New picture of Canadian pilot Gordon Price and crew

Canadian pilot Gordon Price and five of his crew, photographed in 617 Squadron sometime in early 1945. Left to right: Flg Off Joseph Merchant (bomb aimer), Wrt Off G E Hartley (flight engineer), Sgt D V Sargison (rear gunner), Flt Lt Gordon Price (pilot), Sgt Charles Avey (mid-upper gunner), Sgt K Pocock (wireless operator). Absent: Flt Sgt H Kohl (navigator).
[Pic: Merchant family]

A second wartime picture of the late Charles Avey has emerged, 24 hours after the first. One of his crewmates was bomb aimer Joe Merchant, whose son Peter has kindly sent me a rarely seen photograph of the crew skippered by the Canadian pilot, Flt Lt Gordon Price. The crew came straight to 617 Squadron from Lancaster Finishing School on 9 December 1944, and flew on some eleven operations before the end of the war, including the bombing of the Lutzow, which they hit with the decisive Tallboy.

Addendum, 16 December 2020: Sgt Gordon Richard Price was born in 1922 and joined the RCAF in Montreal in April 1941. He flew a first tour of operations with 106 Squadron at RAF Syerston between November 1942 and April 1943 and was then posted to 1661 Conversion Unit as an instructor. He received the DFM in May 1943, and was then commissioned. He was posted to 617 Squadron in December 1944 to start a second tour of operations.
The aircraft in the picture is PD112 – YZ-S. This was the first Lancaster to drop a Grand Slam, which it did on 14 March 1945 at the Bielefeld Viaduct. On this occasion it was piloted by Sqn Ldr Charles (“Jock”) Calder.
[Hat tips to Clive Smith and Robert Owen for this information.]

Snow drops a clanger in hangar

Dan Snow, on the wrong spot. 

Last week’s three-part documentary series, broadcast on Channel 5, had a number of errors. A major one is discussed here.

This concerns the near catastrophe caused when the Upkeep mine was dropped accidentally onto the ground from Mick Martin’s aircraft AJ-P soon after it had been loaded by the squadron’s armourers. This did not take place inside a hangar, as so energetically described by Dan Snow in the programme, but several hundred yards away in the open air on each aircraft’s concrete hardstanding. Wartime bombing-up, as the process was called, never took place in the confined space of a hangar. It was simply too dangerous.

It is true that Martin and some of his crew, including bomb aimer Bob Hay, were inside AJ-P checking that things had been loaded correctly when the incident occurred. What followed was memorably described by Paul Brickhill in his 1951 book:

“… a fault developed in the bomb release circuit, the release snapped back and there was a crunch as the giant black thing fell and crashed through the concrete hardstanding, embedding itself 4 inches into the earth below. …
‘Release wiring must be faulty,’ Hay said professionally, and then it dawned on him and he said in a shocked voice, ‘it might have fused itself.’ He ran, yelling madly out of the nose, ‘Get out of here. She’ll go off in less than a minute.’ Bodies came tumbling out of the escape hatches, saw the tails of the armourers vanishing into the distance and set off after them. Martin jumped into the flight van near by and, with a grinding of gears, roared off to get Doc Watson. He had his foot hard down on the accelerator and swears that a terrified armourer passed him on a push-bike. He ran into Watson’s office and panted out the news and Watson said philosophically, ‘Well, if she was going off she’d have gone off by this.’ ”
Paul Brickhill, The Dam Busters, Evans 1951, pp71-72

It’s not mentioned by Brickhill, but it seems that WAAF officer Fay Gillon was also on board AJ-P at the time of the accident. She was a friend of Martin and his crew, and was being given a tour.

Plt Off Henry (“Doc”) Watson MBE was the squadron’s Armaments Officer.

For the record, two other smaller errors:
Episode 2: Only two models of the targets were shown to the crews at the briefing (and earlier to Gibson). These were of the Möhne and Sorpe Dams. The Eder Dam model wasn’t completed until after the raid.
Episode 3:
Martin was not the first to touch down at Scampton after dropping his mine. He arrived at 0319. Maltby arrived eight minutes earlier, at 0311.

 

Charles Avey: a wartime picture

Pic: Avey family

Wartime 617 Squadron member Flt Sgt Charles Avey died in July this year, as I reported at the time.

I was unable to source a wartime picture of him, but am happy to say that I can now publish one, courtesy of his niece Lisa Ingham.

Avey joined 617 Squadron in December 1944 as the mid-upper gunner in a crew skippered by the Canadian pilot Flt Lt G R Price. He flew on some eleven operations in Price’s crew before the end of the war.

I’m sorry to say that there are only a handful of 617 Squadron wartime veterans still with us. We salute them one and all.

Why buy a fake?

This is very odd.

Back in 2015 I wrote about an item which was advertised for sale at a respectable Stourbridge auction house. This was said to be a telegram sent in 1944 to 617 Squadron by Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris about the death on operations of Guy Gibson and his navigator Sqn Ldr James Warwick. Even without seeing the item, I listed five separate reasons why I considered that the telegram was a worthless modern fake and I’m glad to say that the auctioneers agreed and removed it from sale.

But now, a photograph of the same item has emerged for sale on eBay. Yours for the princely sum of £3.50. (Don’t all rush at once.)

It’s being sold by someone with the catchy vendor name of 4256970mnr, who seems to specialise in making photographs of other photographs, chiefly of Dams Raid artefacts. The most expensive item he has for sale is going for £9, so it’s not a highly lucrative business.

But what is most puzzling is Mr Mnr’s description of the Harris “telegram”:

“The original telegram is doubted to be genuine – but is of interest.” There’s no doubt about it. It’s a fake, pure and simple. I wouldn’t spend even £3.50 on it.

One-and-a-half million hits today

Around about 1.20 this afternoon this blog clicked up its one and a half millionth visitor, so a hearty welcome to whoever it was!

The blog was set up in May 2008, and the first half million views took place over the next 62 months, with the number being reached in June 2013. The millionth visitor arrived in May 2017, 46 months later. And today’s target was hit 42 months after this. You could therefore say that the pace is hotting up.

You might also be interested to know that there have been 658 posts over the 150 months that the blog has been operating, which works out at 4.38 posts per month. And, as you can see from the screen shot at the top of the page, there have been 2870 comments, most of them being complimentary and/or helpful. So keep them coming, and here’s to the next half-million hits!

The Dambusters Derry Boy

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Sgt Richard Bolitho on left, with two other air gunners, Sgt Adams (centre) and Sgt Julian Bracegirdle (right). Photograph probably taken while at Air Gunnery School, summer of 1942. [Pic: Bate family]

Richard Bolitho was born on 19 January 1920 in 38 Clarendon Street, Derry/Londonderry in what is now Northern Ireland. His birth predates the partition of Ireland in 1921 into Northern Ireland and the Irish Free State. Bolitho was the only man to take part in the Dams Raid to be born on the island of Ireland.

It is thought that the property was a maternity home at the time, but it is now offices and can be seen on a local estate agent’s website. It is occupied by a counselling service.

Clarendon Street is described by the agent as “the city’s best known ‘professional’ street – home to many professional businesses of long standing. It would be considered as a ‘prestigious’ address within the city.

Historically, it has been an area where wealthy merchants and professionals chose to live. Today, the street is dominated by accountancy, legal and medically related practices, but a number of properties have recently reverted to a residential function, restoring the striking Georgian facades to their former glory.”

Richard’s father William Bolitho was a commercial traveller in the seed business, originally from Cornwall. He had stayed on in Ireland after meeting and marrying a local woman, Jane Cuthbertson, the daughter of a land steward. They were married in Derry’s Church of Ireland cathedral on 14 November 1916, when William was 37 and Jane was 40. Richard was an only child.

In 1927 the family moved to England, first to Roose in Cumberland, where Richard attended the local school. The family then bought a hotel in Kimberley, Nottinghamshire. Richard moved in with his aunt Emily, who owned a fruit and vegetable shop in the town. He was educated at the local Church Hill School and then won a scholarship to the nearby Heanor Secondary School (later Heanor Grammar School) in 1931. He joined the RAF in 1940, but wasn’t selected for aircrew training until early in 1942

After qualifying as an air gunner, he was posted to an operational training unit, where he crewed up with Max Stephenson, Floyd Wile, Don Hopkinson and Albert Garshowitz. The five were then selected for heavy bomber training and John Kinnear and Frank Garbas were added to the crew.

Their first posting to 9 Squadron was cut short when Stephenson was killed while flying with another crew. The remaining six were sent on to 57 Squadron at Scampton, and assigned to Bill Astell. They first flew together on 13 February 1942, on an operation to Lorient. Seven further operations followed until some six weeks later when they were all posted to the new 617 Squadron, based at the same station.

After several more weeks of training Bolitho spent his last leave before the Dams Raid in early May 1943 at his home in Kimberley. He brought two of his Canadian colleagues, Floyd Wile and Albert Garshowitz, and the Scot John Kinnear along as his guests.

All would die together near Marbeck in Germany just a few days later, in the early hours of Monday 17 May 1943, and they are buried together in Reichswald Forest War Cemetery, having been reinterred after the war from their original graves in Borken.

In 1946, three years after his death, his parents returned to Northern Ireland where they lived in the coastal resort of Portrush, and spent the rest of their lives there. The fact that they retired to Portrush has led a number of sources to claim that Richard was born in Portrush. However, this is not the case – he was a Derry Boy.

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Richard Bolitho remembered on the war memorial from Heanor Grammar School, now relocated to Marpool Church, Nottinghamshire. [Pic: Heanor & District History Local History Society.]

More about Bolitho online:
Commonwealth War Grave Commission entry
Kimberley War Memorial
Bolitho family history website
Aircrew Remembered webpage about Astell crew

Further information about Richard Bolitho and the other 132 men who flew on the Dams Raid can be found in my book The Complete Dambusters, published by History Press in 2018.

Channel 5’s Dambusters pipedream

Presenter Dan Snow uses a pipe to channel the spirit of Guy Gibson while sitting in his Scampton office.

Filmed and put together in the summer and autumn of 2020, the first part of Channel 5’s new three-episode documentary The Dambusters Story was shown on UK television tonight. All in all, it was a competent and well-organised retelling of Operation Chastise, and introduced a few new faces into the normal cast of talking heads.

As it was shot during lockdown, the producers only got limited access to the operation’s real life locations. Fortunately these included RAF Bomber Command’s 5 Group headquarters in Grantham, now a private house, so presenter Dan Snow could describe how Guy Gibson had to wait outside his CO’s office by sitting down himself on a chair in the actual hallway. Much of the rest of the action took place at RAF Scampton, both inside and outside (a Red Arrow could be glimpsed in the distance in some external scenes) and at East Kirkby airfield where a genuine wartime Lancaster is preserved. This gave many different shots for Snow to exploit. He used the aircraft both as a prop – a pat on the fuselage, a push on the propellor – and as a stage from which to address the camera, sitting in the cockpit and the front and rear turrets. The German dams themselves were too far to travel for the rest of the exterior shots, so Snow was reduced to delivering many of his lines from the much smaller British dam in the Peak District which had been used for target practice, and while standing on a beach which frankly could have been anywhere.

There was also plenty of reliance on CGI, especially for the raid itself, and those slow motion reconstructed shots much loved by modern directors of actors doing things – smoking, chatting, lying on the grass, climbing in and out of aircraft, and talking on the intercom while in flight. These were added to with heavily repeated use of the few bits of archive newsreel footage featuring Gibson, and also with stock wartime film of Lancasters in flight and RAF chaps going about their business.

The script stuck heavily to the familiar narrative. Barnes Wallis, a ‘maverick inventor’ (neither word being one which I suspect Wallis himself would be happy with), designed a literally revolutionary weapon which could be used to attack Germany’s great dams. Sceptical civil servants and RAF chiefs were eventually persuaded to back his project, but gave him only about two months in which to get the work finished. A special bomber squadron was set up, given the number 617, and commanded by the young Wing Commander Gibson, who was widely respected even though he could be a tyrannical leader. Almost 150 men were posted to the squadron (the solecism that they were all ‘hand-picked’ by Gibson was fortunately not repeated). The raid was largely successful, but 53 of the 133 men who took part were killed. There was tremendous loss of life on the ground, with hundreds of captured women forced into a labour camp being the most egregious. Wallis was desolated at the loss of life.

There were some things that jarred. We were told about Cyril Anderson and his crew who returned with their bomb and were then sent back to their original squadron, “in disgrace”. No mention, however, of how they had a jammed rear turret and couldn’t see the target because of fog. Or that Anderson’s crew were devoted to him – all six of them never flew with another pilot. The whole crew went on to undertake 14 more operations and they died together when they were shot down by a German night fighter four months later.

There were also some errors, the most obvious being that “bombing-up” took place inside the hangars. Some sort of accident did cause Martin’s mine to fall off his aircraft accidentally during this procedure, but it happened on the hardstanding.

This repetition of the same old narrative of the Dams Raid makes one hanker for the producer who one day will go for its many untold stories, and explore them in a TV documentary.

Some of these were hinted at here, but others were passed over. There were at least four men who had pregnant wives, and two of these died. A number had only flown on a handful of operations – one, on his first, won the DFM for his meticulous navigation. There was also a wireless operator due to get married the following week and a navigator who had been asked by a doctor whether a recent case of VD had been acquired from an ‘amateur’ or a prostitute. The only child of Anderson, mentioned above, and his wife died aged four months just three weeks before he was sent to 617 Squadron. These are the personal stories, but there are questions about the tactics as well. Why wasn’t sufficient thought given to the method of attacking the Sorpe Dam? And why weren’t the post-operation repair works targeted later in the year? The latter was mentioned by Max Hastings in one of his contributions, but the subject deserves a lot more research and the answer may well be buried in files at the National Archives.

A three pipe problem, indeed, for today’s band of TV historians to get stuck into.

There are two more episodes, to be transmitted on Wednesday and Thursday. This review has been compiled after watching all three.

Review on The Arts Desk.
Review on iNews

New Channel 5 documentary airs this week, starting tomorrow

If you live in the UK — and have access to Channel 5 — you can catch a new three part TV documentary this week. Airing on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at 9pm each night it is presented by Dan Snow with contributions from Max Hastings, Robert Owen and Victoria Taylor amongst others.

The series was filmed in lockdown conditions earlier this year. Come back to this website tomorrow at 9pm for an exclusive review!

 

Johnny Johnson: 99 and counting

Pic: IWM

Today is Johnny Johnson’s 99th birthday!
Sqn Ldr George Leonard Johnson MBE, DFM: we salute you.

Above: Six of the men who flew in the crew of AJ-T on the Dams Raid on 16/17 May 1943. From left to right: Johnny Johnson (bomb aimer), Don MacLean (navigator), Ron Batson (front gunner), Joe McCarthy (pilot), Bill Radcliffe (flight engineer), Len Eaton (wireless operator). Absent on day of photograph: Dave Rodger (rear gunner). Photograph taken in July 1943.

Maltby’s lucky landing, May 1942

From left: Harvey Legace, Lyle Humphrey, Max Smith, Eric Grimwood, Harold Rouse, George Lancey, David Maltby. This 97 Squadron crew flew on 10 operations together between January and May 1942. They are standing alongside Avro Manchester L7474, in which they flew only twice, on training flights on 3 and 8 January 1942. They flew on one operation in another Manchester and the rest in the new Avro Lancasters, which replaced it. [Pic: Rouse family.] 

I started researching my uncle David Maltby’s wartime RAF career in 2006, and soon came across the names of the men who made up his crew in 97 Squadron during much of his first tour of operations in 1942. Maltby had started his pilot career in the summer of 1941 flying the Hampden medium bomber, undertaking 12 operations, but in the autumn the Avro Manchester heavy bomber became available, and he flew four operations as a second pilot. By December he was ready to become a first pilot, and he took on six men fresh out of training in order to build a new crew.

The crew is shown in the photograph above, and was made up of Sgt George Lancey (second pilot, RCAF), Sgt Max Smith (navigator, RAAF), Sgt Eric Grimwood (wireless operator), Sgt Harold Rouse (2nd wireless operator/air gunner), Sgt Lyle Humphrey and Sgt Harvey Legace (air gunners, both RCAF). The trades of bomb aimer and flight engineer did not exist at this stage in the war.

In 2006, I made some effort to track down the men who flew with David Maltby with the help of the 97 Squadron historian, Kevin Bending. I was lucky in that George Lancey’s son in Canada sent him an email which he forwarded to me. The Lancey family were then kind enough to send me crew pictures and some other material.

Sadly, at this time I didn’t know that one of the crew, Harold Rouse, was living in happy retirement in Norwich. By coincidence, he was about to tape record a series of reminiscences about his life, including his wartime experiences in Bomber Command. He died at the age of 92 in 2014, and the recordings went untranscribed until earlier this year. Then, with the lockdown giving him some time on his hands, his son-in-law Matthew Williams used it to edit the recordings and publish them as a book, From Leiston to Lancasters.

This extract, describing a crash landing in which everyone was lucky to escape with their lives, is taken from the book:

*********

“My next trip came about on May 4th [1942]. We were going to Stuttgart. And we were going to be crossing over the coast at Aldeburgh. I was in the front turret again. It was dark when we took off if I remember rightly, and it was still dark when we crossed over the coast, but anyway I could see when we did so. I thought, ‘Well Dorothy [his girlfriend, who lived in Aldeburgh], you’re down there somewhere, and I’m up here.’

Half an hour later we hit the enemy coast, and that’s where we got rather badly hit up. We lost our hydraulics – we couldn’t open the bomb doors, and the wheels came down but they weren’t locked.

David said we’re in a bit of a state and we can’t carry on, so we’ll have to go back. We flew along the coast to see whether we could get rid of our bombs, because we had 3,304 incendiary bombs on board. They were in 14 cases in our bomb bay – they were small magnesium bombs really, 236 in a case. So we were carrying quite a big bomb load – I suppose it was over six tons. But we couldn’t get rid of them because we couldn’t open the bomb doors.

We turned round to come back. I think we crossed over somewhere near Norwich to go up to the Wash and then we got back to Woodhall Spa. David called up and they said, ‘Well, you better land at Coningsby,’ which was still a grass aerodrome – Woodhall Spa being concrete. He said, ‘All right,’ and we went round to Coningsby and got permission from there to land.

We touched down onto the grass, we bounced, bounced once again but just couldn’t slow down enough. The runway finished up near a corner and there was a gun emplacement there, and as we tore along, they all jumped out of the gun emplacement. We crossed over one road, a field, another road and then into another field, and finally ended up with our nose against a tree. Fortunately, as no front gunner was allowed in the front turret during landing, I’d already got out from there – just as well, because my front turret was absolutely mangled.

It was about half past two in the morning. There was a farm cottage not far away, and people came running out of there because they had heard us come down. But we all managed to get out of the aircraft. I think George bumped his head. David, who was a broad chap, he told us he escaped through his side window – it seemed hardly wide enough for him to go through, but he went through. I think our gunner Legace also got a bit of a bump – he’d got out of his turret by then of course. But we were all quite safe.

And the aircraft didn’t go up, neither did the bombs fortunately. The fire engine and an ambulance and all the rest of it turned up from the station, took us back to the mess, we had our flying breakfast, our egg again, and went off to bed.

The next morning, the five of us (David, George, Max, Eric and myself) went and viewed our aircraft. As I said previously, David was living out at Woodhall Spa with his fiancée at some relatives or friends of hers, [actually his fiancée’s sister – CF] and he had the use of their car. So he drove to the station and picked us four up, and we went and viewed the wrecked aircraft in daylight. It had been brand-new just the previous day. S for Sugar (we didn’t call it S for Sugar though).

It had broken its back, one wheel was here and another wheel was there, the nose was right up against this tree. Eric took some photographs, and later, after Eric was lost, I found them amongst his belongings, and I thought, ‘I’m going to have these.’”

*********

These are three of the photographs taken by Eric Grimwood:

R5553 OF-S came to rest, against a tree on the edge of RAF Coningsby. [Pic: Rouse family.]

With backs to camera, three of the crew of S-Sugar examining the wreckage after its crash landing. In the middle is David Maltby. The man on the right is unidentified ground crew. [Pic: Rouse family.]

Three of the crew in the cockpit of the crashed aircraft. In the front seats, Max Smith and George Lancey. Unidentified man behind. [Pic: Rouse family.]

Eric Grimwood, mentioned by Rouse as taking the photographs above, left the crew soon after this crash in order to train for remustering in the new trade of bomb aimer. David Maltby also finished his tour of operations in June 1942, and some of the crew went on to fly with other pilots. One of these was Grimwood, who having successfully retrained, went missing in action on an operation to Hamburg on 26 July 1942, in a crew skippered by Flg Off William McMurchy. Rouse was a good friend of Grimwood, which was why he sorted through his possessions before they were returned to his family.

On 27 August, Rouse became the wireless operator in George Lancey’s crew, and they successfully completed their first tour of operations on 8 December 1942. Rouse went on to serve in a variety of training roles until the end of the war. He was finally demobilised in December 1945. In civilian life he became a cost accountant and then a company secretary with various companies in Norfolk, ending up at the large holiday firm of Blake’s.

Between November 1944 and May 1945, George Lancey did part of his second tour in 617 Squadron and flew on about 11 operations. He went back to Canada after the war.

From Leiston to Lancasters – an excellent read – is available from this site.