Authors: Martin Bowman
Tags: #Bisac Code 1: HIS027140
On D-Day, 6 June, 248 Squadron flew five operations being employed on anti-shipping, escort and blockading sorties off the Normandy, Brittany and Biscay coasts, including one operation as escort for seventeen anti-flak Beaufighters of 144 Squadron and fourteen rocket-armed Beaufighters of 404 ‘Buffalo’ Squadron RCAF. During one of these sorties, a 248 Squadron Mosquito shot down a Ju 188. On 7 June two Tsetses flown by Doug Turner and Des Curtis and Al Bonnett and ‘Pickles’ McNicol each made a run on a surfacing U-boat. A dozen 57mm shells were fired at U-212 but on his second run, Bonnett’s cannon jammed and he only made a series of dummy runs on the U-boat, which crash-dived, leaving a pool of oil and a crewman on the surface.
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Turner’s Tsetse was hit by flak in the port wing and engine nacelle but he and Bonnett made it back to Cornwall safely. Two days later Bonnett and McNicol were killed following a search for survivors of a German destroyer in the Channel, when Wing Commander Tony Phillips
DSO DFC
, now CO of 248 Squadron, collided with their Mosquito while approaching the airfield. Phillips lost 6ft of his outer wing but landed safely.
On 10 June 248 Squadron Mosquitoes attacked U-821 near Ushant with such ferocity that the crew abandoned the submarine, which was then sunk by a Liberator of 206 Squadron. That afternoon Flight Lieutenant E.H. Jeffreys
DFC
and Pilot Officer D.A. Burden of 248 Squadron were shot down by a motor launch carrying the survivors of U-821. The other Mosquitoes promptly sank the launch. Attacks on U-boats were the order of the day throughout the summer of 1944, using wing-mounted 25lb Mk.XI depth charges for the first time on 22 June and also A.VIII mines, in addition to more conventional bombs, cannon and machine gun fire. One of the pilots on 248 Squadron who took part in the operation on 22 June was Les Doughty
DFM M
i
D
. He reports:
As one of the crews listed we were warned to be ready for a possible dawn take-off so Ron Grimes, my observer and myself retired very early just in case the show was on. We were woken at some ungodly hour in the night, had our usual fry-up and went to the ops room for a full briefing. We were told we were taking off in total darkness on navigation lights and when we had formatted on the leader satisfactorily the leader would switch off his navigation lights, switch on his formation lights and the rest of us would follow suit. We would then proceed to Lorient Harbour to look for the returning submarine and, if not found there, continue to sweep outwards into the Bay of Biscay on our search. A squadron leader was leading us with Flight Lieutenant Dobson as second in command.
All went well with the take-off on navigation lights on a pitch-black morning and we were all beginning to formate when the leader’s navigation lights went out but his formation lights did not come on. Dobson immediately started calling over the R/T asking the leader to at least flash his navigation lights, so we could see where he was. Imagine a number of Mossies weaving about in pitch-black conditions. It had, in my opinion, all the ingredients for a collision, so I pulled well away and awaited developments. All this time Dobson was calling the leader to flash his navigation lights but to no avail. Then I switched all my lights off pulled further away and then the R/T went dead with no further communication from the rest of the group. So I asked Ron to give me a course for Lorient and said we would meet them there. By now the sky was becoming a little bit lighter and following Ron’s directions, we went down to our usual 1012ft over the waves whose foam was faintly visible. All the time Ron was directing me and pointing to a piece of land jutting out, faintly visible as dawn was breaking. He told me that when we rounded that piece of land Lorient would be on our port side with Ile-de-Groix on our starboard. He was quite right and to our amazement we passed directly over a U-boat [U155 commanded by Johannes Rudolf] about 200-300 yards from the harbour entrance. I climbed up to about 1,200ft frantically calling the rest of the force but with no reply, opened the bomb doors, primed the two depth charges, went into a dive firing my cannons and machine guns and at approximately 50 yards from the sub. At approximately 50ft I released the depth charges. We then faced intense flak both from Lorient and lle-de-Groix, so I took very violent corkscrew evasive action at a height of between 10 and 75ft. Thanks to the Mossie’s speed we were soon out of range, so Ron routed me back to base where the lads found the fuselage OK but three stub exhausts on one of the engines had been half flattened by some shell having bounced off them. We found that, for some reason only known by him, the leader had decided to proceed to the Bay first and sweep in to Lorient. He had also changed the R/T channel, which was why I could neither contact nor receive them.
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Also during June 248 Squadron was joined at Portreath by 235 Squadron equipped with the Mosquito FB.VI. (Their last Beaufighter sortie was flown on 27 June). The Mosquitoes now flew escort for the Beaufighters and they were also used to intercept Dornier Do 217s, which carried Henschel 293 glider bombs for attacks on Allied shipping. On 30 June the Mosquito flown by Pilot Officer Wally Tonge and his observer Flight Sergeant Ron Rigby, was hit while on a anti-shipping strike off Concarneau in Brittany. They managed to ditch the aircraft and take to their dinghy but they did not survive. On 4 July Wing Commander Tony Phillips with Pilot Officer R.W. ‘Tommy’Thomson
DFC
and Squadron Leader Jean Maurice (pseudonym for Max Guedj
DSO DFC C
de
G
) with Squadron Leader H.C. ‘Tubby’ Randall, flew a costly 248 Squadron operation to the Brest Peninsula. They found a group of minesweepers anchored in Penfoul Cove and the Kercrdven docks. For greater accuracy the two Mosquitoes closed right in on their targets, skimmed over the masts of the enemy ships and dropped their bombs. AA guns were firing from Creach-Conarch heights and the ships. It is unclear if the Mosquito crewed by Phillips and Thomson was hit by flak. A witness claims that they hit the top of the mast of one of the ships. The Mosquito crashed near the Keranguyon Farm and the crew were ejected in the explosion. Phillips was found near the aircraft, Thompson falling a hundred yards away, in front of the doorstep of Madame Berrou’s farm, which caught fire after being hit by flying debris. Two farm workers, Yves Glemarec and Yvonne Laurent, a young girl, had their clothes set alight. Glemarec badly burned, survived, but Yvonne died 12 hours later. For two days the airmen were left where they lay before a German officer gave the order to bury them.
On 11 July two Tsetses escorted by sixteen PB.VIs, made an evening raid on the approach to Brest harbour where a surfaced U-boat was proceeding slowly with no wake along the Goulet de Brest, escorted by three minesweepers and a
Sperrbrecher
. The shore batteries combined with the ships to put up an intense flak barrage. Undeterred, Flying Officer Bill Cosman and Flying Officer Freedman made a diving attack on the U-boat, breaking off at 50 yards and claiming two possible hits out of four shots fired. The Tsetse flown by Doug Turner and Des Curtis scored five hits on the
Sperrbrecher
. Cosman’s parting shot was a salvo of two 57mm shells at the leading minesweeper, as the Mosquitoes weaved their way through the flak to the mouth of the harbour.
On 14 August 1944 Jim Hoyle was involved with another ‘little adventure’:
I was not due to fly on that particular day and I had just partaken of my evening meal in the Sergeants’ Mess when I received a message that Doug Turner was waiting to see me in the Reception. He asked me if I would be willing to accompany him on an operational trip. It seems that Doug had just been an onlooker to a briefing given by Wing Commander Gage D. Sise, a New Zealander always known as ‘Bill’ Sise who had just been appointed CO of 248 Squadron. Bill was due to fly a formation of Mosquitoes from 248 and 235 Squadrons right into the Gironde Estuary, where it had already been ascertained that there would be no shortage of targets. [Bill Sise was later to receive bars to both his DSO and DFC whilst serving with our squadron]. Like me, Doug was also on a ‘rest day’ and his navigator Des Curtis had actually gone away for the day. Doug was obviously bubbling with excitement at the prospect of going on this mission. Though I thought that I might be ‘pushing my luck’ not to be flying with Hilly, my regular pilot, I felt quite flattered that Doug, who enjoyed a tremendous reputation, should have asked me to accompany him on what was likely to be a demanding trip. As I had not been at the briefing and time was pressing, it was just a case of grabbing my flying gear and getting airborne.
We took off at 19.00 hours D.B.S.T [Double British Summer Time] on a pleasant summer evening. At the tail end of a straggly formation of twenty-six Mosquitoes we followed the route down the French coast, passing the opening to the Gironde, where after a few miles we turned at right angles to cross the coast. When we arrived in the estuary some miles north of Bordeaux all hell was let loose with the heaviest barrage of antiaircraft fire that I had ever encountered. Within a matter of seconds I saw one Mosquito spin out of control and watched it explode on impact as it crashed into a little hillock. I realised later the pilot of the plane was Taffy Stoddart, a well-known character in the Sergeants’ Mess. There was no shortage of ships as we watched the other Mosquitoes make their attacks. Coolly taking his time, Doug was the last to attack and he selected what we took to be a
Sperbrecher
moored alongside a jetty. I was able to take some photographs, which were later to confirm that Doug’s attack had been accurate and effective. As we broke away, we saw another Mosquito with both engines blazing furiously, skim low over the water before making a perfect ditching. Doug then went off on another circuit and as we flew low over the ditched plane we saw an inflated dinghy and both crewmembers standing on the wing and waving furiously to us. I was able to recognise Warrant Officer Bob Gennoe and his navigator ‘Benny’ Goodman.
After we had set off back on our homeward journey we heard Warrant Officer Harold Corbin say over the VHF that his plane had been very badly damaged and he asked for someone to escort him. Unfortunately, we could not see any sign of his plane, or for that matter, any of the other Mosquitoes. It really was quite surprising how such a large formation could disappear in such a short space of time. Nightfall was now setting in and as Doug was concerned about his fuel reserves, we hugged the French coast to reduce the length of the journey as far as possible and landed back at Portreath at 23.00 hours. We then heard the grim news that four aircraft were missing: Squadron Leader Cook, Bob Gennoe, Taffy Stoddart and Harold Corbin.
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We were able to report our conversation with Harold and also that we had seen Bob make a successful ditching.
Harold Corbin and Flight Sergeant Maurice Webb, his observer, were flying in the van as part of the anti-flak effort. They attacked and damaged a Seetier-Class destroyer but return fire damaged three of the Mosquito’s fuel tanks. They set course for Vannes airfield in Brittany, now in Allied hands, trailing fuel from their punctured tanks, the port engine knocked out and the other damaged. Harold Corbin continues:
We could see the tracers of the light flak hosing past us from behind. We could also hear it thwacking into our Mosquito as we flew at 50ft heading for the coast with hopes of a stretch of sand if we had to crash land. Using alternating rudder to yaw the Mosquito out of the line of fire and keeping right ‘on the deck’, not to be silhouetted against the sky for the German gunners’ benefit, we made the coast. Being still airworthy we kept going out to sea away from the hail of light flak. Turning north in the fading light it had been a dusk attack we quickly checked for damage. Plenty of holes in the wings, petrol streaming out from several tanks, Gee set smashed and port engine fading with coolant all gone. On feathering the port engine we were spotted by one of our squadron who slowed down to escort us. The rest of the strike force headed back to Portreath. When black puffs of heavy flak suddenly bracketed us our escort veered in towards the coast to draw the fire away from us. A little later, with night coming on, he waved us ‘Goodbye and good luck’ and prudently put on speed to get back home.
Night fell. We decided to climb as much as we could after being unable to see Vannes aerodrome. Fuel was getting very low and the starboard engine was beginning to falter. It was obvious that we stood little chance of reaching England and with a night landing on one ropey engine if we did. The probability was that we’d be making a night ditching in the Channel. I recalled the ‘Pilot’s notes’: ‘This aircraft has been successfully ditched by day, but whenever possible bale out rather than ditch. I decided that baling out was the only option.
We had managed to achieve 4,000ft and we were over Brittany. We’d face the situation on the ground when we got there. My observer went out first kneeling down by the little, now released and discarded, entrance hatch and tumbling forward to fall out just behind the airscrew. It felt strange to be alone. I unplugged my earphones, undid my safety strap and went to leave my seat. I couldn’t! The seat parachute wouldn’t come free of the deep bucket seat as I could not lift my bottom high enough in the cramped cockpit. Struggling to keep the Mossie on an even keel I slowly edged the chute up and out until I was sitting on the side of the seat well.
Taking took a couple of deep breaths and leaving go of the control column, I made to kneel down and so out. But as soon as I took my hand away from the control column the remaining power of the starboard engine caused the starboard wing to lift sharply and a roll to begin. I got back
quickly to the seat edge and grabbed the stick and levelled the Mossie. Whilst still retaining some control with my left hand I stretched as far as I could towards the escape hatch. As fast as I was able I let go, knelt down and did a forward roll out into the night. I counted up to three and pulled the ripcord. Nothing! It had come off in my hand! Suddenly there was a loud snap and my descent was seemingly arrested with a great jerk. I looked up and there was my lovely, glorious parachute canopy holding me suspended under the black sky. I could see the ground below but it didn’t seem to be getting any nearer and hanging there, I began to wonder if it ever would. A great mushroom of light suddenly erupted from the earth and my immediate response was to think that the Germans were using flares to see me, but in the next moment I realised that it was my abandoned Mossie ploughing into the ground and blowing up. I prayed that it had not hurt any French people.