations at Digri in India
It was March 22, 1944.
I was assigned for the day, to F/L Clarke's crew for the trip, as his co-pilot.
Out on the tarmac and beside Liberator EA118, I met up with W02 Horton, from
Saskatoon, a navigator. He too had been assigned to this sortie, from another
crew. We had some tea from a Charwallah. I paid. The assignment was 'mining' in
the Bangkok river, 'laying them` towards a 'marked' bend, just south of the
city. Our load was seven 1100 lb parachute mines, dropped from 300 ft. It was a
bright moonlit night. It took six hrs. 30 min to get there, and the target was
easy to identify.
We
had just finished the drop, and were about to turn to port, when BANG!.A muffled
yell came from below us. Soon the skipper got an intercom contact froth the bomb
aimer - ' the navigator has been hit, I need some medical help!'. I indicated to
the skipper that I had had some Scout First Aid, that's all.
The
Navigator/Bomb aimer/ Nose-Gunner were situated below the flight deck, but not
overly cramped quarters. The navigator had a 'draughting table' area, the bomb
aimer had room to take a prone position over a bullet‑proof window and the
gunner was up front, in his turret, doing his job, being alert. The navigator
with his charts, sat at the same level as the ammunition belt feeding the front
turret on the starboard side.
Horton,
(and I can't remember his first name) had been hit by a 'one-in-a-million
'missile' -- OURS !. Some stray
'bullet' from the outside had hit the firing end of a 0.5 inch shell in 'our'
ammunition belt, which fired into the navigator, not too far away. (The regular
ammunition in the belt, had two variations: every fifth round was a tracer and
very often was a an armour-piercing round). The one that hit Horton, sheared off
most of his leg. below the knee.
When
I got to him, he was laying on the deck. The bomb aimer had managed to secure a
crude tourniquet, but he was now too sick to continue. I was able to get: a
(chest pack) parachute under his head: to finally get one of the morphine tubes
to work to ease the pain, and to replace the tourniquet. But, as I was
sprinkling, like a salt shaker, the sulfa powder on to his stub-like wound, I
gagged and fought a powerful moment of wanting to laugh or to cry and not to
continue with the dressing. I talked to him as the morphine took hold. He looked
at me wearily and nodded from time to time, and went to sleep.
It
was almost 6 hours to fly back to base without a navigator, and it also was an
area of radio silence. Our navigator had died before we landed.
I
suppressed this moment all my life 'till 1995, when I was at a Burma Bomber
Reunion, in Regina. A niece of Horton's met up with me. With Log Book in hand, I
told her my story, and she was so pleased to have found out what had happened to
her uncle, at last.
We
both, for some reason, had a mutual feeling of relief.
********************************************************
I
was posted from Air Graduate Training School in Calgary, to #5 OTU (Overseas
Training Unit) at Boundary Bay, B.C. I was to arrive there in early August,
1944. I carne with 30 hours and 50 minutes, daylight flying and 2 hours. nights
on Tiger Moths from Virden, Man. plus 57 hours days and 8 hours nights on Ansons
from Souris, Manitoba.
Finding
a crew to team up with was a hunt and seek, situation. On the second day I
joined up with
We
began flying together, August 8th on Mitchells, familiarizing ourselves with the
tricycle landing gear and powerful engines. We gained 10 hours days and 10 hours
nights. At this point, we moved to Abbotsford for instruction on Liberators. We
were assigned to an Instructor, F/0 'Z'.
He had completed two tours over Europe and his nerves had been completely
challenged, (quick head movements, periodically). I was instructed (as co-pilot)
to kneel between him and
As
a break, each OTU crew had to measure the height of MOUNT BAKER, comparing tile
altimeter height with the radio altimeter, a new instrument for us to use, and
we enjoyed doing. full crew exercises.
Then
it was time for a check-out for night flying.
Abbotsford
runways were the typical equilateral triangle type. This night the take off was
south. We took three turns to port, to complete the circuit. On the north side,
the hills and mountains are not far away, but you are aware of them at night.
Two
days later he returned, some noticeable strain evident, nothing said, and I
returned to the co-pilot's seat. We participated in formation, flying No.3, with
full crew, and he never bothered us at all.
A SQUAD OF LITTLE MEN
April 21st, 1945, Digri, India.
The unit had no name. The "soldiers', themselves, had no known names. They were parachute troops. The war in South East Asia was on the move. They had a job to do, just north of Rangoon, on a moonlight night. There were more than two dozen recruits, patiently waiting to do this job.
On this date, I was assigned as co-pilot to S/L Art Brown and crew. Members that I knew were Jack Insul, Windy Waters, ? Phethian, and Jack Tate, (our gunner). There were two others. The aircraft was my favorite, "Donald's Digit".
We were up at 07:30 hrs, flew south to Salbani, to the 'Cloak and Dagger', 357 Squadron, and things here were done on the hush-hush. Loading took place during the day. Take off was 23:10 hrs. Our payload was different: four canisters of scream bombs, (and later, we thought we could hear them fall); then, clusters of mortars all differently timed, and our dropping had scattered them. Finally we loaded a cluster of Very Pistol cartridges with spikes on one end. Some of them landed firmly in trees, at different heights, each sporting a single color and timed for sequences of red, white then green for go.
After 'stooge-ing' a bit, and were leaving, we could see the Very cartridges arching high in the sky to signal. This took place around Meiktila Lake, north of Rangoon, sometime after 03:00 hours. As we were leaving, 'our' paratroopers were arriving. We could picture them dropping in the bright moonlight, one after another.
The Japanese didn't know the truth. Each 'soldier' was carefully made of different sized sand-sacks with a little square head and a rectangular body along with arms and legs and feet. These were all suspended from realistic, useable paper parachutes, hung up inside some crew's bomb-bay, before the drop.
This was one type of psychological warfare used, as our land troops were readying to take Rangoon.
And, we weren't the only bombers on this Op, we think.
Gordon Slark
Mission to Penang, January, 1945
From day one of overseas training, it was impressed upon us not to elaborate on anything in detail about what you are doing on your ‘trips’. It wasn't exactly giving your name and address only sort of thing, but rather the nature of your trips. Probably that you fly Liberators, you do bombing, mining and side-trips, sort of thing. Thus, sometimes, you didn't tell others, even in your own squadron, if his crew hadn't been on a particular trip you were on.
151 Squadron at Digri, was not far from, and South West of Calcutta.
Tuesday, January 23, 1945 was my third trip. Donald's Digit (a caricature taken from Disney) was on. our aircraft, posing with his fore-finger in the air and a small clouded halo surrounding it. The plane was loaded with two large empty bomb bay tanks, one on each side of a five inch walkway, sitting as tall as I was. We flew our kite down to Kalikundi. a U.S.A. air-strip (for fighter planes) much longer than Digri had. We were flown back in a Dakota. The temperature on the tarmac when we left was around 120 deg. F. On Wednesday January 24th, back to Kalikundi with only a crew of four, to save weight: ( Doug Alexander, skipper; myself as co-pilot/flight-engineer; Bill Thomas, as navigator/bomb aimer; and Dave Davinport (as trained) a wireless/air gunner.
As Donald's Digit was being fuelled I watched, remarkably, 1500 gallons of high octane gasoline go into each tank and also noticed that four sonic parachute mines had been instal1ed. These mines were designed to sink heavy shipping, such as tankers. As their engines throbbed with the beat of the propellers passing over them, they were triggered. Then it was our turn to be fuelled up -- in the American Canteen! Our fuel was Coca-Cola, cookies, chocolate bars (fresh), and, ‘prearranged’ K-rations with cigarettes, (which were unseen at Digri),
Our take-off time was in the heat of the day at 13:15 hrs, and Group Captain Blackburn (two DFC's and two 2 DSO's, etc in Europe), always in a dark blue turtle-neck sweater, spoke to us: “We have a very important trip ahead. We have a very heavy over-load to nurse our Libs into the air and if I can make the first take-off, you bloody well (A Brit) better follow." My diary notes indicate that the runway was concrete (not like Digri's that was still being built, brick by brick; all by hand, by East Indian women supervised by male bosses. No concrete machines anywhere in sight).
We taxied to the take-off strip, lined up, both of us in full brake position. Doug pushed to full throttle till the Lib. was vibrating, then we released the brakes, both of us holding straight-ahead and keeping the nose down until we reached 120 + mph for a flat take-off. Gradually, with a super-charger boost for 2 minutes, we gained altitude. Steadily we climbed to 5,000 feet, and in the cooler air, put the aircraft in the ‘on step/altitude’ mode, cruising at 155 mph. Only six aircraft were on this trip, not the usual 16. All of us made the take-off and flew gaggle, or independently, each having our own timing over target. Our course took us over the Indian Ocean to the Bay of Penang, about 350 miles north of Singapore. Our average weight was: 67,000 lbs. which was 2,000 lbs above suggested maximum..
Extended our ‘clothesline antennae’ (number 3 radio) and picked up some Armed Services Radio for some current dance music and chatter for a while. Eight hours later as we approached the Andaman, Nicobar Islands area we had dropped down to 2000 ft. and crossed the South Andaman Sea into the Malacca Straits. It was a beautiful moonlight night and were now down to 500 ft. The radio compass picked up Georgetown on Penang Island. No one knew we were coming through the narrow strait between the island and the mainland.
Dropping now to 50 feet and using the radio altimeter, (bouncing a beam off the water) we dropped mines where the "Royal Navy" had told us to put them. Five minutes later, I checked the bomb bay, ‘SHOCK’!!, we had a hang-up of two mines and had to check contacts with Tommy. So we had to sneak around the Island again and start all over: check point 1, drop, drop 2, drop 3, drop 4, now check bomb bay. It's OK! On our way, again.
Our first run was at 22:28 hrs, second run was at 22:52 hrs. Lost, 24 minutes.
Usually we flew long sorties at 160 mph but for this heavy-loaded trip we started at 155 mph. The mathematical calculation seemed astronomical (weight of aircraft, fuel supply, altitude, number of passengers, outside temperature), so Doug and I decided: "let's fly back at 150 mph". It seemed close enough.
Surprisingly, after our first drop, and being very noisy, with four 1200 hp engines flying around for 20 or 30 minutes the lighthouse in the Bay and the radio from Georgetown stil1operated.
I did the flying back towards Digri until we saw land. After a good nap, Doug was ready for the last hour. Our gas tanks were almost gasping on landing. We were later told by ground crew, "you had several minutes left, Skipper". We were also told we had set an endurance record of 23 hrs and 05 min. However, Sam Kineer and crew topped it by 10 minutes sometime later. He must have made a better calculation than we did. We were all pretty well pooped, but it was now off to debriefing
Our aircrew and ground-crew on this sortie felt privileged to have been chosen and maintaining our silence and secrecy. Interestingly, last year a friend sent me some clippings from an article about PENANG. Wing Commander Blackburn had started his clandestine missions on October 27th, 1944, with 15 Liberators, They were stripped right down and cruised at 20,000 ft, from Digri, in loose formation, as 159 Squadron flying at higher speeds, doing the trip in 16 hours. They did release bombs at low level, but only dropped about a half dozen, lighter, non-sweepable bakelite mines, in the Bay. And we thought that WE were first. Group Captain Blackburn must also have been a terrific psychologist!
LEAVING CANADA, November, 1944.
My first day on Ops. was on January 18th, 1945, although, later on, our crew had been granted one extra Op, (No. 23) when we flew from Canada to India. We flew in a brand new, 7 hours out of the factory, B24 Liberator Bomber, at Dorval, Que. This was November 4th, 1944. We flew with Ferry Command Advisors, Captain Phoenix I/C ( who sat most of the time over the camera hatch. situated back between the two waist gunner's position, with a touch of dysentery. Not military, he got paid by time in the air, and just returned from India.) We also had, screen navigator, Fred Tupper and Nobby Clark, flight engineer, looking after the flow of fuel from various tanks, to the engines
On this date, we had a crew of eleven: two Pilots, a Navigator, a Bomb aimer, two Wireless Operators, and five Gunners. We believed this was OUR aircraft and this was OUR crew. By the time of our first, Op, our numbers dropped from 'eleven to seven, and we didn't keep OUR plane.
Our hops to India from Dorval were interesting: In 4-1/2 hours we were in Gander Bay, Newfoundland and billeted there for the night. The biggest news here was what had recently taken place at Boundary Bay, B.C.. A pilot, angry after not being posted overseas, was "shooting up the station", terrorizing the place. Hop 2 was an 8 hour trip to Lagen in the Azores, in mid Atlantic landing there at 22:30 hrs on a scary chain‑link runway laid over sand. While refueling we ate, just as the other side of the island was being shelled by a German submarine. This day gave us an 'OP'. We couldn't sleep over so we pressed on to Rabat‑Sale, Morocco, and landed on another "chicken‑wire" runway. Here we had to sleep tents then took a truck tour ( using British Money) through the non‑impressive, unkempt towns. The surprise here was that our (18 year old), enterprising sergeant‑gunners, made a few bucks by selling their shirts and socks etc., then claimed them as being stolen.
Flying across North Africa showed lots of battle wounds. We landed in Libya at Castell Benito, Mussolini's Airport and Village. We were actually billeted in his mansion which consisted of three living levels, the lowest of which was the guarded wine cellar. Each of us had about a 2 ml. sample. We showered but couldn't figure out what a "bidet" was used for and went to sleep in glorious cool air. Our next hop was to Egypt at West Cairo International Airport where the most impressive building was the BAR. It was circular, at least 25 feet in diameter, with all the merchandise in the center. The bartenders were from everywhere and the currencies were. Piastres or the Pound. At first we drank large, cool, British Squash then a Russian bartender beckoned us. He explained about Vodka. Together, we each sampled an egg‑cup size: "not sip, push head back quick, hit back of throat." Wow!
We visited the Pyramids, avoided the camels and the hustlers and talked to an old man. He spoke all languages, and told the history of the pyramids saying that they glowed in the moonlight before the alabaster stone‑sheets were stolen. Wonderful. Next to the pock‑faced Sphinx was an underground opening in to which we were lured to see alabaster stone. Here we paid for a ribbon of magnesium. He lit it giving a beautiful effect but then we couldn't see; and our guide had disappeared. Groping around we found a little sun lit courtyard. Here we yielded to having our fortunes told and hung on to this man so we could‑get out. Our last refueling before India was at Shaiba, Iraq, another metal‑link runway, in the middle of forever, only sand, sand without land marks.
The place consisted of a large fuel shed, a tank truck, another one level building housing sleeping quarters, a common center and a wash up center. You could tell that small crew had been there too long, just looking after landings, fuelling, "feeding", take‑offs and cleaning sand off the runway. They had very little to talk about or questions to ask.
It is now November 9th, flying over a land of very little green, ready to land at Karachi. But, we can't get out of our aircraft until the plane is fumigated, inside and out, together with all occupants, in case we brought insects from Canada. What an aroma we met, from a funeral pyre not far away with a breeze towards our airport! We lingered a few days in Karachi then traveled to Bombay by train. This journey was good and mostly overnight. We spent a few days in Whorly, which had been newly finished for service men. For several days we were amazed by the crowded streets with lots of beggars, learning how to barter (and be taken). Using an Honorary membership to the Lord Willingdon Club for Tennis, golf and swimming, or tea/boozing we chose swimming, because you only needed a small amount of equipment. Our travel to Calcutta was entirely different in a smaller sized train and cars, India had many different gauges for railway tracks between states supposedly to prevent invasions or jealousies. Of course there was no such thing a dining car, nor even easily found washrooms. To allow for eating the whole train stopped and meals were prepared and served outdoors. Something else was also prepared. A Shite Hawk (Kite Hawk), flying unseen above, would swoop down and beat you in getting a sandwich to your mouth. Sometimes a piece of your lip or finger was taken too. Our journey continued down the west coast, past Bangalore (which was inland), to the southern tip of India then up the east coast to Madras. There was little communication on this trip, as to, who was staying on the train and who was getting off, until this stop.
Our crew 'de-trained’ and were given a lorry ride to an RAF Station, No. 6 R.F.U. at Kolar, (Mysore), to commence our refresher course. F/0 Badgley was our instructor. The first day, December, 18th, was a familiarization flight of five hours from Kolar ‑Hyderabad ‑ Cawnpore and back Four days later we practiced circuits and bumps and low level bombing for almost 2 hrs. This was followed by a short one hour solo with just our own crew, one hour of night circuits and bumps with instructor; and finally one hour and ninety minutes with crew only. On Dec.28th, our crew did a night cross‑country with one turning point being Pondicherry, on the east coast. At this time we really didn't unpack, thus I didn't have access to my little ( illegal) diary, to record detail. Then there was Christmas, in the middle for which we flew to another station for dinner and a toast or two, and that was it.
In recent years, the name Badgley comes to the fore. The CBC covered a Documentary, whereby, a daughter, behind‑the‑the scenes, finds out why an active WW2 RAF Squadron had not been documented and no pertinent information was available. But she got the ball rolling In the meantime she made contact with people involved with a current airworthy, B24. To spoil the climax of this documentary, the daughter with Badgley himself and the RAF got together on the same day, in the USA, with a happy ending. Beg, borrow or steal a copy of this documentary and see the sensitivities that arise. It's all worth it. The hero helped "Our crew be recognized as being, ACCLIMATIZED", for flying in S.E.A.C. (South East Asia Command)”. Jim is a member of this British Columbia Branch, and has promised to meet with us some day. He lives in Westbank, B.C., in the wonderful Okanagan. He flew with the RAF ( UK) 246 & 354 ( Burma), and the RCAF (UK) 426 and 436 Squadrons. Not sure of the Forgotten Squadron's number, at this moment of typing.
Before New Years 1945, we found our way to Digri to join Squadron 159 and see some action
Gord Slark
RAF Stations at Digri, INDIA (1945)
Digri was an isolated, large‑area‑of‑land, supposedly built using yards instead of feet measurements, housed two independent RAF squadrons, sharing the one runway, our159 squadron on one side and 214 squadron on the other. Billets were built on concrete slabs, usually in sets of six, large enough for two beds, two chairs, two bedside tables and a place to hang your clothes. The basic wood used was bamboo for poles, walls and rafters. Roof material was of long grass stems all woven into long rolled up mattresses, long enough to cover probably six billets. The two charpoys (beds), and other furniture were all locally (?) made. The bed frame was made of poles, the "mattress" made of interlaced rope, on an angle to the frame, and, to prevent your feet, hands, elbows and knees from finding exits, a canvas cover was provided. The mosquito netting, hung from above adding the only grandeur to it all. The bed's legs were set in tins with a water and oil mix that trapped any possible, small, crawling, visitors.
One day, on the "porch", a Tour‑X crew, had a sample of a liquid that they were working with in the air to develop a spraying technique. A little line of liquid, straight line or circular was laid to find out how powerful it could be. The bigger the insect, the further it went. Most of them were attracted on their own. Even bets were made how far they could they crawl. At that time none of us knew how dangerous or powerful, DDT could be. A week later this group ran afoul with their spraying, when a brand new white tent just pitched at the nearby Field Hospital, caught a fair amount of red spray dots all over it, like measles.
When the Monsoon season came the wind did a remarkable thing to our billet area, it rolled back our "thatched" roof about three-quarters of the way, and interestingly, it stopped just inches from our billet, so we didn't get soaked, (damp, maybe).
On a trip during this period, our regular nose gunner was on the sick list and our replacement was a RAF Welshman, "Jonesy," who had just arrived but his new dentures hadn't caught up to him yet. We stayed away from the large cumulus clouds but tolerated the smaller ones. These also were WET clouds. The gun turrets had two vertical slots, probably 3 to 4 inches wide, to allow guns to run up and down. Well, Jonesy, facing head on to the rain, got a good soaking and he tried to tell us so, on the intercom. We tried, but couldn't understand him due to his accent, no teeth and using a throat mike. Now, out of the cloud, no rain, cool breeze, and in a wet out‑fit, he tried the inter-com once again. He had been asking to come out of the turret to disrobe. Since we were a couple of hours from target, the answers for # 1 /OK. (since we were in rough "monsoon" air), #2/ OK meant outer jacket only. He dried fairly quickly.
Usually, we dressed and flew in khaki outfits, so all we needed to find was a laundry service. All we got was washing service in the local ponds, with the air drying taking place on top of the, local, plentiful, reeds. If the Dobi‑wallah had a small load then the clothes got lots of time in the sun, but, for a short drying period the possibility of Dobi‑Itch existed. This was a reddish itch, where one perspires, like under the chin, or armpits etc.. The M.O.'s prescription, had a purple potassium permanganate base. Now you know the problem Blue Beard had.
We were also advised .to wash with LUX powder. India had the largest Lux soap factory in the world, but, no Dobi‑wallah could afford it, or, would use it. The BEARER'S "Cast level" was so much higher, that he couldn't do this. We conned him: "Have you seen bubbles in water"? "Can you make bubbles"? "Do you play games with your son'? -- and on we went till he agreed to try making bubbles. He called his friends. We could hear him many times later, giggling with other bearers, as he used up so much of our soap. But so much better was, not having to scratch, those purple areas.
We actually had concerns about other liquids also. We never had plentiful amounts of water at the mess or for flying. Always at wakeup time, your bearer had tea ready, ours usually with sugar in it. His answer to your question, no sugar, was, "next time Sahib". There was lots of tea and drank lots of it, but we rarely had soft drinks on supply. Lots of "Squash" (British soft drink)‑, with a pronounced tastes of; lime, orange, watermelon, lemon, etc. and fairly cool. The plentiful beer supply was made in India, but was not a favourite, you could taste the brewing barrel. We did though, develop a liaison with an American Exchange: Canadian hard liquor (at great differential value) for American beer, and even K‑Rations consisting of 3 different meals: breakfast, lunch, or supper plus gum and 3 cigarettes. Can you imagine, leaving thick bread and cheese or bully beef sandwiches (usually dry) behind, for K‑Rations, all hermetically sealed? Needless to say, tastes in "liquids and food" changed for many people.
We were required to wear ‘mosquito boots’ after dark. Officers had to purchase their own, but we never stopped anywhere to do so. You could go to the "Posh' (really) Army and Navy Store in Calcutta, if you could catch a ride, there and back.
A few of us decided to go to the local Hoochy‑wallah. Stand on piece of cardboard, he traces your foot, measures over the top of your arch, that's it. A week later we (3) go for the pick up. We thought the shoes would be black, he never asked for a colour. We got dark mahogany. Not really dress code. We looked at each other but took them. They were ten inches high and could tuck the bottom of your pants inside easily. The leather was soft and pliable and they were highly polished. We were so pleased we ordered a pair of casual sandals. Surprisingly, there were no comments from senior staff. As the monsoon season progressed and the humidity increased, our shoes began to stretch and soften. We hadn't asked enough questions, we threw them away sooner than we expected to.
That's India. you were never sure about any deal, except Kashmir. Those people were artisans to perfection, personally, and in wood carving, dyeing, detailing in, and on, cloth, weaving, making lace, cloth and carpets. Like Switzerland, their winters kept them inside to practice their skills and be peaceful people.
I treasure my hand carved RCAF crest, made in Kashmir, copied from an Air force T‑shirt, all in one piece of sandalwood. The circular dimension of the base is 12 inches, the carved depth is 5/8", and the width of the albatross from wing tip to wing tip is 6-1 /2". It is meticulously carved, the lettering is precisely done -- and there are no spelling mistakes! How sad they are currently being destroyed.
Gord Slark
During our flying training experiences, we were never encouraged to talk about, say, any "Flying mishaps," either great or small, either between other trainees, or even with our instructors. However, one (learning) story did circulate, and no one tried to squash it. First of all, this trainee had completed these steps in his training: 1) Familiarization with Cockpit Layout; 2) Preparation for Flight; 3) Air Experience; 4) Effect of Controls; 5) Taxiing; 6) Straight and Level Flight; 7) Climbing; 8) Descending; 9) Stalling; 10) Medium Turns; 11) Gliding and Climbing Turns; 12) Take Off into Wind; 13) Approach and Landing; 14) Spinning; 15) First solo; 16) Slide Slipping; and Steep Turns. He is up practicing his steep turns, in "his" Tiger Moth.
It was a thrilling exercise to take all by yourself, pushing the "stick" to your left, with your right wing pointing upward adding a little more air speed, while pulling back on the "stick" towards your gut. The power and feelings you now control is quietly exciting. The story begins when, unseen, a bird hits the propeller which is made of wood and a piece breaks off from one side of the "nose/center-hub". Now the heavy-sided propeller spins around like a weight on a chain that an athlete tosses around his head at the Caledonian Field Games. When he lets go, it really takes off and flies an amazing distance. The engine is held to the aircraft frame with only three bolts, but now it is being challenged, it vibrates badly and soon separates from the aircraft. This student (sitting on his parachute), quickly decides he should go next, but to which side of the spin should he go ? - on the inside of the spin, or outside ? He chose the latter and ended up, fortunately, with only a bruised, hairline-fractured ankle plus a few weeks of convalescence.
Meanwhile, the Moth's body, fluttered down gently like a Maple Tree's bud during the Fall Season. The Tiger Moth required some Band-Aids on it’s fabric skin, a new engine and propeller and was back flying within a few days.
This story seemed to be acceptable. The injuries were light and cost’s slight.
For those whose curiosity begs to know the pilot training procedures after #16 above, can read on: 17) Instrument Flying,. 18) Low Flying,. 19) Take-off and Landing out of Wind; 20) Precautionary Landings,. 21) Forced Landings. 22) Action in the event of fire.. 23) Restarting the engine in flight. 24) Aerobatics: 25) Night flying,. 26) Pilot Navigation.
TIGER MOTH Statistics were:
Wing Span 29ft. 4ins.
Length 23ft 11 in
Height 8ft 9 in
Weight 1100 lbs..
Engine: 135 hp air cooled Gypsy Major (for RCAF)
Thousands were trained on "Moths” under the Commonwealth Training Plan.
"Statistics":
Wing span 110 ft.
Length 67 ft 75/8 i,
Height 18 ft.
Empty Weight 36,500 lbs.
Power Plant: Four Pratt & Whitney engines rated at 1200 hp each.
This Ops date was February 9th 1945 and our crew's 6th trip. My Log book says: "Ops as Briefed." The back of my Log Book (a possible tear-out section), says: Doug Alexander, skipper; Myself as co‑pilot/flight engineer: Thomas, navigator; Baker, bomb aimer; Davenport, wireless/air gunner; Jones, nose/Gunner; Tate, tail/gunner. Our mission: Take‑off at 0900 hrs. across the Indian Ocean to Burma's West Coast, bombing marshalling yards, with a full Squadron of 16 "kites". At Victoria Point, 800 ft. over the target, with bomb load, all Aircraft: 8 x 500 lbs. incendiary clusters; 4 x 500 lbs., M.C.’s; 8 x 100 lbs. incendiaries, to melt vast railroad tracks, disrupting supplies.
Our Squadron started the "Drop". I believe we were timed on target, as per take off‑order. Our A/C was near the lead; we had flown as a loose gaggle and kept at about the same approximate speed. We made our drop and did a climbing turn starboard, back over the water, when our gunners called out, "one of our planes has been hit !". With bomb bay doors open over the target, a shell fired from below must have hit the incendiary cluster area. This material is similar to the coating on the tip of a match. In seconds the bomb bay area almost vaporized and the nose and the tail slowly dropped, almost together, then slammed into a small hill beyond. Roy Borthwick, ready to drop his load, wasn't too far behind and witnessed the hit, the burning, the slow collapse of the Liberator and it's plunge into the ground. Which crew, you ask yourself ?, but we fly on as the bombing continues until the 16th, and last, Liberator unloaded it’s ‘cargo’. As a crew, we don't talk about it, but personally I start thinking about: "Moum, Nesbitt, McMillan, Head, Sharp, Farr", co‑pilots I trained with or just got to know.
It turned out to be Schroeder's crew: Dick McMillan, co‑ pilot; Zakow, navigator; Johnson, bomb aimer; Talbot, wireless operator; Burton, flight engineer; Bright, nose gunner; Conway, tail gunner. (Not all Canadians, but: Brits, Welsh, Australians, South Africans, Irish, Scots, etc., got interwoven, into crews.)
And I had been an usher at Dick’s wedding in Vancouver just before we went
overseas. Although I had spoken to Dick’s wife just after the war, I continued
to suppress memories of this day, until lately. Jack Farr recently said to me,
“If Jerry Schroeder’s crew hadn’t pulled in front of us over the target zone --
his crew’s fate might have been ours”
My Diary reads:
“A Hell of a nice, good crew” Landing time: 12:23 hrs. All exhausted.
Epilogue to this story:
Dateline: November 12 to December 15, 1995, The Far East Pilgrimage.
On the 50th. anniversary of the Air Force, Veterans’ Affairs Department designed a recognition trip to visit all Canadian Grave Sites in the Far East. For this trip a cross-section of Far-East Veterans, about 30 in all, were selected. Independently, three of our Burma Star Members, were picked: Ted Paxton, Navy: Herb Lim, Special Services, Army: and George Wait, Air Force. The accompaniment included: Government Officials, Army Military escorts, Bands, Reporters, Cameramen, a Senator etc., (note: Ted Paxton, with Herb's assistance, wrote up this Pilgrimage in book form, which has been duly circulated from our "library", for our group.)
The most significant visitation was the TAUUKAYA Cemetery, north of Rangoon, The Canadian Air Force Section contained Jerry Shroeder's "Canadian", crew. Each member had an individual black marble grave stone in a meticulously kept, park-like in this tropical clime setting, and as the saying goes: "They have not been forgotten." (To see photographs of the Cemetery and some of the graves, please click on this line)
Gord Slark
Despite stifling temperatures; corroding monsoons and constant clouds of dust the maintenance section of the RCAF, India and Burma based, Elephant transport squadron made new records for serviceability of aircraft. The squadron had flown an average of 4,000 hours monthly in the transportation of vital supplies to the 14th Army. Actually, in some months the number of hours had topped 5,000.
With engines giving up at 500 hours, due to weather conditions, instead of the usual 700 hour period, the repair and salvage unit found itself swamped with work. As a result, the section did 27 engine changes in February and March which normally would have gone to the unit.
Working conditions for maintenance sections in India and Burma were vastly different to those in Canada. There were no hangars, and the squadron had been changing location about every three months, keeping pace with the advancing 14th. Army
Repairs and inspections took place alongside airstrips where incessant landings and take-offs created a steady cloud of dust. The constant heat turned the interiors of the aircraft into furnaces, with temperatures reaching 160 degrees inside a metal aircraft standing in the blazing sun all day; In the monsoon period the heavy humidity and rains had a way of attacking the instruments. Wiring corroded and gas tanks called for special attention.
The squadron engineering officer, F/L, H. M. Webb from Caledonia, Ontario, gave credit for this fine record to the NCO’s, riggers, fitters, instrument makers, wireless and radar mechanics who made up the section.
