John Musgrave - My Tour. My Crew - 576 Squadron 1945
Many years ago I received this article by the late Dr John Musgrave. I have just come across this again in my files and it is well worth adding to the site. It gives some excellent personal insights and accounts of his RAAF career and time with 576 Squadron DF
Reading my log book caused a surge of emotions – fear, terror, horror, anger, pity, pride and gratitude that I was still alive. Despite the fact that my hypertension is tablet controlled, I feel my heart pounding as it did aged 20 when all this happened. The satisfaction and pride of the job done soon settled me. It is a great pity I was not ten years older when I went through this amazingly special experience. I would have retained more than a twenty year old and certainly would have kept a diary.
We were young and carefree. We pretended our friends who failed to return were guests of the German Government as POW’s. We used their disappearance as an excuse for yet another PORT ,whilst smoking Punch-Havana cigars.
On return to Australia, we had to make up three years of lost time getting stuck into whatever we were going to do for the rest of our lives. We had no time to ponder over what was then a common experience. Our associates were three years younger, had no opportunity to go to war and they steered conversation away from that which they probably envied but concealed.
So here I am at seventy-three being provoked to jot down a few thoughts about the most thrilling, rewarding, ego boosting, yet most terrifying part of my life.
….......
I could enlarge on any of the following phases of that period from January 1943 to November 1945. Left school aged 18 and straight into RAAF Then Empire Air Training Scheme in Canada. Trained as navigator but the whole course switched to Bomb Aimers because of a shortage. Then final leave New York and saw all the great shows. Zigzagged across the Atlantic dodging submarines on SS New Amsterdam. Train from Greenock to Brighton, interrupted by air raids to RAAF base in the Grand and Metropolis Hotels and manned Browning guns on hotel roof potting German intruders and watching constant procession of tanks, guns and trucks going West in preparation for D-Day.
….......
Advanced Flying Unit
STAVERTON on “ANSONS” practice bombs fell off my plane when bomb doors opened on return from a practice bombing run. Exploded in the armourers face. Put on a charge which was dismissed. Tonsils out at STAVERTON. My group were sent on to Special Duties dropping spies behind the lines. They all got the chop.
….......
Operational Training Unit
HIXON on “WELLINGTONS” crewed up with an all Australian crew. On 16 October 1944, we returned early from a BULLS-EYE operation because of engine trouble. 10/10 cloud at base. Pilot saw base through a chink in clouds. Dived through the chink and landed off the runway breaking the air-screw. Phil Vallender in the next plane came down too low looking for base, pranged and all killed. The mid-upper gunner belonging to that crew did not fly that night.
He was replaced by his best friend. That survivor, Roy Vesperman, replaced one of our crew who went LMF (lack of moral fibre). Roy is a close friend of mine in Sydney. He recently had a leg amputated due to damage due to burnt feet on one of our operations.
….......
Heavy Conversion Unit
LINDHOLME on “LANCASTERS”. Heating failed, froze up the rear gunner. Had to chop him out of the rear turret with an axe. Plastic surgery to frost bite. Ken Brown was his name. We have just located him at Tamworth NSW. I spoke to him last week. He was replaced by Titch Fowkes, an Englishman. We have not been able to trace him. So our final crew to graduate to a squadron for operations over Germany was as follows:
Pilot David Crofts Sydney - Australia
Engineer Bert Roberts - Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
Navigator Donald Tishing - Melbourne, Australia
Bomb Aimer John Musgrove - Sydney, Australia
Wireless Op Harry Dale - Sydney, Australia.
Mid-Upper Gunner Roy Vesperman - Sydney, Australia
Rear Gunner Titch Fowkes - UK
….......
576 Squadron Fiskerton
Near Lincoln “Lancasters” January 4. We were ushered to a hut in a disposal area. The beds and tables had been cleared that morning of the belongings of a crew who failed to return the night before. I removed anything from my case that I thought my mother would not like to see.
After supper we tramped in the dark, through mud, slush and snow back to our hut. We lit a fire in the pot bellied stove with limited coal, and papers left behind by the departed crew. We had the iron chimney glowing red hot to take away the chill. Opened rations from home. Hot chocolate, sweetened condensed milk, fruit cake heavily impregnated with run, from a cake tin soldered all round.
We invited Taffy, the rear gunner of another crew to join us for hot chocolate. We wanted to pump him to get the “GEN” on an “OP”. He would have been a dismal failure as a psychologist. He frightened Christ out of us.
Whilst we were asking questions in as casual a way as possible, so as not to give him the slightest insight into our very considerable anxiety – it suddenly happened!
There was a thunderous noise, followed by an explosion nearby. We raced outside, dripping with spilt hot chocolate, to see the sky illuminated and two fireballs and debris falling 200 yards away. Two Lancasters on two different circuits had collided. One was from Waddington, the other from an adjacent station. It happened too low for parachutes. They all got the chop. We sat in silence sipping hot chocolate. Before bed I wrote a carefully composed letter to my family to be left inside my case. The thought did cross my mind – what in the hell am I doing here whilst the Japs are attacking Australia?
Considering it was war-time, the food was filling – OK. It was a shock to receive boiling water on the plate with each spoonful of cabbage. The plate had to be lifted with a spare fork. Baked beans on toast and frankfurts – the staple diet we received on troop ships and everywhere else were still on the menu. However, baked beans were never served to air-crews before operations. Previous crews had complained of abdominal colic and pain making them behave like human hover-crafts when aloft.
There was never any complaint from non-air crew eating baked beans on toast, whilst we had fried egg on toast with bacon. We were given a jam sandwich to take into the air for a 9_ hour trip. It had to be something that could be eaten in the dark, nearly frozen, without diverting attention from danger.
The culmination of two full years of training resulted in being detailed for our first operation over enemy territory on 14/2/45.
3.00 pm Navigators / Bomb Aimers briefing
3.45 pm General Briefing
4.30 pm Flying Meal
5.30 pm At Aircraft
6.00 pm Take-off
Walking distances were great on a Squadron. Hut to central ablutions (all hut ablutions frozen solid), to mess, to flight hut, to briefing, to NAAFI, etc. kept us fit. I was lucky in that I inherited a bicycle sent from another Squadron, on the request of a father in Sydney, whose son was missing. That boy’s father knew my father and wanted me to have his sons bike.
….......
The Briefing
Gentlemen, the target tonight is Chemnitz. About a 9 hour trip – way over near Czechoslavakia. You will have to conserve fuel. The weather may be 10/10 cloud at the target area – hopefully not.
As Jerry is retreating, he is pulling back all his AAC guns and fighters. You will be experiencing greater concentrations of both. You will be flying over cloud and it is a full moon. You will be like sitting ducks to night fighters. So gunners, keep a good look out above and behind. Your bomb load will be 4000lb cookie, 8 x 1000 lb SAP (semi-armour piercing) bombs and the rest made up of 8 canisters of incendiaries.
Your target is an industrial city, loaded to the brim with the German Army and equipment for the Eastern front.
The briefing continued with NAV Officer, Bombing Leader, Gunnery Leader, Met Officer, Intelligence Officer, all having their turn at warning us about:
Head winds here, trail winds there, danger of icing up here, flack ships there, ACK ACK particularly strong here, search lights will cone you here, night fighters active here, GEE will peter out about here. Dead reckoning and H2S from here on. With full moon you may have to dive to cloud for cover. The risk of collision is always high with 1000 bombers converging on the one target. Gunners remember keep a sharp watch when you arrive home at the funnel for landing. Jerry intruders have been very active at Waddington next door.
Remember to fly straight and level after bombs away for aiming point photo – even if you are being attacked. When you arrive back we expect 10/10 cloud. We will have the FIDO alight if necessary. It will be crowded, as non-FIDO squadrons will be landing here too. Use your RT if you are desperately short of fuel. Be careful not to skew on landing, especially if one of your tyres are flat, or you will ride over the FIDO and explode. Land 20 knots faster so you do not stall due to FIDO turbulence.
Then came the final word from the CO “Please chaps no early returns”.
That convinced me that providing we lacked mechanical failures, we would fly straight into the jaws of death – but I would not miss it for quids.
….......
Briefing Over
Flying meal, flying suit donned including electric warming jacket and boots, parachute collected, escape aids collected, German money collected, silk scarf with escape routes emblazoned, pencil revealing a compass when broken across. Pocket pencil clip which pointed North when balanced on pencil tip. Hacksaw blade to be concealed in seam of battle jacket, etc. etc.
Scrambled into crew bus carrying bag full of course maps, target maps, directions for bomb dropping order. Bomb sight settings, emergency bombing angle computer, H2S charts, parallel ruler, divider, spare pencils, jam sandwich and a Mars Bar if you had brought a whole shoe box of them from America.
….......
At The Aircraft
The ground staff were present in case of problems. All was well. We checked everything including that all the “windows” were stacked near the shute ready to drop a bundle every 30 seconds when going into the target to confuse German radars.
We had half an hour to spare for the first Verey flare to start engines. The ground staff knew it was our first trip. Their last crew got the chop on their first trip. They did a splendid job of concealing their concern and admiration for 7 young fellows flying into the darkness overloaded with bombs and petrol. Flying without headlights and tail lights was dangerous enough without the might of the German War Machine.
As we looked along the main runway, there was Lincoln Cathedral on top of a high hill right in line with our take-off on 08 runway. If we could not climb over it we would have to squash either side of it.
As a diversion to relieve the tension, the ground staff produced a large rubber ball. We stood in a ring at their direction and tossed the ball across the circle. I noted with appreciation they kissed the ball before throwing it gently to each crew member.
….......
Verey Light from Central Tower
All inside, lock door, start engines, chocks away, ground staff all lined up, Victory sign with left hand, saluting with right hand – a grand sight dressed in their overalls and forage caps.
We were number 12 of 18 waiting to take-off. Port inner engine overheated. Engine had to be stopped. What to do? Radio silence prevented reporting. Engineering leader raced up by car, opened door, raced through plane, abused pilot for not turning into wind whilst waiting, started engine and vanished into darkness.
Aldas lamp flashed “V”. We moved into end of runway, lined up, applied brakes. Green Aldis lamp, half throttle, plane vibrating wildly, brakes off, rolling to Chemnitz.
A final wave to 10 people assembled to wave each plane off into the shivering cold. The Station Commander Group Captain Arbuthnot and a mixture of friends and perhaps lovers. A group of four WAAFS stood beautifully dressed in full uniform at attention in saluting mode.
As we rolled forwards we took up crash positions behind the main spar. This was always the most worrying time. Full load of bombs and fuel. Will it lift before the end of the runway?
….......
Rendezvous Over Reading
Set course 130° for Somme. 10,000 feet, still climbing on the first leg to Chemnitz.
Busy, busy, busy – no time for concern regarding malfunctions, flak ships, AAC, night fighters, search lights, collisions – just concern for rounding our turning points within a minute of ETA. Providing this was achieved, you could be sure you were in the middle of the gaggle. The outside ones were the ones to be picked off.
We were phase I into Chemnitz at 2121 hours. At 2115 hours at 19,000 feet doing 180 knots, under full moon, we observed 10/10 clouds below. No hope of a visual attack – either bomb blind on H2S or “Wanganui”.
2117 the Master Bomber broke the time silence. “Bomb Wanganui”, “Bomb Wanganui”, “Bomb Wanganui”. 2118 a green parachute flare directly ahead. Mid upper to pilot “There’s a Lanc above to starboard with bomb doors open”. “Move over Dave I feel vulnerable”. Dave throttled back. “Are we all clear astern rear gunner? Rear Gunner “Its as black as the inside of a moo-cows stomach Dave. If there is a bastard around here I couldn’t see him or hear him. I might as well be asleep or looking for a black sheep at midnight at Wangaratta”.
2120 Bomb Aimer to Pilot – “Left, left, steady”.
“Bomb doors open”.
“Master switch on!”
“Right, Steady”,
“10 seconds to go”
“Bombs away. Keep steady, still going”
“Bombs gone”
“No hang-ups”
“Bomb doors closed”
“Master switch off”
Pilot to Nav: “When can I turn Don?”
Nav to Pilot: “In 30 seconds turn starboard to 225°. In case you’re interested its straight to Nuremberg, turn now Dave.”
Engineer to Pilot: “Dave starboard inner overheated despite all action. We will have to feather the prop.
Nav to Pilot: “Dave the GEE set is smoking and I see a flame inside. I’ve turned it off. That means the H2S from here on. Come up here Bomb Aimer and work this bloody thing.”
Bomb Aimer: “OK Don, put your finger exactly where we are and I’ll be right. I’ll give you a good fix every 3 minutes.”
Pilot to Engineer: “Bert get that bloody engine going again and see what happens. I don’t like the look of that smoke. Stop it again.”
The H2S worked well. A beautiful line of 3 minute fixes back to base was exhibited at NAV HQ and won me a mention in Despatches.
Half an hour before landing, coming across the coast, we heard on the RT a character lost without navigation aids. He resorted to the Darkie Watch to find out where in the hell he was.
“Hello Darkie, Hello Darkie, Hello Darkie, this is P. Peter”
No answer, repeated again, no answer.
“Hello Darkie you little black bastard where are you?”
Then came on a most seductive demure voice.
“Welcome home P. Peter – this is Boston, this is Boston”
To which he replied: “Thanks Darkie, I’ll see you at midnight”.
For some reason, our wing flaps would not go down causing Dave to approach 30 knots faster than a normal landing.
“Crash positions everyone – your life depends on the brakes.”
All OK. All out. Ground staff milling around, happy that there were no major repairs. Crew bus, out of flying suit, parachute booked in, hot chocolate drink and a double tot of Jamaican Rum.
At de-briefing the senior intelligence officer wanted details of defences, target identification, damage observed, weather conditions, fighter numbers, what types of fighters, etc. etc.
Flying meal, bed at 6.00 am. Told the next briefing would be at 3 pm.
Rear gunner moaning that he had taken two Wakie Wakie tablets (Benzedrine) on the way back and would never get to sleep.
….......
21/2/45 Our third operation was our most memorable – Duisberg. Six hours on a cloudless night with 1000 bombers proceeding in a gaggle without lights. The only indication of being on track and still with the boys was the occasional jolt from the slip steam of an unseen Lanc ahead.
A flaming mass 100 yards to port destroyed Dave’s night vision. He quickly looked away.
“What’s happening bomb-aimer?”
“Two Lancs falling in pieces. One with flames from wing tip to wing tip. Going down fast. I can see in the light three Lancs to port and one to starboard – all behind. Two parachutes only – poor bastards!”
What a spectacular fireworks display Duisberg was that cloudless night. It could be seen fifteen minutes ahead. Red, green and yellow target indicators from pathfinders cascading down from 1000 feet. Flak coming up with its flash, leaving white blobs everywhere. Bofors tracers and Browning tracers circling everywhere.
Parachute flares illuminating from above. The big red blobs of 4000 lb cookies going off. The white sparks of SAP 1000 pounders. The thousands of fires from thousands of incendiaries, scarecrows sent up by Jerry to simulate exploding Lancs. The odd Lanc diving steeply, flaming from wing tip to wing tip. The odd parachutists having front stalls seats – an experience never to be forgotten. And then of course there were forest fires lit by the Germans and target indicators emulating Pathfinder markets set by the Germans in the forlorn hope of diverting bomb aimers.
The Master Bomber of Pathfinders yelled instructions as to which target indicator to run in on. The HUN on RT countermanded those instructions. The Master Bomber, naming a code-word changed every one minute, immediately followed by the next instruction. Then the two of them would have a slanging match using words not fit to be heard in the parlour.
“Bomb doors closed, no hang-ups, master switch off.”
“I’m in the front turret Dave.”
I saw coming from ahead, slightly up and to starboard, with an illuminated jet at the back, distinguishing it as one of the new German jets we had been briefed about.
“Bomb Aimer to Pilot – a jet 500 yards, starboard 10°, slightly up. He hasn’t seen us.”
Mid-Upper Gunner: “Hold your fire, he hasn’t seen us.” If he held his course we would close to 50 yards up 20°. Too good to miss I thought. Quarter of a RAD from centre aim. He’d have to fly through my cone. I gave him a full five-second burst and he was gone. It was like taking candy from kids.
“Johnny, save some ammo. I’m getting choked by cordite up here” said the pilot.
Three days later we were credited with the kill!
The pilot pulled up as the thick flak ahead was at our level.
“Chuck some more window out Johnny. These bastards are onto us,” I sat on the glycol tank to feed window into shute. Every thirty seconds our plane became two on their radar screens, and as it fell, gave the HUN the impression we were lower.
“We’re turning to port chaps. Keep a sharp look out. There’s no flak over there.”
The smell of flak permeated V. Victor. Then there was an ear-shattering bang. The plane leapt higher. It was as though you were in an Australian Outback dunnie of corrugated iron being pelted by kids with rocks. Dave struggled to get straight and level.
“Engineer call round and see if everyone’s OK.”
“How in hell can anyone be OK” said the rear gunner.
“It’s like being in a salt shaker – complete with f… holes.” Our rear gunner was quite incapable of giving a cryptic military answer. Of course, he had plenty of time to think up hilarious remarks.
I sat on the glycol tank, which was the step into the bomb aimers compartment and hurriedly put my parachute on by the light from a flaming Lanc in front. I moved onto the escape hatch, which was the floor of the bomb aimers compartment. I felt something sticky all over the floor. No it wasn’t blood.
There was a jagged hole in the bottom of the glycol tank used for windscreen de-icing. The glycol had stopped the shrapnel. It hadn’t penetrated the top nor my posterior. Later, the rear gunner commented that it was a pity the shrapnel was spent. He could have put me in the Maryborough Show with two arseholes.
“Dive port go” yelled the rear gunner.
“ME110 20° port 20° up and blazing away.”
Down we went.
“Full throttle engineer.”
“You’ve lost him Dave” said the rear gunner.
“I can’t pull her out Bert. Slow down” said Dave. The lower half of my face felt two feet from the top of my head with the “G” as he struggled to pull her out.
“The bitch is doing 270, cut the throttles” said Dave.
As we headed for home, the rear gunner complained the heating had failed and he was “shivering like a dog shitting razor blades”.
Mid-upper gunner complaining his suit had gone cold except his boots. “I don’t know whether its better to die of cold or burn my feet.”
Navigator complaining all his pencils had gone.
Wireless operator complaining, “radio dead and trailing aerial gone”.
Engineer complaining of over-heating engine – “we’ll have to slow down Dave.”
Pilot said, “My feet are so cold, I’m seriously considering pissing myself even though I know it will be worse later.”
Dave took us lower for warmth. He reckoned it better to risk flak than freeze to death.
We cut corners to get home quicker on three engines. Dave was referred to around the Squadron as “three engines Crofts” – it happened so frequently. It was a serious offence to run an engine too hot it had to be stopped.
Getting ready to land. Dave found the wing flaps would not go down. It was probably due to no oil pressure because of the feathered prop.
Landing on three engines without flaps was a risky business. Flying control would not risk blocking the runway. They banished us to a nearby special crash-landing drome called Carnaby. The drome was enormous – runway twice as long and five times as wide as our drome. We were directed to land on a channel marked by blue lights on either side. Directed to fly low over the control tower they reported wheels down but one flat tyre. We observed the runway was lined with fire-trucks, ambulances, foam tankers and bulldozers. Either side of the runway, full length was a graveyard of Lancasters and Halifaxes, which had been bulldozed to make way for the next crash landing. Dave was told if he veered on landing to operate all engine fire extinguishers.
“Don’t use your brakes” said flying control.
“Crash positions” ordered Dave. Wireless operator, navigator, bomb aimer huddled together behind the main spar. Fast landing to compensate for no wing flaps. We rolled for what seemed like miles amidst what looked like a crashed car dump, literally piled high. Foam all over the runway. Stretchers already out of ambulances. Innumerable men with illuminated batons directing us to clear the runway as quickly as possible.
We jumped out and could not survey our damage quickly enough. Twenty holes. One through the skin and glycol tank. Glycol ran back along the fuselage. One through the port outer fuel tank – which had been emptied on the way out, and the rest scattered.
A sergeant asked us whether we wanted to fly back to Fiskerton or take a crew bus. We answered unanimously “We’ll take the bus thanks!”.
My greatest thrill, reported to the crew who could not see it, was on 10/4/45 on the run in to the target at Kiel. The battleship Admiral Sheer had come in 3 days before and was tied up to a wharf in the harbour. Just as my bombs were going down, therefore I cannot claim I dropped one down the funnel, an unbelievably large explosion gradually rose to 8000 feet. The Admiral Scheer’s magazine had blown up. Intelligence photos the next day showed it upside down.
We finished operations by food dropping to the starving Dutch. Three drops to Rotterdam, one to
Valkenberk and one to Delft, finishing on 5/5/45. Providing we kept to corridors, the Germans would hold their fire, we were told at briefing, – don’t stray and keep below 500 feet or the flour bags will burst.
Angry Dutch surrounded German posts protesting at them taking pot shots at us. It was the only time I saw a German helmet – quite plainly.
The Dutch were all outside their houses waving excitedly, anything they could. The tulip field had
been ploughed during the night “Thanks to the RAF”. To be welcomed at our targets was a truly rewarding finish to a terrible war.
….......
Area bombing was the official policy of Air Ministry even before Butch Harris’ command and continued after he took charge. Strategic bombing was insufficiently accurate due to night operations, 10/10 cloud on 70% of our raids, flak, evasive actions and keeping away from other planes and enemy fighters.
Despite the fact that the Atlee Government and British press were critical of area bombing, after they had been saved, the German hierarchy had this to say:
Albert Speer said
“The strategic bombing of Germany was the primary factor in the defeat of Germany.”
“The Ardennes battle crucial to the Germans to stop the British, Canadian and American forces from linking up, was lost by the Germans because their supply lines had been cut by Bomber Command.”
900,000 Germans were kept from the fronts to man flak guns and 300,000 Germans were kept from the front to repair factories from bomb damage.
Dietrich Said:
“No troops can withstand the effect of mass bombing by Bomber Command.”
Rommel said to Hitler:
“If you cannot stop the bombing we cannot win the war. Seek peace or use the atom bomb.”
Also
Eisenhower Said:
“Bomber Command was the most effective force at his disposal. It has achieved the impossible.”
The RAF and American 8th Air Force achieved the following:
1) Paralysed the German Air Force
2) Stopped the bombing of England
3) Paralysed the German Navy
a) Submarines were destroyed where they were made rather than where they went to
b) Of the 18 capital ships the Germans had,
3 were destroyed by the Allied Navy
4 were destroyed by the Fleet Air arm
1 was destroyed by the Norwegians
1 was destroyed by the Russians
6 were destroyed by the Bomber Command
2 were holed up in Copenhagen.
..........
Crofts’ Crew 576 Squadron Fiskerton February 1945
Air Crew- Standing L to R
Titch Fowkes – Rear Gunner UK
Bert Roberts – Engineer UK
Roy Vesperman – Mid Upper Gunner, Australia
Dave Crofts – Pilot, Australia
Don Tyshing – Navigator, Australia
Harry Dale – W.O.P, Australia
John Musgrove – Bomb Aimer, Australia
Ground Staff- Kneeling L to R
Bob Draper – Airframe
Unknown
Len Jones – Engine Mechanic
Sgt. Dutchy Holland – In Charge
Others - Unknown
..........
Some Target photos
Duisberg Bombing photo
Heligoland Bight Bombing photo
Admiral Scheer Kiel Reconnaissance photo
Hanover reconnaissance photo
Written by the late Dr John Musgrave who also supplied the photos
....................
|
