Violent death came to the Sunderland crew on a wild, stormy
Jul 31, 2022 11:23:58 GMT 12
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Post by Dave Homewood on Jul 31, 2022 11:23:58 GMT 12
Violent death came to the Sunderland crew on a wild, stormy night
If the plans of the Rev. John Barry, of Drygrange, Melrose, are fulfilled, a memorial commemorating the death of seven New Zealand airmen, including two from Canterbury, will be erected on Hirta, St Kilda, the most remote of the Outer Hebrides. The Atlantic Ocean island is 140 miles west of the mainland, three miles long and two miles broad, and is now virtually uninhabited. JOHN BARRY tells the story.
The Western Isles of Scotland are rugged, wild and beautiful. But none are so rugged and wild as the islands of St Kilda, which stand alone in the wide Atlantic, 40 miles to the westwards. So harsh was their life that even the hardy St Kildans found it impossible to live there, and in 1930 they left the main island of Hirta. where their forebears had lived for centuries, leaving it uninhabited. It was here that an aircrew came and died. It is here that, at last, a memorial will be erected to their memory.
The aircraft was a Sunderland Mark III flying boat weighing nearly 20 tons, it was one of the safest machines then flying. It was delivered by an ordinary ferry crew from the depot at Wig Bay, near Stranraer, Scotland, on May 14, 1944. The unit to which it came was No.302 Ferry Training Unit, based at Ganavan, near Oban, on the west coast of Scotland. 302 F.T.U. had moved to Oban from Stranraer in July, 1943. Its purpose was to train aircrew in ferrying Sunderland and Catalina aircraft all over the world. Crews did not spend much time there, a month at most, since they were already highly trained, and some of them had seen action. It had its share of accidents, great and small. Every wartime unit did.
A Catalina crashed on Vatersay, in Barra with three fatal casualties. A Sunderland sank near the island of Lismore, and another crashed on the island of Jura when fog blanketed Lock Linnhe. It would appear that the crew perished on both occasions. But it is with the Sunderland which crashed on St Kilda that we are concerned because, having been several times on St Kilda, it seemed to me that there ought to be a memorial to the airmen who died there.
On the evening of June 7, 1944, as people were excitedly discussing the implications of the Normandy landings the day before, 10 men climbed aboard Sunderland ML858. The pilot was Warrant Officer C. C. Osborne. Cecil Osborne was born and educated at Ashburton, where he had a distinguished sporting record. He enlisted in the R.N.ZA.F. on November 9, 1941, trained in Canada, and saw considerable service with No. 490 (New Zealand) Squadron at Jui, near Freetown, Sierra Leone. He later trained in Sunderlands and was posted to No. 302 in May, 1944, being promoted to Warrant Officer. He had previously been there for a month, in June, 1943, so he knew the ropes. He was a very experienced pilot, having 806 hours to his credit.
The second pilot was Flying Officer Richard D. Ferguson, from Te Kuiti, a graduate of Auckland University, and a schoolteacher before he joined up on May 2, 1942. He, too, trained in Canada, but did most of his advanced training in Scotland. He had just completed his final training in Sunderlands when he was posted to Oban.
The navigator was William A. Thompson, Bill to his friends, whose brother also served and was killed in the R.N.Z.A.F., Thompson came from Christchurch, where he had passed the accountancy professional examination and where he worked as chief clerk of an oil company. He joined the R.N.Z.A.F. on May 4, 1941, trained as an air observer in Canada, and was posted in February, 1944, to No. 4 Operational Training Unit, and in May, 1944, to Oban.
There were two wireless operators, both New Zealanders. Warrant Officer John R. Lloyd came from Wellington, where he had been a warehouseman and a keen member of the Territorial Army. He first trained as an air gunner, and then as a wireless operator. Flight Sergeant George O. Reed, who came to New Zealand from Brighton, Australia, joined up on October 27, 1940, trained as an air gunner and radio operator and saw a good deal of active service with No. 269 Squadron flying Hudsons in Iceland. After a period as instructor in England, and with No. 487 (N.Z.) Squadron in Norfolk, he was posted to Alness, and then to Oban. He had 20 operational flights to his credit.
Two of the other air gunners were New Zealanders. They enlisted together at Ohakea in July, 1942, and went together to in initial Training Wing at Rotorua. One was Sergeant David Roulston, born at Hunterville and employed as a salesman in his father’s firm at New Plymouth. He and Bill Thompson were the only married men in the Sunderland crew.
The other New Zealander was Sergeant Francis M. Robertson from Takaka, Nelson, where he worked on his father’s farm. He was one of four brothers who enlisted and it seems that he and David Roulston were together for most of their service career — in air gunnery school at Manitoba, Alness, and Oban. One of Sergeant Robertson’s brothers is now Secretary of Defence in Wellington.
The remaining members of the crew were all British: Flight Sergeant Bryan Bowker (wireless operator), Sergeant Roy Lewis (the flight engineer),' and Sergeant James Thomson (air gunner). Only Bryan Bowker was a regular.
The flight plan was for an operational night training flight. The aircraft was certainly armed, and the site of the crash was strewn with live cartridges from its two .50 and twelve .303 machine guns. It would certainly have carried depth charges, and a case of primers was found.
The Sunderland’s route was over Colonsay, in the south, north-west to Barra Head, and then west to St Kilda. Night flying presented few hazards in those latitudes — St Kilda lies about 57 deg. 49’ North — because there is very little real darkness, even during the short night hours. But the weather was quite another matter.
The met. report that night was not unusual, but it was far from encouraging. A secondary shallow depression was moving very slowly in a north-easterly direction over the islands, and was almost stationary over St Kilda. Conditions on this front were, said the met. report, “very poor, with extensive stratus cloud at a base of 200 to 400 ft above sea level. Continuous rain and drizzle reduced visibility below the cloud to 1000 to 3000 yards. It is virtually certain that the high ground on St Kilda would have been cloud-covered.”
But that should have presented few problems. Cecil Osborne was not merely an experienced pilot. He had already spent a month at Oban and would have known the area like the back of his hand. His navigator had not seen any action, but he had gone through a thorough training, and as the oldest member of the crew at 30, could be relied on not to make elementary mistakes.
Wreckage and bodies ...
The lumbering Sunderland took off from Oban in relatively good conditions. The front had not yet reached the mainland. And as it flew southwards, it was gradually lost to view. No doubt it maintained wireless contact with its base, but we do not know. Messages were not recorded in the flying log. Perhaps wireless silence was still observed, although by now the U-boats had been soundly beaten. The first sign that something was wrong was when the Sunderland failed to return to its base on the morning of Thursday, June 8. Soon the air was humming with messages. Aircraft were sent out to search for the Sunderland at 0730 in poor visibility. At 0940 the Group Captain thought it might have hit St Kilda in poor weather, but it was not until 1225 on June 10 that the wreckage was sighted on the south-west corner of Glen Mhor, on the main island of Hirta in the St Kilda group. Within minutes an air-sea rescue high speed launch was on its way from Stornoway, and in less than six hours — an incredibly short time in those waters — its crew radioed back that they had landed, and had found the wreckage and nine bodies.
What had happened? Several theories have been advanced. One is that the crew, trained as they were in air rescue observation, had sighted wreckage on St Kilda, had come down to investigate, and had lost height because of a severe down-draught and crashed into a pinnacle of rock.
The weather conditions rule this out. It is extremely unlikely that they could have sighted anything through the cloud, and quite out of the question that an experienced crew would try to investigate at night in such conditions.
Not much more likely is the conclusion come to by the crash investigation team, that of the pilot’s lack of knowledge of the height of the island and the lack of contour detail on the maps issued to the navigators. This seems most unlikely in view of Cecil Osborne’s experience of the area.
However, it seems extremely likely that the Sunderland hit the island because it was aiming at it as part of the flight plan. In the poor visibility they would not have been able to see even the highest hill (Connachair, 1397 ft high). Rather than pilot error, I am inclined to postulate instrument malfunction as the cause of the crash. But this needs a good deal of further investigation. The Sunderland seems to have come in from the north-east. It flew up Glen Mhor, with hills of more than 1000 ft all around, and it crashed into a long ridge about 800 ft high which joins Mullach Bi and Mullach Sgar. If it had been 100 ft higher it would have cleared the ridge and returned safely to base.
Recovery of the bodies was carried out by an air-sea rescue unit from Stornoway. The fact that nine bodies were at first reported is curious, but there is no question that all 10 were recovered. Wing Commander A. R. Leggate arranged for the Church of Scotland minister, the Rev Lachlan MacLeod, minister of St Columba (Old Parish) church, Stornoway, to travel to St Kilda in an Admiralty trawler to conduct the funeral service. This took place on Sunday, June 13. The journey to St Kilda was wild in the extreme, and W/Cdr Leggate later congratulated Mr MacLeod on his fortitude during it. A service was held in the deserted little kirk on Hirta, and the bodies were then buried at sea, presumably off the island.
Since the bodies have no known grave, their names were inscribed on the R.A.F. memorial at Runnymede. But no memorial exists on the island of Hirta. And there should be, because St Kilda is now inhabited again, by a military detachment whose function it is to man the radar installations on the heights of Mullach Mhor. But apart from that, the island is owned by the National Trust for Scotland, and the trust, together with the Nature Conservancy, organizes work and study groups who visit the islands every year. That is why I was asked by the trust to research the history of the air crashes, with a view to keeping a historical record — thus fulfilling the phrase, “Their name liveth for evermore” — and of erecting a suitable memorial to the fallen. The form this memorial will take has not yet been determined, but it could be either in the little church, which is visited by so many people, or on the site of the Sunderland crash, which is not far from the main footpath.
PRESS, 27 MAY 1976
If the plans of the Rev. John Barry, of Drygrange, Melrose, are fulfilled, a memorial commemorating the death of seven New Zealand airmen, including two from Canterbury, will be erected on Hirta, St Kilda, the most remote of the Outer Hebrides. The Atlantic Ocean island is 140 miles west of the mainland, three miles long and two miles broad, and is now virtually uninhabited. JOHN BARRY tells the story.
The Western Isles of Scotland are rugged, wild and beautiful. But none are so rugged and wild as the islands of St Kilda, which stand alone in the wide Atlantic, 40 miles to the westwards. So harsh was their life that even the hardy St Kildans found it impossible to live there, and in 1930 they left the main island of Hirta. where their forebears had lived for centuries, leaving it uninhabited. It was here that an aircrew came and died. It is here that, at last, a memorial will be erected to their memory.
The aircraft was a Sunderland Mark III flying boat weighing nearly 20 tons, it was one of the safest machines then flying. It was delivered by an ordinary ferry crew from the depot at Wig Bay, near Stranraer, Scotland, on May 14, 1944. The unit to which it came was No.302 Ferry Training Unit, based at Ganavan, near Oban, on the west coast of Scotland. 302 F.T.U. had moved to Oban from Stranraer in July, 1943. Its purpose was to train aircrew in ferrying Sunderland and Catalina aircraft all over the world. Crews did not spend much time there, a month at most, since they were already highly trained, and some of them had seen action. It had its share of accidents, great and small. Every wartime unit did.
A Catalina crashed on Vatersay, in Barra with three fatal casualties. A Sunderland sank near the island of Lismore, and another crashed on the island of Jura when fog blanketed Lock Linnhe. It would appear that the crew perished on both occasions. But it is with the Sunderland which crashed on St Kilda that we are concerned because, having been several times on St Kilda, it seemed to me that there ought to be a memorial to the airmen who died there.
On the evening of June 7, 1944, as people were excitedly discussing the implications of the Normandy landings the day before, 10 men climbed aboard Sunderland ML858. The pilot was Warrant Officer C. C. Osborne. Cecil Osborne was born and educated at Ashburton, where he had a distinguished sporting record. He enlisted in the R.N.ZA.F. on November 9, 1941, trained in Canada, and saw considerable service with No. 490 (New Zealand) Squadron at Jui, near Freetown, Sierra Leone. He later trained in Sunderlands and was posted to No. 302 in May, 1944, being promoted to Warrant Officer. He had previously been there for a month, in June, 1943, so he knew the ropes. He was a very experienced pilot, having 806 hours to his credit.
The second pilot was Flying Officer Richard D. Ferguson, from Te Kuiti, a graduate of Auckland University, and a schoolteacher before he joined up on May 2, 1942. He, too, trained in Canada, but did most of his advanced training in Scotland. He had just completed his final training in Sunderlands when he was posted to Oban.
The navigator was William A. Thompson, Bill to his friends, whose brother also served and was killed in the R.N.Z.A.F., Thompson came from Christchurch, where he had passed the accountancy professional examination and where he worked as chief clerk of an oil company. He joined the R.N.Z.A.F. on May 4, 1941, trained as an air observer in Canada, and was posted in February, 1944, to No. 4 Operational Training Unit, and in May, 1944, to Oban.
There were two wireless operators, both New Zealanders. Warrant Officer John R. Lloyd came from Wellington, where he had been a warehouseman and a keen member of the Territorial Army. He first trained as an air gunner, and then as a wireless operator. Flight Sergeant George O. Reed, who came to New Zealand from Brighton, Australia, joined up on October 27, 1940, trained as an air gunner and radio operator and saw a good deal of active service with No. 269 Squadron flying Hudsons in Iceland. After a period as instructor in England, and with No. 487 (N.Z.) Squadron in Norfolk, he was posted to Alness, and then to Oban. He had 20 operational flights to his credit.
Two of the other air gunners were New Zealanders. They enlisted together at Ohakea in July, 1942, and went together to in initial Training Wing at Rotorua. One was Sergeant David Roulston, born at Hunterville and employed as a salesman in his father’s firm at New Plymouth. He and Bill Thompson were the only married men in the Sunderland crew.
The other New Zealander was Sergeant Francis M. Robertson from Takaka, Nelson, where he worked on his father’s farm. He was one of four brothers who enlisted and it seems that he and David Roulston were together for most of their service career — in air gunnery school at Manitoba, Alness, and Oban. One of Sergeant Robertson’s brothers is now Secretary of Defence in Wellington.
The remaining members of the crew were all British: Flight Sergeant Bryan Bowker (wireless operator), Sergeant Roy Lewis (the flight engineer),' and Sergeant James Thomson (air gunner). Only Bryan Bowker was a regular.
The flight plan was for an operational night training flight. The aircraft was certainly armed, and the site of the crash was strewn with live cartridges from its two .50 and twelve .303 machine guns. It would certainly have carried depth charges, and a case of primers was found.
The Sunderland’s route was over Colonsay, in the south, north-west to Barra Head, and then west to St Kilda. Night flying presented few hazards in those latitudes — St Kilda lies about 57 deg. 49’ North — because there is very little real darkness, even during the short night hours. But the weather was quite another matter.
The met. report that night was not unusual, but it was far from encouraging. A secondary shallow depression was moving very slowly in a north-easterly direction over the islands, and was almost stationary over St Kilda. Conditions on this front were, said the met. report, “very poor, with extensive stratus cloud at a base of 200 to 400 ft above sea level. Continuous rain and drizzle reduced visibility below the cloud to 1000 to 3000 yards. It is virtually certain that the high ground on St Kilda would have been cloud-covered.”
But that should have presented few problems. Cecil Osborne was not merely an experienced pilot. He had already spent a month at Oban and would have known the area like the back of his hand. His navigator had not seen any action, but he had gone through a thorough training, and as the oldest member of the crew at 30, could be relied on not to make elementary mistakes.
Wreckage and bodies ...
The lumbering Sunderland took off from Oban in relatively good conditions. The front had not yet reached the mainland. And as it flew southwards, it was gradually lost to view. No doubt it maintained wireless contact with its base, but we do not know. Messages were not recorded in the flying log. Perhaps wireless silence was still observed, although by now the U-boats had been soundly beaten. The first sign that something was wrong was when the Sunderland failed to return to its base on the morning of Thursday, June 8. Soon the air was humming with messages. Aircraft were sent out to search for the Sunderland at 0730 in poor visibility. At 0940 the Group Captain thought it might have hit St Kilda in poor weather, but it was not until 1225 on June 10 that the wreckage was sighted on the south-west corner of Glen Mhor, on the main island of Hirta in the St Kilda group. Within minutes an air-sea rescue high speed launch was on its way from Stornoway, and in less than six hours — an incredibly short time in those waters — its crew radioed back that they had landed, and had found the wreckage and nine bodies.
What had happened? Several theories have been advanced. One is that the crew, trained as they were in air rescue observation, had sighted wreckage on St Kilda, had come down to investigate, and had lost height because of a severe down-draught and crashed into a pinnacle of rock.
The weather conditions rule this out. It is extremely unlikely that they could have sighted anything through the cloud, and quite out of the question that an experienced crew would try to investigate at night in such conditions.
Not much more likely is the conclusion come to by the crash investigation team, that of the pilot’s lack of knowledge of the height of the island and the lack of contour detail on the maps issued to the navigators. This seems most unlikely in view of Cecil Osborne’s experience of the area.
However, it seems extremely likely that the Sunderland hit the island because it was aiming at it as part of the flight plan. In the poor visibility they would not have been able to see even the highest hill (Connachair, 1397 ft high). Rather than pilot error, I am inclined to postulate instrument malfunction as the cause of the crash. But this needs a good deal of further investigation. The Sunderland seems to have come in from the north-east. It flew up Glen Mhor, with hills of more than 1000 ft all around, and it crashed into a long ridge about 800 ft high which joins Mullach Bi and Mullach Sgar. If it had been 100 ft higher it would have cleared the ridge and returned safely to base.
Recovery of the bodies was carried out by an air-sea rescue unit from Stornoway. The fact that nine bodies were at first reported is curious, but there is no question that all 10 were recovered. Wing Commander A. R. Leggate arranged for the Church of Scotland minister, the Rev Lachlan MacLeod, minister of St Columba (Old Parish) church, Stornoway, to travel to St Kilda in an Admiralty trawler to conduct the funeral service. This took place on Sunday, June 13. The journey to St Kilda was wild in the extreme, and W/Cdr Leggate later congratulated Mr MacLeod on his fortitude during it. A service was held in the deserted little kirk on Hirta, and the bodies were then buried at sea, presumably off the island.
Since the bodies have no known grave, their names were inscribed on the R.A.F. memorial at Runnymede. But no memorial exists on the island of Hirta. And there should be, because St Kilda is now inhabited again, by a military detachment whose function it is to man the radar installations on the heights of Mullach Mhor. But apart from that, the island is owned by the National Trust for Scotland, and the trust, together with the Nature Conservancy, organizes work and study groups who visit the islands every year. That is why I was asked by the trust to research the history of the air crashes, with a view to keeping a historical record — thus fulfilling the phrase, “Their name liveth for evermore” — and of erecting a suitable memorial to the fallen. The form this memorial will take has not yet been determined, but it could be either in the little church, which is visited by so many people, or on the site of the Sunderland crash, which is not far from the main footpath.
PRESS, 27 MAY 1976
