A Victoria Cross story, NZ Lancaster captain
May 25, 2020 20:44:56 GMT 12
camtech and 11SQNLDR like this
Post by Dave Homewood on May 25, 2020 20:44:56 GMT 12
POSTHUMOUS V.C.
GALLANT AIRMAN
GAVE LIFE FOR COLLEAGUES
(Official News Service.)
LONDON, February 23. With the pilot's canopy shot away, two engines feathered, and trimming tabs out of action, a Lancaster bomber, captained by a New Zealander, struggled through the Dutch sky. Finally, as if with its last breath, the aircraft made a forced landing in a small paddock in Holland, and from the crew came a story of magnificent heroism that resulted in the award to one of them, who was mortally wounded, of the Victoria Cross, and added yet another memorable page to the history of the Bomber Command.
It happened last month when the Lancaster was severely damaged by flak over the Dortmund-Ems Canal in full daylight. Fire broke out in the aircraft, and the Scots radio operator, Flight Sergeant G. Thompson, bare-handed and badly burned, saved the lives of two gunners and stemmed the fire. The full, story of his exploit was told this week in the citation accompanying his award posthumously of the Victoria Cross. The Scotsman's New Zealand captain, Flying Officer F. H. Denton, of Southbridge; Canterbury, for skill and fearlessness with which he handled the crippled bomber, was awarded an immediate D.F.C.
Flying Officer Denton told today the story of that nightmare flight. "We had just let our bombs go when a terrific blast caught us, ripping the canopy over my head. There was a momentary rush of blinding smoke in the cockpit. I looked around, but there was no other aircraft in sight. I was also completely cut off from the rest of the crew, for the inter-com system had broken. One engine had feathered, and with the trimming tabs damaged the aircraft became tail heavy and was losing height rapidly. I knew I must reach either France or Holland, and so for nearly an hour I opened out to full throttle, but wobbling badly the aircraft had dropped from 10,000 to 4000 feet. A stream of icy air through the broken canopy made my hands sore from frostbite."
SUPER-HUMAN EFFORT.
Meanwhile Flight Sergeant Thompson, unseen by his captain, was struggling to put out the flames and drag the mid-upper and turret gunners to safety. Flying Officer Denton declared that even now he could not understand the supreme endurance and immense strength that enabled Flight Sergeant Thompson to do what he did. To lift anything at all heavy in the confined space of a perfectly sound aircraft was difficult enough. But to drag a man from a burning turret with a gale blowing, to put out the flames with bare hands, and to partly drag and partly lift this man over and past many holes in the fuselage was super-human. Yet Thompson did the same for the rear-gunner, and afterwards helped with extinguishers.
Continuing the story of the flight, Flying Officer Denton said: "My heart pounded as I suddenly saw three F.W.190's coming towards us. I thought the end had come, but to my amazement they passed us about 200 yards to port. Evidently they had no ammunition left. As we neared Arnhem more flak was hurled up mingled with tracer bullets. I made several more deep dives and alterations of course, but I think we were hit in another engine, for the inner port had caught fire. Actually, this served to balance the aircraft a little better.
"However, we were still losing height at the rate of 500 feet a minute. I altered course again, and as I did I found a flight of Spitfires escorting me. I couldn't go much further, and was about to make a forced landing in a small paddock. But as I was going down the Spitfires swooped in front of me. It was just in time, because I caught a glimpse of high tension cables ahead. A little further on there was a patch of flat ground, and there I saw our chance. I had a sinking feeling that one of the wheels had been down since we left the target, but as it was, we made a good pancake to slither along the ground and were eventually stopped by a large ditch bank. For a tense moment I waited, expecting the aircraft to explode, but we were lucky. The petrol just oozed away into the soft ground."
Struggling out, Flying Officer Denton faced a figure burned beyond recognition. It was the wireless operator. "It was only when he spoke that I recognised him. He had no thought for himself. He just said to me: 'Jolly good landing, skipper.' Each time I visited him in hospital before he died all he would ask about was how the rest of the crew were getting on."
EVENING POST, 24 FEBRUARY 1945
GALLANT AIRMAN
GAVE LIFE FOR COLLEAGUES
(Official News Service.)
LONDON, February 23. With the pilot's canopy shot away, two engines feathered, and trimming tabs out of action, a Lancaster bomber, captained by a New Zealander, struggled through the Dutch sky. Finally, as if with its last breath, the aircraft made a forced landing in a small paddock in Holland, and from the crew came a story of magnificent heroism that resulted in the award to one of them, who was mortally wounded, of the Victoria Cross, and added yet another memorable page to the history of the Bomber Command.
It happened last month when the Lancaster was severely damaged by flak over the Dortmund-Ems Canal in full daylight. Fire broke out in the aircraft, and the Scots radio operator, Flight Sergeant G. Thompson, bare-handed and badly burned, saved the lives of two gunners and stemmed the fire. The full, story of his exploit was told this week in the citation accompanying his award posthumously of the Victoria Cross. The Scotsman's New Zealand captain, Flying Officer F. H. Denton, of Southbridge; Canterbury, for skill and fearlessness with which he handled the crippled bomber, was awarded an immediate D.F.C.
Flying Officer Denton told today the story of that nightmare flight. "We had just let our bombs go when a terrific blast caught us, ripping the canopy over my head. There was a momentary rush of blinding smoke in the cockpit. I looked around, but there was no other aircraft in sight. I was also completely cut off from the rest of the crew, for the inter-com system had broken. One engine had feathered, and with the trimming tabs damaged the aircraft became tail heavy and was losing height rapidly. I knew I must reach either France or Holland, and so for nearly an hour I opened out to full throttle, but wobbling badly the aircraft had dropped from 10,000 to 4000 feet. A stream of icy air through the broken canopy made my hands sore from frostbite."
SUPER-HUMAN EFFORT.
Meanwhile Flight Sergeant Thompson, unseen by his captain, was struggling to put out the flames and drag the mid-upper and turret gunners to safety. Flying Officer Denton declared that even now he could not understand the supreme endurance and immense strength that enabled Flight Sergeant Thompson to do what he did. To lift anything at all heavy in the confined space of a perfectly sound aircraft was difficult enough. But to drag a man from a burning turret with a gale blowing, to put out the flames with bare hands, and to partly drag and partly lift this man over and past many holes in the fuselage was super-human. Yet Thompson did the same for the rear-gunner, and afterwards helped with extinguishers.
Continuing the story of the flight, Flying Officer Denton said: "My heart pounded as I suddenly saw three F.W.190's coming towards us. I thought the end had come, but to my amazement they passed us about 200 yards to port. Evidently they had no ammunition left. As we neared Arnhem more flak was hurled up mingled with tracer bullets. I made several more deep dives and alterations of course, but I think we were hit in another engine, for the inner port had caught fire. Actually, this served to balance the aircraft a little better.
"However, we were still losing height at the rate of 500 feet a minute. I altered course again, and as I did I found a flight of Spitfires escorting me. I couldn't go much further, and was about to make a forced landing in a small paddock. But as I was going down the Spitfires swooped in front of me. It was just in time, because I caught a glimpse of high tension cables ahead. A little further on there was a patch of flat ground, and there I saw our chance. I had a sinking feeling that one of the wheels had been down since we left the target, but as it was, we made a good pancake to slither along the ground and were eventually stopped by a large ditch bank. For a tense moment I waited, expecting the aircraft to explode, but we were lucky. The petrol just oozed away into the soft ground."
Struggling out, Flying Officer Denton faced a figure burned beyond recognition. It was the wireless operator. "It was only when he spoke that I recognised him. He had no thought for himself. He just said to me: 'Jolly good landing, skipper.' Each time I visited him in hospital before he died all he would ask about was how the rest of the crew were getting on."
EVENING POST, 24 FEBRUARY 1945
