Guest Post: There were no safe spaces on a Lancaster bomber
A guest post by David Garrett:
When I hear some young snowflake(s) whining about “feeling unsafe” or needing “a safe space” because someone is saying, or might say, something they don’t like, I feel my blood pressure rising. It is ANZAC Day next week, and I thought it was timely to record in one guest post the sacrifices made by those in Bomber Command in WW II – including the 1800 New Zealanders who were among the 55,000 young men who gave their lives hitting back at Adolf during the period 1940-44, when bombing was the only offensive weapon the allies had.
After the “Miracle of Dunkirk” in early May 1940, Britain stood alone, largely disarmed – most equipment was left on the beaches, including all heavy equipment – and in dread of the invasion which most serious historians now think was virtually inevitable if the Battle of Britain was lost. Due to the actions of “the few” from June to September 1940 the invasion was thwarted. We should remember the contribution to the Battle of our own Air Vice Marshall Keith Park – as he then was – of whom Sir Charles Portal, Chief of Air Staff, later said “if any one man won the battle of Britain he did”.
Without wishing to take anything away from those brave young men who flew their hurricanes and spitfires against overwhelming German numbers, the Battle of Britain lasted three months, with about 800 pilots lost. Bomber Command’s battle lasted nearly five years, and more men were lost in one raid than were killed in the entire Battle of Britain.
Once the Battle of Britain morphed into the blitz in September 1940, the only offensive weapon the Allies’ had at their disposal was bombers; in the early part of the war the aircraft were totally inadequate two engined Blenheims, and the rather better Wellington – the latter built with a geodesic framed fuselage which gave it great strength, and the ability to take considerable punishment and remain in the air.
From the beginning, all aircrew in Bomber Command were volunteers – volunteers who were expected to complete a thirty mission “tour” before being posted to a reserve or training squadron for a time. In 1940-42 the chances of an aircrew member completing those thirty missions was about 1:20 – even later in the war with much better aircraft and navigation aids at their disposal, those chances never got any better than 1:3. So during those first two years, those brave young men – the average age of a bomber crewman was 21 – knew that they had very little chance of completing their tour.
As Max Hastings has written, the percentage of those who “funked it” and refused to carry on flying was tiny: about 1.5% over the whole bomber war. It is fair to note that those who did feel unable to continue – for whatever reason – were treated very harshly, stripped of all rank in front of their peers, and required to do demeaning duties for the rest of the war. They were left their “wings” which was especially cruel – those left flying knew that the guy cleaning the toilets or emptying the rubbish had once been aircrew like themselves. How much a role that treatment played in there being so few who refused to carry on is impossible to know.
By 1943 and the arrival of the four engine “heavies” – most notably the Avro Lancaster – the chances of surviving a 30 mission tour had improved notably, but as noted earlier, the odds never got better than about 1:3. One’s chances of survival were also heavily dependent on one’s role on the aircraft. Because attacks most came from the rear, the tail gunner – or “tail end Charlies” as they were known – suffered by far the greatest attrition rate.
There were some notable outliers. One John Wainright – later a novelist – survived some 70 missions – two and a half tours – before deciding he had “done his bit” and refusing to continue. He virtually dared the RAF to court martial him and try and get a verdict that he “lacked moral fibre” (LMF) in the terminology of the day. The RAF took the wiser course and transferred Wainright to a training squadron instead.
If a bomber was attacked from behind and survived to limp home, often the best way of removing the remains of the tail gunner from his turret was with a hose – I wonder how the snowflakes who felt they would be “unsafe” listening to Don Brash or one of those Canadians who were not allowed to speak here would feel witnessing the remains of their close friend being hosed out of a gun turret? Collapsing on the ground blubbing hysterically in all probability. (And Yes I know – past generations have always doubted the ability of the present generation, but I believe the present generation of young men to be uniquely LMF. There has certainly never been this number of snowflakes before).
In the numerous individual accounts I have read of men who survived the bomber war one thing stands out – almost to a man, they ascribe their survival to good luck rather than any great skill – they certainly never claim that they were somehow braver than their fellows who were lost. Many say “I have been on borrowed time since XX June 1944”, the date being the day they got shot down and survived, or made it home by some miracle. (The Lancaster could get home on only two engines, and for very short periods it could fly on one alone).
As the war went on, navigation aids got better and better for “the bomber boys”, culminating in the Pathfinder squadrons, consisting of elite pilots who could accurately find and “mark” the target for the aircraft following shortly behind them. But rather like mountaineering in the Himalayas, getting to the target and unloading the bombs was only half the task; they still had to get home, often harassed all the way by night fighters and “flak” from the ground. There are even dreadfully sad stories of bomber crews being lost as the came in on final approach to land on their bases in England – shot down by German night fighters circling the field hiding in the dark, awaiting their return.
While the Lancaster was a superb aircraft in many ways – accepted by most to be by far the best four engine bomber in WW II – it had one major significant defect: it was difficult to get out of if it was on fire or badly damaged. There was the rear door, which required much clambering over obstacles in the dark to reach, and a rather too small escape hatch in the front. Crew often didn’t wear their parachutes – because they were bulky and inhibited movement – so if an aircraft was hit it was often very difficult to first find and strap on the parachute, and then get out of the burning or spinning aircraft to parachute to safety while there was still time.
Of all the great many stories I have read about individuals in Bomber Command, the ones that stand out the most are those in which the captain of a crippled bomber – the pilot was always the captain, regardless of rank – kept his aircraft flying so his fellows would have at least a chance of escape, knowing with virtual certainty that he – the pilot – would not survive the inevitable crash. I recall one particularly poignant photograph of a pilot looking as if he was asleep in his seat when the aircraft he was piloting crashed into a waterway in Holland, and the water was drained to recover the remains of the aircraft. He was of course not sleeping but drowned – at age 21.I simply cannot imagine the snowflakes whining about Don Brash making them feel unsafe getting into one of those bombers “night after night” knowing – especially early in the war – that they were unlikely to survive their “tour”. As I do every ANZAC day I especially remember those 55,000 young men – almost 2000 of them New Zealanders – who gave their lives so that snowflakes 80 years later were safe from the tyranny that then threatened the world.