In recent correspondence with Tony Tubbenhauer (PF contributing writer), I had been writing of my capture and imprisonment in Germany, which Tony suggested would make a good story.
Tony and I served together in 1942 on 244 Squadron. We both finished our first tour of operations at roughly the same time. Tony and his crew were posted to 203 Squadron to do a second tour and my crew and I were posted to 454 Squadron. Both Squadrons were flying Baltimore aircraft and both were in North Africa doing much the same work.
My fatal day came on July 23, 1943, when our aircraft was shot down and we were taken
prisoner....
In July 1943, the Allies were in the process of landing in Sicily and were being harassed by large numbers of German aircraft. To counter this harassment, a plan was devised for a concentrated air raid to be made on the island of Crete thus giving the Germans the impression that a further landing was about to be made on that island and this would cause them to withdraw some of the aircraft from Sicily and re-locate them to Crete.
454 Squadron was chosen as the bombing force of the raid, and were to be accompanied by 125 fighters of the Eastern Mediterranean Fighter Command.
On July 23rd 1943 our crew, comprising Squadron Leader Lionel Folkard , Flying Officer Walter Dyer, Warrant Officer Keith Wedgwood, and myself Flight Lieutenant Doug Hutchinson were to lead eight Baltimore aircraft from our Squadron on this raid.
It was planned that we should fly at sea level the 230 miles to Crete and meet up with the fighter aircraft. On the way the fighters were to go in first to saturate the defences, we were to follow with an attack on the shipping in Soudhas Bay on the north coast.
Unfortunately, one important point was overlooked, we were to arrive over Crete at a time when the enemy were away from their gun positions having breakfast, but it was forgotten that Crete was on double summer time and instead all defences were fully manned.
We crossed the south coast near the eastern end of the island, which was less mountainous and immediately ground defences opened up on us from underneath, the sides of the valleys and from the front. We had to climb over the central spine of the mountains and at this time the defences scored their first hits.
Once over the mountains we came down to low level again and turned west along the coast to Soudha Bay. We were now down under 100 feet and ground fire was intense. We had only flown less than halfway to the target before suffering serious damage. Our port engine was on fire and we were all wounded, Lionel in the left leg and his right arm was hanging by a thread. He did not have time to hesitate and as he did not know if we were alive or dead, he decided to put the aircraft down in a crash landing on a narrow stretch of land near the beach.
Unknown to him the land had been mined, but we left most of the explosions behind us as we skated over the ground, finally coming to rest. I had been in the turret for this trip and when it was evident we were going to crash, I threw the turret around to face forward and wrapped my arms around my face. The turret broke open and I was first out. The fuselage had nearly split in two in the middle and I was able to drag Keith Wedgwood out through the gap and clear of the burning aircraft but then found he had been killed. I then turned my attention to the others and could see Walter Dyer in the nose cone bleeding profusely. The nose cone was smashed, so I was to help him out and clear of the aircraft.
The aircraft was by this time was well on fire and I went to help Lionel, who was in a bad way, but I managed to get him out and clear just before the aircraft blew up. We still had bombs on board and they had exploded.
We then took stock of ourselves and found we were in a mess. Walter had been badly hit in the forehead, Lionel had been hit in the left leg and his right arm was nearly off. I had my left foot badly damaged and what was left of my boot was full of blood, also I had been hit in the left elbow and the back, multiple minor wounds and my face had been burned and blackened. Just how Lionel, landed the plane in his condition I will never know.
A few minutes later we were confronted with a group of soldiers firing their guns over our heads . We endeavoured to raise our hands and walk towards them but were surprised to see them turn and run, we stopped, they stopped we tried again, the same result. Third time we continued on and it was only then that we found we had been walking through the minefield
We were then taken to a first aid station where our wounds were roughly dressed, and then taken by truck to the hospital at Herakhon. Here I was separated from the others and immediately taken to an operating theatre where a German medical officer attended by Greek nurses removed the pieces of schrapnel and bullets from my wounds and dressed them with paper bandages.
That night I was placed on a stretcher and taken to an airstrip where I was loaded into a JU52 transport plane with two guards and flown to Athens, where I spent the remainder of the night in hospital. Next morning I was again loaded into a JU52, this time, being in German-occupied territory we did not have to fly at night. Our next stop was Salonika in northern Greece, again spending the night in hospital. The following day I was again loaded into a JU52 and flown to Sofia in Bulgaria to again spend the night in hospital. The next day I was flown to Belgrade in Yugoslavia, again spending the night in hospital. The following day was my last trip by air and it was to Vienna in Austria. Here I was not taken to hospital but locked in the local jail where I spent a most uncomfortable night, between being attacked by hundreds of bed bugs and the difficulty of trying to reach the toilet.
Next morning I was placed on a stretcher again and taken to the local railway station where a train was waiting at the platform. The Germans emptied the passengers out of a compartment, I was laid along one seat and four guards armed with machine guns took up the other, we were locked in and off we went across Austria and into Germany, finishing at Frankfurt where I was taken to what appeared to be a convalescent hospital. Here, I was locked in a room on my own where the only furniture was a bed and a chair.
I remained in solitary confinement for two weeks and was daily interrogated by a German officer pressing questions about my squadron and the object of our raid, but without success. Then came the sexy woman officer who used her wiles to get information with the same results.
By this time my wounds which had not been re-dressed since leaving Crete, smelt to high heaven and the Germans could take no more and I was taken to Dulag Luft transit camp a couple of miles away. Here my very bloody bush shirt and shorts were too much to bear and I was kindly loaned some clothes while I washed them and myself. By this time I was hobbling around with a crutch and one boot.
A few days later, together with a number of other Air Force prisoners we were loaded into trucks and taken to the local railway yards where we were loaded into a cattle truck without food, water and toilet facilities . Thus began a three day journey across Germany, the train had low priority and spent much time in sidings. Our final destination was Sagan near Breslau in Upper Silesia which is now part of Poland. From the rail yards we were taken by trucks to Stalag Luft 3 where we were located in the centre compound. Thus began, my two years in captivity .
Later I learned that our Squadron lost six of the eight aircraft which took part in the raid. One ditched in the Mediterranean near Tobruk and having empty petrol tanks the aircraft floated ashore and the crew was saved.
Of the other five aircraft fourteen crew members were killed and six taken prisoner.
Twenty five fighters together with their pilots were also lost.
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