Tag: Lancaster

  • The Lancaster enters the fray

    The Lancaster enters the fray

    It was on the night of 3/4 March 1942 that the Avro Lancaster conducted its first operational sortie. No. 44 (Rhodesia) Squadron took their brand-new Lancasters on a mine laying mission of Heligoland Bight. Mine laying is an often-overlooked task of Bomber Command and yet it was an important one. The Allies succeeded in stopping the free navigation of German shipping, prompting the Nazis to commit great resources to clear the sea lanes.

    No. 44 Squadron was the first squadron to be equipped with the new Avro Lancaster. During the First World War it had been a celebrated night fighter squadron commanded by Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris. He would go on to lead Bomber Command in its great offensive against Germany during the Second World War. In terms of casualties, the Squadron suffered the third highest number of any squadron of the RAF during the war.

    The Lancaster would perform is first operational bombing mission on 17 April, when Squadron Leader JD Nettleton led six of twelve bombers from No. 44 and No. 97 Squadrons – six aircraft from each – in a daylight raid on Augsburg in Germany. The Lancasters involved in the raid flew at tree-top level to attack the MAN Diesel engine factory, but the loss of aircraft was great. Only five out of the twelve returned. Nettleton was the only one of No. 44 Squadron which returned, and was awarded the Victoria Cross.

    'Augsburg Raid, April 17 1942', a painting by Paul Nash showing Lancasters on bombing raid, with John Dering Nettleton's Lancaster of No. 44 Squadron in foreground. (FA00985)

    Despite the bravery of its crew, it showed that even the Lancaster could not survive over Germany during daylight. With its maximum speed of 282 mph and armament of only light calibre machine guns it was too vulnerable against Germany’s Messerschmitt Me 109 interceptors. As a result, most Lancaster sorties took place at night, targeting German cities and industry. Paradoxically, its most famous of all missions was one which targeted hydro-electric dams of the Ruhr valley. Guy Gibson’s No. 617 Squadron, known as the ‘Dambusters’, carried the ‘bouncing bomb’ (though in reality a mine), designed by Barnes Wallis. This Squadron has been known as the Dambusters ever since.

    Few people realise the original design was called the Manchester. Avro’s chief design engineer, Roy Chadwick, decided to swap the two heavy Vulture engines with four lighter Merlin engines, the same that powered the Supermarine Spitfire. As much as the twin-engined Manchester design was a failure, the Lancaster was an instant success.

    Wing Commander Guy Gibson and a group of aircrew of No. 106 Squadron, with Avro Manchesters in the background

    Avro Lancaster BIII with crew about to board
    A long unobstructed bomb bay meant that the Lancaster could take larger bombs than other bombers, such as the 4,000 lb ‘cookie’ or the heavier ‘Blockbuster’ bombs. The biggest bomb carried was the 22,000 lb Grand Slam ‘earthquake bomb’ even though it meant removing a turret to save weight. It was the heaviest bomb dropped during the war, even bigger than the American nuclear bombs.

    7,377 Lancasters were produced for the RAF and its Allies, delivering 608,612 tons of bombs in 156,000 sorties. Together with its lesser-known lookalike, the Handley Page Halifax, they formed the core of Bomber Command during most of the Second World War. The bomber was loved by its crews, who appreciated the reliability of the Lancaster, its ability to take damage and bring them home. It could also fly higher and faster than other British heavy bombers at the time.

    One former pilot is Benny Goodman. In the last months of the war, he flew Lancs on daylight missions, participating in the raid that finally sank the Tirpitz battleship, and attacked Hitler’s mountain residence at Berchtesgaden. He explained to us why it was his favourite: ‘it was wonderful to fly and it would do anything you wanted from it’. He described how the Lanc would veer up as soon as the 22,000 lb Grand Slam bomb was released. The always modest Benny recently celebrated his 100th birthday.

    Benny is a very humble veteran and doesn’t consider what he did exceptional. He recalls the many young men who were not that lucky. Almost half all Lancasters delivered during the war were lost on operations with the loss of over 21,000 crew members. The disadvantage of having such a large bomb bay was that there was no room for a gun turret underneath. This meant that the Lanc crews were blind from attack from below. The Germans took full advantage of this by installing upward firing guns in their night fighters. If the crew needed to abandon a struck Lancaster, the escape hatch in the nose of the Lancaster revealed a peculiar design flaw: it was too narrow. Only 15 % of the Lancaster crew were able to bail out…

    Benny Goodman holding his log book in front of our Lancaster

    One of the most lucky Lancasters is the one on display at the RAF Museum London. S-for-Sugar flew an astounding 137 missions. The average was 20! Although we have dozens of historic aircraft, the Lancaster is probably the one which impresses most. Not only does it look powerful and majestic, the Lancaster is THE symbol of Bomber Command, but it has become more than that. It has become an iconic and defining figure of the Second World War, as much as the Spitfire, or Winston Churchill.

    Also our Cosford site has its own Lancaster, albeit a post-war variant. One of the limitations of the Lancaster was its inability to fly at higher (and thus safer) altitudes. The Lincoln was powered by four two-stage Merlin engines, featured an increased wingspan and lengthened fuselage and new Boulton Paul F turret with two 0.5in Browning machine guns.

    To commemorate the 80 years since the first flight of the Lancaster, the RAF Museum is launching – today! – its Lancaster Challenge. Choose to complete 80K, 150K or 500K. You can run, walk, cycle or walk the dog to complete your Challenge. This Challenge is virtual which means you can participate and complete it from anywhere in the world. By entering the Lancaster Challenge, you are supporting the RAF Museum Charity and enabling us to share the stories of the crews who showed incredible bravery flying missions for Bomber Command.Lancaster crew

     

    Lancaster at the RAF Museum London

    Lancaster cockpit

    100-year young Benny Goodman has your support. The Challenge is now open!

    https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/virtual-events/the-lancaster-challenge-2021

  • The Indestructible Alkemade

    The Indestructible Alkemade

    The Museum was recently contacted to see if we could substantiate whether an RAF airman had survived falling from his aircraft without a parachute by landing in snow. “That sounds unlikely”, I thought, like an urban legend. It couldn’t really have happened, could it? As it transpired, the airman in question had in fact been lucky enough to have the use of his parachute, but my research did lead me to the amazing tale of Flight Sergeant Nicholas Alkemade…

    Nicholas Stephen Alkemade was born on 10 December 1922 in North Walsham, Norfolk and was a market gardener in Loughborough before the outbreak of war. After training as an Air Gunner, he was posted to No. 115 Squadron as a rear gunner on their Avro Lancasters. After successfully completing 14 operations, Alkemade’s crew were detailed to raid Berlin on the night of 24/25 March 1944. One of 811 aircraft destined to attack the German capital, Alkemade’s aircraft, DS664, a Lancaster Mk II coded A4-K and christened Werewolf by its crew, took off from RAF Witchford, Cambridgeshire at 18:48 and set course for Berlin.

    Werewolf carried her seven crew members to Berlin on time and as planned, but the return journey was to be a different story. An unusually strong north wind blew many of the returning aircraft far to the south of their intended track and Werewolf was pushed towards the Ruhr with its heavy concentration of anti-aircraft defences.

    Shortly before midnight on 24 March, a Junkers Ju 88 night-fighter flown by Oberleutnant Heinz Rökker of Nachtjagdgeschwader 2, intercepted Werewolf and attacked from beneath with cannon and machine-guns. Werewolf’s starboard wing and fuselage were shredded and erupted into flames which streamed back beyond Alkemade’s rear turret, the Perspex glazing from which had also been completely blown out, exposing him to the frigid night air. The fight was not totally one-sided, Alkemade managing to get off a burst at the enemy with his four machine-guns, though reports of damage to Werewolf’s sailant proved wide of the mark.

    Luftwaffe night-fighter ace Oblt Heinz Rökker brought down Werewolf and her crew. This was the twentieth of his 64 victories.

    The brief combat had mortally wounded Werewolf, and before long FS James Arthur Newman, Werewolf’s pilot, ordered the crew to take to their parachutes. A Lancaster’s rear turret was too cramped for the gunner to wear a parachute. Instead it was stored in a canister in the rear fuselage, to be clipped-on to a chest harness when needed.

    Rear elevation and plan views of the Frazer-Nash FN.20A tail turret as operated by Alkemade. It is shown here without the enclosing cupola containing the doors and glazing (RAF Museum Object No. 011409).

    Rear elevation and plan views of the Frazer-Nash FN.20A tail turret as operated by Alkemade. It is shown here without the enclosing cupola containing the doors and glazing (RAF Museum Object No. 011409).

    Illustration from the manual for the Lancaster II, showing the location of the rear gunner’s parachute storage canister, number 25 (Object N.o. 015910)

    Centring his turret and opening the doors, Alkemade was greeted by a vision of hell. His parachute was already well alight and the fierce flames seared his exposed face and wrists. His rubber oxygen mask, clamped tight over his mouth and nose began to melt.

    The immense heat forced Alkemade to close the turret doors again. He was trapped. Falling through the sky in a burning and abandoned aircraft. 3.5 miles above enemy territory. And it was about to get worse. The conflagration devouring the aircraft now breached the rear doors and set the turret’s hydraulic fluid alight. The liquid-fuelled flames spread to Alkemade’s clothing. What could have been going through his mind? I’ll let him tell you:

    ‘I had the choice of staying with the aircraft or jumping out. If I stayed I would be burned to death – my clothes were already well alight and my face and hands burnt, though at the time I scarcely noticed the pain owing to my high state of excitement…I decided to jump and end it all as quick and clean as I could. I rotated the turret to starboard, and, not even bothering to take off my helmet and intercom, did a back flip out into the night. It was very quiet, the only sound being the drumming of aircraft engines in the distance, and no sensation of falling at all. I felt suspended in space. Regrets at not getting home were my chief thoughts, and I did think once that it didn’t seem very strange to be going to die in a few seconds – none of the parade of my past or anything else like that.’

    Falling head-first, looking back towards the stars twinkling in the night sky, FS Alkemade, serenity itself, hurtled towards the ground at 120 mph. At some point in the descent, Alkemade lost consciousness, possibly his body’s reaction to the pain where the flames had licked around his skin. Above him, Werewolf exploded.

    Three hours later, Alkemade opened his eyes. He was lying on snowy ground in a small pine wood. Above him the stars were still visible, only this time they were framed by the edges of the hole he had smashed through the tree canopy. Assessing himself, Alkemade found that he was remarkably intact. In addition to the burns and cuts to the head and thigh, all received in the aircraft, he was suffering only bruising and a twisted knee. Not a single bone had been broken or even fractured. Both of his flying boots had disappeared, probably torn from his feet as he unconsciously struck the tree branches. Being of no further use, Alkemade discarded his parachute harness in the snow.

    The ‘chest type’ parachute harness as worn, but not used, by Alkemade (Object No. 13931)

    The 'chest type' parachute pack. The two metal 'D' rings allowed aircrew to attach it to their harness only when needed. In theory, at least (Object No. 13931)
    Lighting a cigarette from the pack kept in his Irvin suit, Alkemade surveyed his landing zone. The snow was but 18 inches deep and had been sheltered from the sun by the pine trees. Just 20 yards away was open ground completely devoid of snow. If he had come down there, nothing would have saved him. As it was, the flexible branches of the young pines had slowed Alkemade’s descent, just enough for the mattress of snow to cushion him as he reached the ground.

    Unable to walk and freezing cold, Alkemade blew his distress whistle to attract attention. A band of German civilians, possibly Home Guardsmen, carried him to a local infirmary which sent him to the better facilities of Meschede hospital. His burns were tended and a quantity of Perspex and wooden splinters were removed from his body.

    The next day, Alkemade was interrogated, the Gestapo demanding to know what had happened to his parachute. When he told them he hadn’t used one, the interrogators laughed at Alkemade and accused him of being a spy and burying it. Indignantly Alkemade challenged the Gestapo to find his discarded harness – the lift webs, which would unclip and extend when the parachute deployed, would still be in the stowed position. A search of the wood soon bore out Alkemade’s story. Further corroboration came from the wreckage of Werewolf which had crashed 20 miles away. The metal ripcord handle and cable of his parachute were still in their stowage container.

    Alkemade’s experience made him into a minor celebrity among the Prisoner of War fraternity. After spending three weeks in hospital he was sent to the Dulag Luft prisoner of war transit centre. Here the prisoners were paraded and regaled with the incredible tale of Alkemade’s survival by a Luftwaffe officer. He was even provided with a commemorative certificate stating:

    “It has been investigated and corroborated by the German authorities that the claim of Sergeant Alkemade, No. 1431537, is true in all respects, namely, that he has made a descent from 18,000 feet without a parachute and made a safe landing without injuries, the parachute having been on fire in the aircraft. He landed in deep snow among fir trees.

    Corroboration witnessed by:

    [Signed] Flight Lieut. H.J. Moore (Senior British Officer)
    Flight Sergeant R.R. Lamb
    Flight Sergeant T.A. Jones
    (25/4/44)”

    Alkemade was photographed for the German press before being sent to Stalag Luft III in Poland. Here his story earned him extra cigarettes in return for inscribing prisoners’ Wartime Logs. Fellow prisoner Flt Lt Bennett Ley Kenyon also produced a portrait of Alkemade.

    FS Alkemade wrote-up his miraculous escape in Flt Lt Bennett Ley Kenyon’s Wartime Log (RAF Museum Object No. X001-2316/009/056).

    Ley Kenyon, Alkemade and the other inmates of Stalag Luft III would all later be among the tens of thousands of Allied Prisoners of War forced to march westward, some pulling possessions on hastily-crafted sledges, through blizzard conditions and on little food, so the Germans could prevent their liberation by the advancing Russians. The “Long March”, as these evacuations are now collectively known, would claim the lives of hundreds of men unable to survive the cold, exhaustion, hunger and tragic incidents of friendly fire by roving Allied aircraft. Somehow Alkemade made it through to be liberated, still the snow watched over him.

    But what of the rest of Werewolf’s crew? Alkemade was just one of seven aboard the Lancaster when Rökke struck. As things transpired, he would be one of only three survivors. Sgt John P. Cleary (Navigator) and Sgt Geoffrey R. Burwell (Wireless Operator) both also become prisoners of war after being forcibly ejected from Werewolf by the explosion. Sgt Cleary’s damaged parachute self-deployed during his descent into the same wood as Alkemade and he was knocked unconscious in a collision with a tree trunk. Exposed to the crippling cold, Cleary nearly lost a leg to frostbite as well as enduring a collapsed lung. He spent the next six months in Meschede hospital, before being repatriated as part of an exchange of sick and wounded prisoners in February 1945.

    Sadly, the other four crew members of DS664, FS James Arthur Newman (Pilot), Sgt Edgar William John Warren (Flight Engineer), Sgt Charles Alfred Hilder (Bomb Aimer) and Sgt John Joseph McDonough (Mid-Upper Air Gunner), were all killed. They now lie next to each other in Hannover War Cemetery.

    The Bomber Command Loss Card recording the demise of Lancaster DS664 and the fates of her crew.

     Letter from Rudi Klauke to Fritz Diedams, interned at Eselheide in March 1947, regarding how Sgt John P. Cleary appreciated their efforts at treating his frostbite (RAF Museum Object No. X003-4642/002).

    After discharge from the RAF in 1946, Alkemade returned to Loughborough, finding work in a chemical plant. Not long after starting his new job, he again cheated death. While removing chlorine gas-generating liquid from a sump, he received a severe electric shock from the equipment he was using. Reeling away, his gas mask became dislodged and he began breathing in the poisonous gas. An agonising 15 minutes were to pass before his appeals for aid were answered and he was dragged to safety, nearly asphyxiated by the fumes.

    Not long after, a siphoning pipe burst, spraying Alkemade’s face and arms with industrial sulphuric acid. With astounding presence of mind, he dived head-first into a nearby 40 gallon drum of limewash, thereby neutralising the acid. Alkemade ‘escaped’ with first degree burns. Returning to work, Alkemade was pinned beneath a nine foot long steel door runner that fell from its mountings as he passed by. Somehow only minor bruising resulted.

    After this third incident even Alkemade thought that enough was enough, becoming a furniture salesman with Clemersons Limited in Loughborough, where he lived with his wife and children. He passed away, much later than he might otherwise have done, in June 1987.

    Further Reading
    Into the silk by Ian MacKersey, published by Robert Hale & Company in 1956.  FS Alkemade’s story appears on pages 214-219 and a photograph between pages 112 and 113. RAF Museum Object No. 000433.

    Wartime Log of Flt Lt Bennett Ley Kenyon. Alkemade recounts his descent on pages 113-115. RAF Museum Object No. X001-2316/009/056.

    Spotlight on Stalag Luft III edited by M.S. Winston. FS Alkemade recounts his descent on pages 21-23. RAF Museum Object No. 013498.

    Archive collection of material relating to Sgt John P. Cleary’s experience as a Prisoner of war and later return to Germany. RAF Museum Object No. X003-4642

    “Fell 3 miles without a ‘chute” article in RAF Flying Review, Volume 9, Number 12, September 1954. RAF Museum Object No. X005-1841.

    A scanned version of Alkemade’s Prisoner of War log is available via the Loughborough Echo website.