Wickenby Lancaster PD201

Early in 1944 Fred, now 28, was posted, which meant switching to frontline active service with Bomber Command. He was sent by train to a mystery destination, armed with just a ticket and an instruction about where to get out. Young Canadian airmen were charging up and down the corridors but one stood out because he was sat quietly and Fred joined him. George Meddick, a 25-year-old air-gunner and former truck driver from Toronto, was travelling from Bournemouth where he had been billeted on arrival in Britain. The servicemen piled out at the same station where coaches were waiting. George got out too but in the melee did not share Fred's coach.

At 83 OTU, an Operational Training Unit in Peplow, near Shrewsbury, Shropshire, the newly-arrived pilots, gunners, wireless operators, navigators and bomb-aimers - 50 or so men - were thrown together in a mess hall and told to get themselves organised into crews. There was George, top of his class on the gunnery course, whom Fred picked right away as rear gunner. George suggested another Canadian, Hughie Mark - at 18, the youngest of the crew - as mid-upper gunner. The choice of bomb-aimer was a tall, cheerfully-confident Canadian, Lorne McLeod, 24, a former radio station worker from Alberta - and he knew of a navigator, Clair Sullivan. At nearly 30, Clair, from Peterborough, Ontario, who used to be a transport manager, was the oldest and probably most-educated of the crew. Finally the roles were reversed and a 21-year-old Welsh wireless operator, Dave Gleeson, himself a former instructor and, before joining up, a sheet metal worker, approached Fred.

Fred, Lorne and Clair were the only married ones. George was engaged but would not marry before the war in case he was killed, as his airman younger brother tragically would be later that year.

Lorne and Clair at Peplow.

The Canadians, who were trained in their native land, had had their own eventful Atlantic crossings at the end of the previous year. The waters around Halifax were so infested with U-boats that Clair was moved down to a departure point near Boston in the United States. George endured atrocious driving snow at Halifax prior to an uncomfortable Christmas crossing in the bowels of his ship. Nevertheless they were now a crew. Twelve weeks at Peplow saw the usual circuits, landings and cross-countries, by day and night, and dummy bombing raids in Wellingtons.

On only their fifth flight - a daytime cross-country - the starboard engine suddenly packed up 120 miles out over the North Sea, where the rear gunner was practice-shooting at a drogue being trailed by the aircraft. Fred had to get them back, all the time correcting the pull of the port engine by working the rudder with the left foot. The nearest aerodrome was out of use so they turned south and found Hutton Cranswick, Yorkshire. To get permission to land they used Darky, but no one was listening in and there was no response. The Wellington had no more flares of the colour of the day so Dave shot off any colour to attract attention and Fred took his chances in coming into land. Watchtower controllers rushed out the rescue services.

Fred said: "I instructed the crew to get down somewhere in the aircraft where they could take the shock of it hitting a structure. Someone who wasn't used to flying might have gone a mile down wind, in which time the other engine could have gone. Instead of making a long approach I dived down steeply as quickly as I could to get on the ground safely. The crew were very pleased to be able to walk out of the aircraft. Thanks were expressed and we wandered off to the sergeants' mess and had a beano."

Fred's feat earned him a written commendation and meteoric promotion, from Flight Sergeant to Warrant Officer then a commission as Pilot Officer, new service number 175156, within a month.

Engine failure was not the only drama during their 47 flights at Peplow. On April 20 they took a Wellington on a 5hr 50m night nickel raid to Chartres, the crew's first sortie over enemy-held land. Fred said: "I can remember seeing something out of the corner of my eye. It came at 90 degrees to us from starboard to port. We had a trailing aerial down below, a long wire dangling underneath the aircraft to get a certain wavelength. The wireless operator said he had lost communications. The very quick movement was a plane which was close enough to damage the aerial or whip it off. If we had been two or three feet lower and he had been two or three feet higher it would have been a different story altogether."

Fred was commissioned as a Pilot Officer.

After Peplow they began a four-week course on Halifaxes at 1662 Heavy Conversion Unit at Blyton, Lincolnshire, where they were joined by flight engineer Bill Hardwick, a 23-year-old, unmarried former motor mechanic apprentice from Cheltenham, and the only other Englishman in the crew. Bill had serviced Spitfire and Hurricane engines at Sutton Bridge, Lincolnshire, before being sent to Canada on overseas draft. In a U-boat evasion tactic, a first ship took him to Iceland where he spent his 21st birthday; he was there for a month until another ship took him on to Halifax. He returned in 1943 to train to be a flight engineer, a job newly-created with the introduction of the Halifax and Lancaster.

Still training they might have been but Bomber Command commander-in-chief Arthur 'Bomber' Harris wanted every available man to help with Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of occupied France, on June 6, 1944. The crew joined a major cross-country to Scotland to divert German attention from the Normandy invasion point; another the next night took them over the North Sea. Fred said: "We used all the aircraft we could. There were hundreds of planes and we were a long time in the air. The Germans would have picked us up on radar. It was just a normal ruse but an important one at that time. We didn't know how much Jerry knew so the more confusion we created the better."

Such was the demand for battle-ready crews they were allowed only three days to master the star of operational sorties, the Avro Lancaster, at No 1 Lancaster Finishing School, Hemswell, Lincolnshire.


Forming a crew
Home Tour of duty Before Wickenby Forming a crew Arrival at Wickenby Stuttgart Stettin Happy Valley The final ops Thorney Island Contact	Early in 1944 Fred, now 28, was posted, which meant switching to frontline active service with Bomber Command. He was sent by train to a mystery destination, armed with just a ticket and an instruction about where to get out. Young Canadian airmen were charging up and down the corridors but one stood out because he was sat quietly and Fred joined him. George Meddick, a 25-year-old air-gunner and former truck driver from Toronto, was travelling from Bournemouth where he had been billeted on arrival in Britain. The servicemen piled out at the same station where coaches were waiting. George got out too but in the melee did not share Fred's coach. At 83 OTU, an Operational Training Unit in Peplow, near Shrewsbury, Shropshire, the newly-arrived pilots, gunners, wireless operators, navigators and bomb-aimers - 50 or so men - were thrown together in a mess hall and told to get themselves organised into crews. There was George, top of his class on the gunnery course, whom Fred picked right away as rear gunner. George suggested another Canadian, Hughie Mark - at 18, the youngest of the crew - as mid-upper gunner. The choice of bomb-aimer was a tall, cheerfully-confident Canadian, Lorne McLeod, 24, a former radio station worker from Alberta - and he knew of a navigator, Clair Sullivan. At nearly 30, Clair, from Peterborough, Ontario, who used to be a transport manager, was the oldest and probably most-educated of the crew. Finally the roles were reversed and a 21-year-old Welsh wireless operator, Dave Gleeson, himself a former instructor and, before joining up, a sheet metal worker, approached Fred. Fred, Lorne and Clair were the only married ones. George was engaged but would not marry before the war in case he was killed, as his airman younger brother tragically would be later that year. Lorne and Clair at Peplow. The Canadians, who were trained in their native land, had had their own eventful Atlantic crossings at the end of the previous year. The waters around Halifax were so infested with U-boats that Clair was moved down to a departure point near Boston in the United States. George endured atrocious driving snow at Halifax prior to an uncomfortable Christmas crossing in the bowels of his ship. Nevertheless they were now a crew. Twelve weeks at Peplow saw the usual circuits, landings and cross-countries, by day and night, and dummy bombing raids in Wellingtons. On only their fifth flight - a daytime cross-country - the starboard engine suddenly packed up 120 miles out over the North Sea, where the rear gunner was practice-shooting at a drogue being trailed by the aircraft. Fred had to get them back, all the time correcting the pull of the port engine by working the rudder with the left foot. The nearest aerodrome was out of use so they turned south and found Hutton Cranswick, Yorkshire. To get permission to land they used Darky, but no one was listening in and there was no response. The Wellington had no more flares of the colour of the day so Dave shot off any colour to attract attention and Fred took his chances in coming into land. Watchtower controllers rushed out the rescue services. Fred said: "I instructed the crew to get down somewhere in the aircraft where they could take the shock of it hitting a structure. Someone who wasn't used to flying might have gone a mile down wind, in which time the other engine could have gone. Instead of making a long approach I dived down steeply as quickly as I could to get on the ground safely. The crew were very pleased to be able to walk out of the aircraft. Thanks were expressed and we wandered off to the sergeants' mess and had a beano." Fred's feat earned him a written commendation and meteoric promotion, from Flight Sergeant to Warrant Officer then a commission as Pilot Officer, new service number 175156, within a month. Engine failure was not the only drama during their 47 flights at Peplow. On April 20 they took a Wellington on a 5hr 50m night nickel raid to Chartres, the crew's first sortie over enemy-held land. Fred said: "I can remember seeing something out of the corner of my eye. It came at 90 degrees to us from starboard to port. We had a trailing aerial down below, a long wire dangling underneath the aircraft to get a certain wavelength. The wireless operator said he had lost communications. The very quick movement was a plane which was close enough to damage the aerial or whip it off. If we had been two or three feet lower and he had been two or three feet higher it would have been a different story altogether." Fred was commissioned as a Pilot Officer. After Peplow they began a four-week course on Halifaxes at 1662 Heavy Conversion Unit at Blyton, Lincolnshire, where they were joined by flight engineer Bill Hardwick, a 23-year-old, unmarried former motor mechanic apprentice from Cheltenham, and the only other Englishman in the crew. Bill had serviced Spitfire and Hurricane engines at Sutton Bridge, Lincolnshire, before being sent to Canada on overseas draft. In a U-boat evasion tactic, a first ship took him to Iceland where he spent his 21st birthday; he was there for a month until another ship took him on to Halifax. He returned in 1943 to train to be a flight engineer, a job newly-created with the introduction of the Halifax and Lancaster. Still training they might have been but Bomber Command commander-in-chief Arthur 'Bomber' Harris wanted every available man to help with Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of occupied France, on June 6, 1944. The crew joined a major cross-country to Scotland to divert German attention from the Normandy invasion point; another the next night took them over the North Sea. Fred said: "We used all the aircraft we could. There were hundreds of planes and we were a long time in the air. The Germans would have picked us up on radar. It was just a normal ruse but an important one at that time. We didn't know how much Jerry knew so the more confusion we created the better." Such was the demand for battle-ready crews they were allowed only three days to master the star of operational sorties, the Avro Lancaster, at No 1 Lancaster Finishing School, Hemswell, Lincolnshire.