It is thirty-six years since Joe, Mac, Frank, Lofty, Bill, Alan, Jim, Jock ‘A’, Jock ‘B’ and I climbed in a Boeing B-17G, HB795 to undertake our last flight together in a Flying Fortress. Since the beginning of May 1945 we had flown together in fifteen such aircraft totalling in time 92 hours. That last flight on July 24, 1945, was not a particularly spectacular one, just local flying. In no way could it compare with a flight undertaken ten years previously in the United States of America. I was just a boy still at school. Seattle, the largest city of Washington State in the North Western corner of the United States is the home of Boeing – the aircraft people. It was here in July, 1935, that the Boeing design Model 299 flew. This all metal four-engine mono-plane, designed specifically as a heavy bomber with its heavy gun emplacements and weighting up to 15 tons was aptly called by the press, Flying Fortress. A name that will long be remembered. (George (Ginger) shown below with grandson.)
On July 31st, 1940, the Royal Air Force opened a flying field at Oulton near Aylsham, Norfolk. From that day and throughout the war from this airfield many operations were mounted against the enemy. In May, 1944, after a period of major surgery to the runways, the building of extra hangers and expansion of living accommodation – 214 squadron flying B-17s moved in. The Squadron undertook radar counter measure operations until it disbanded on July 29th, 1945. A 214 pilot of that time, Murray Peden, has written a book – ‘A Thousand Shall Fall ’ – in which he describes life as it was then at Oulton. Today little remains of the airfield where happiness, pathos and courage were inextricable mixed. Perhaps in years to come, people will visit such places as Oulton. Maybe they will find an overgrown hardstand, a desolate shell of a flying control tower or part of a runway to remind them of its history. No way will it match the splendour of the nearby red rustic pinnacled hall of Blickling - today maintained by the National Trust. Legend has it Anne Boleyn spent some time there. When I visited it two summers ago my memory could only recall the days spent in the lake doing dinghy survival drill. One thing is certain, people today will never be able to appreciate the thrill of having been around when it all happened.
In 1968, there was a semi reunion of the crew. Present were George, Mac, Joe Frank and Jeff. In 1978 George started tracing the rest of the crew and in 1983 had managed to make contact with all of them. This is a story within itself.
In July 1945 Joe, Mac, Frank, Jock, Jeff, Lofty, Archie, Jim, Bill and I were ten little Fortress boys at RAF Oulton, Norfolk, but not for long because by the end of the month the Squadron disbanded and we were scattered on postings to RAF stations around the world.
It was while reading a book published earlier that year I came upon a photograph of a Fortress aircraft. The book by Martin Streetly: ‘Confound & Destroy – 100 Group the Bomber Support Campaign’, showed the aircraft, Fortress BIII KJ109-6G-F of 223 (RCM) Squadron. On May 3 1945, in this aircraft, then BZ-C of No 1699 BSTU, Joe and his boys flew on their first flight. Before service with 1699 BSTU KJ109 was on the strength of 214 (RCM) Squadron, where it had been used on radar counter measure operations over Germany. This unexpected discovery set the nostalgia adrenalin going, and awakened my urge to find the missing crew members.
The question uppermost was where to begin. Frank, in business trips around the country, had called at last known addresses to be told that the birds had flown. Mac’s contacts had dried up years previously. Telephone directory enquiries could not help. Where to start? IBM inspired me with one word ‘Think’.
Bill, I recalled, had told me his father was a policeman in the Liverpool Force. My letter to the Chief Constable of Liverpool was acknowledged. Shortly afterwards, I heard from Bill; in his letter he informed me that my letter had been handed to him by his son, a Liverpool policeman.
Tracing Jock was reasonably easy when I remembered that he graduated MA from Aberdeen Uni in 1944. The Uni confirmed this and also supplied his present address in Blairgowrie.
Despite further efforts during the next five years the trail to Archie, Jim and Lofty went cold.
In the summer of 1963 I was fortunate to meet a reporter with the Reading Chronicle. By coincidence he also had undertaken a similar exercise and so understood my difficulties. At his suggestion I wrote to the Shrewsbury Chronicle telling my story of the search for Jim, also to the Wallsend and South Shields Gazette in regard to Lofty. Archie is another story.
Within 2 weeks, Jim wrote to say that while he was away on holiday an old neighbour from the area where he had previously lived had read my letter in the Chronicle and put a copy through his door.
Delighted with my success, I wrote to the Shrewsbury Chronicle to thank them for their help. To my surprise, a Chronicle reporter telephoned to obtain a ‘human story’ , and S – for sugar crew reunion – thanks to the Chronicle were the front page headlines that greeted readers of the next edition, along with a photograph of Jim and a 1945 copy of the crew.
Jim’s letter came in the morning post and before the day was through I knew I had found Lofty. In the afternoon post a letter arrived from a cousin of his, she did not know his address, but gave the address of another cousin who lived in a nearby town and thus I established that Lofty occupied a lighthouse off the coast of Queensland, Australia.
At the time I was making enquiries about him, Lofty had attended a very special reunion. He informed me that when he left the RAF he joined the RAAF and enclosed with his letter a cutting from the Brisbane Sunday Mail which reported his RAAF crew reunion.
Flushed with success, I was now determined to find Archie. Jim joined me and enlisted the aid of an advertising connection to run an enquiry in the Glasgow press. But … no Archie! So I put an entry in Royal Air Force Association calling old colleagues. To months passed – no response, so that was it. Call off the search, close the hangar doors, finish.
Then, hello George, Ginger – what a wonderful surprise – out of the blue, your advert reached me through the following sequence. Lady, not known to me, had shown the magazine to a colleague at work who lived in Glasgow. She in turn showed it to her husband, who was an old school pal of mine. He did not know my address, but was in touch with a mutual friend in Leeds who did. I had found Archie.
Fact is better than fiction, especially since I left Glasgow 33 years ago to live in Yorkshire. Archie’s letter came from Berwick-upon-Tweed. My case now rests, Bill is now in the Philippines, Mac is in Windsor, Jeff is still in his home town of Rickmansworth, likewise Frank is in Stoke-on-Trent. Despite all my wanderings by chance I am still living in my home town of Reading. Perhaps one day we shall meet again, but sadly it will not be the ten of us as in May 1983 the reaper struck and Joe was taken from us.
December 1944, I believe, will best be remembered as the month in which the Germans flung all their might into the Ardennes offensive to be stopped by the heroic stand of the Americans at the Battle of the Bulge. That cold snow-ridden month I stood in a group of navigators, along with pilots, wireless operators and air gunners in a large drill hall. RAF Desborough, Northants, was a Wellington Operational Training Unit in Bomber Command and we were assembled that December morning to form crews among ourselves. Suddenly, before I had time to make a choice, a smiling Pilot Joe, with a Gunner Mac, stood before me with the question: ‘Will you be our Navigator?’ – this is when my story began.
George Fisher (Ginger)
This article is from the Summer 2008 issue of Confound and Destroy
