Catalina operations

Back row left to right: Self first engineer, Pat Griffiths second engineer, Jim Bembrick wireless operator, Vic Nash radar operator. Front row left to right: Ted (Doc) Carter armourer, Stewart Ikin navigator, Dennis (Dinny) Lawrence, Courtney Oldmeadow, Roy (Curley) Richards airframe fitter.

The clinical figures of a log book tell little of what happens during an operation, or of the hours spent on the water and land in the hours before actual take off, or the time spent at the end of the operation before the tired crews finally fall into bed.

While a normal crew has a Skipper/1st pilot and a 2nd pilot, some flights that can total up over 25 hours and beyond will take on a third pilot to ease the burden of the long hours in the cockpit. The extra pilot will almost certainly be a junior pilot, several of which will be in the squadron as replacements or as standbys. His job, apart from normal pilot’s duties, will be to familiarise himself with the duties of other members of the crew, so that he will gain the overall experience that he will need when he becomes part of a permanent crew as 2nd pilot. The other members of the crew are the Navigator who is responsible for all navigation and is the bomb aimer when called for. Two wireless operators, 1st and 2nd who share the duties of radar and communications, and in general cope with any electrical problems that may arise. They also share the duties of the mooring and slipping, and in action stations share the bow rotating machine gun and the W/Ops panel.

The 1st Engineer is in charge of all motor operations, and his action station is at the engineers panel where he can monitor any problems that may occur during action. As part of this, it is considered that as the engine operation is vital to the welfare of the aircraft, his decision in this regard takes precedence over any decision that the Skipper may make of a purely mechanical nature. He is in charge of the engine mixture controls and all fuel operations having fuel flow meters and transfer pump switches, also engine start up and float retraction operation. His visual panel monitors the operation of the motors, and the panel information is logged every 20 minutes throughout the entire flight in a log book provided for the purpose. The 2nd Engineer is responsible for the operation of the auxiliary power unit or APU at engine start up, relief duties on the engineer’s panel, and at action stations he mans the rearward and downward firing tunnel machine gun in the underside of the tail compartment. In this operation he is actually suspended by a harness from the roof of the tunnel compartment and swings over the top of his Vickers go-gun which has a hinged mounting that allows it to be swung out from it’s storage over the void that appears when a large hatch is opened in the floor of the rear compartment. I personally never had the dubious honour of operating this gun apart from training.

The other two crew members are the airframe fitter and the armourer, they both share the blister compartment and their duties apart from manning the two 1/2 inch calibre blister machine guns, are to act as visual observers at all times. They also have a duty while the aircraft is manoeuvring on the water to operate the port and starboard drogues or water brakes. These are a simple canvas bucket that is firmly attached to an anchorage point inside the blisters, and are deployed at the 1st pilot’s commands via a loud klaxon horn. It was not unknown for these drogues to be tossed into the water in the heat of the moment without their anchorage lines being secured, this could lead to plenty of embarrassment to all concerned! There was also a trip line to release the drag of the drogues in the water if such was the need, but sometimes the lines would became entangled, and the whole operation could call for emergency man power to haul the beasts back on board! In actual fact, even though the drogues were ready for instant operation when the aircraft was manoeuvring on the water, they were seldom used, as the skippers soon became experts at handling their craft both in the air and on the water.

All crew members had training in the operation of the machine guns, part of the training included detailed knowledge of stripping and reassembling of the guns and overcoming jamming that on some guns could be all too frequent. Thus all crew members had air gunner single wing badges as part of their uniform. The body of the badge displaying a letter, ’N’ navigator, ’E’ engineer, ’AG’ air gunner. In the case of our crews, Wireless Operator Air Gunners, or Wags. The navigator was also the bomb aimer, and in the case of mine laying operations, was assisted by the 2nd pilot, who called off the readings of the all important radio altimeter, a new development at that time.

Flying for long hours of darkness with no visual aids apart from drift flares and floats, called for a high degree of skill from navigators, true they were skilled in celestial navigation, but there were plenty of times when the stars were completely invisible, so a good knowledge of dead reckoning techniques was essential. Our navigator was very skilled at his trade, but such was not the case with some American Air Force personnel who became hopelessly lost on far too many occasions, especially here in Australia where they had no knowledge of local terrain!

There was a more subtle reason for lost American airmen, the Bendix Radio Compass! This radio position-locating device was an excellent adjunct to navigation skills, but it relied on an intimate knowledge of the location of radio transmitters, both civilian and armed forces. In America where training was carried out, it was a simple matter for a lost navigator to tune in on the Bendix and pick up a few stations that he could readily identify, in most cases commercial radio stations, a few minutes of music and he would have a few cross fixes plotted and know where he was. Such was not the case in Australia, here there were comparatively few stations compared to America, and in any case, even were a call sign or the name of the town heard, the American would have little idea of the location. So if the navigator had cribbed through his training in the States using the Bendix, here in an unfamiliar location he could become hopelessly lost without this check on his faulty navigation, thus it was that all too many airmen lost their lives by flying far inland or out to sea until they ran out of petrol. Even so, most of our crew members had some idea of the operation of the Bendix, and I for one being a radio enthusiast, spent a lot of early morning hours on the way home from an operation working out a fix and then sneaking a look at the navigator’s plot line to see how close I was to correct.

So it was that our crews were well trained and had an aircraft that was efficient in it’s role as a long range patrol bomber. Assuming you had returned from a mission of the previous day at any hour, you would have landed and gathered your gear and sat at the moorings for some minutes until the duty boat pulled along side and took you ashore. Here, depending on the number of aircraft that had just landed, you climbed aboard a duty truck, that is if there was a truck there, but generally within a few minutes together with other crews you would be on your way back to the barracks area on the other side of town. The skipper and navigator and possibly the 1st radio operator would be dropped off at the Operations room for debriefing.

Other members of the crew would head for the mess where they were entitled to a meal if they felt inclined, but mostly we would head for a shower and fall into bed. Sometimes the 1st engineer would be delayed at the landing wharf to make more than a routine report on the condition of the aircraft, this also applied to the airframe fitter, armourer and 2nd wireless operator, but generally these duties were quickly carried out and it was only rarely that one of the crew would be delayed to the point where he would have to wait for the next truck!

The engines and airframe seldom needed more than the usual routine daily inspection. At odd times an engine would appear to display more than the usual oil consumption, or there may be a visual oil leak, a float may be rattling in flight, indicating that the retention latch needed adjustment. It wasn’t unknown for a float to drop out of it’s stowage in a particularly violent storm, it was easily wound back up into place in seconds and the stowage catch re-engaged. The operation was by a screw and nut arrangement that normally locked automatically in both the up and down position. Probably the greatest maintenance problem was that of the recently developed radar installations, the aerials were prone to metal fatigue fracture in flight, due to the fact that some at least were little more than a collection of wires and insulators with many connections, and as these were continually buffeted by the slipstream while in flight, it was a wonder that they stayed in one piece at all! In at least one instance where an aerial came apart in flight during a search patrol, rather than return to base with an unserviceable aircraft, one of the crew volunteered to repair it in flight, a stout rope was passed out the engineer’s window and caught at the open blister, the crewman equipped with pliers firmly tied to his wrist was then tied to the other end of the rope and climbed out on to the area between the blisters where these troublesome wire webs were located, the aircraft was of course throttled back almost to stalling speed, and enabled the repairs to be made.

Any of these problems would be noted in a report form filled in at the maintenance office and gave the maintenance crews some idea of what they needed over and above the normal daily inspection. Duty boats only dropped service crews off on their allocated aircraft and went on their way to the next aircraft. There were no mobile phone systems in those days and only the Yanks had walkie-talkies, so most communications were carried out by shouting or climbing up on to the top of the wing and waving madly, and hoping that a duty boat would divert and come alongside, but in general most of the service personnel knew their jobs well and seldom found the need to return to shore for some needed article. Fuel barges and bomb loading crews could also be in operation as the aircraft may well be due off the water within hours with another crew, the aircraft’s destination the same as the previous night, 40 and 80 hourly inspections would be completed as time on the water permitted, major inspections were carried out in our case by flying the aircraft down to Bowen where a flying boat repair base was located. At times, daily and minor inspections were carried out by the crews themselves at wherever they happened to be moored.

On one of our visits to Darwin we were carrying out a minor inspection, one of the requirements was that the float retraction mechanism would be greased using a standard auto type grease gun normally carried in the tool kit. Our airframe fitter, a colourful character, Roy (Curley) Richards decided that in the absence of a duty boat he would have no difficulty in diving overboard with the grease gun in his hand and reach the float, do his greasing and return to repeat the operation on the other float. Unfortunately he hadn’t reckoned on the fierce tidal flow in Darwin harbour, and when he surfaced he was already passing under the aircraft’s tail plane! We all started yelling and waving to attract one of the duty boats in the area, but our efforts were in vain, and we watched Curley drift into the distance on the outgoing tide, a tender eventually arrived and was sent in pursuit. We waited for quite some time, reasonably certain that Curley, being a strong swimmer would have no trouble in making sure that he grabbed one of the huge pontoons that supported the heavy anti-submarine cables across the harbour entrance, and it was with great relief that we were finally brought ashore to find that he had been rescued from the boom and was safely ashore, minus the grease gun of course! Curley always had a ready smile, and made his mark wherever he went, after the war he took up flying which he loved and became a flying instructor in the NSW town where he settled. He was greatly loved by all and when he passed on after a battle with lung problems, I drove up from Gippsland for his funeral which took place during one of the wildest storms in recorded history. I couldn’t help but wonder as we stood there at the grave site in torrential rain, if the elements were welcoming him home, he was a great guy, sadly missed by all who knew him.

But back to the returning crews! If you were lucky it would be close to midday and you would shower and rest a few minutes before you ate in the mess. If you had returned much earlier, say 9.30, you could go straight to the mess and a meal of some sort would be served after a few minutes wait, most likely bacon and eggs and toast. You would then shower and turn in. In any case bed was always the thought uppermost in our minds, and many a time we would lay down to wait a few minutes for lunch, only to wake much later and find that lunch and dinner were long gone! This usually meant another shower and getting dressed, (shorts and shirt) and walking into town for a meal. Afterwards you invariably drifted off to the cinema or a dance – this explains the seemingly endless evenings of entertainment written up in my diary! But all this is still only the previous day! You were due over the target area around midnight the following evening!

The morning of the operation

Apart from the skipper, the engineer was the only member of the crew who had any direct responsibility to the aircraft in the hours before departure, in fact, after checking with the skipper he was supposed to board a duty truck and head for the wharf as soon as the night’s operation was known. He would check to see which aircraft was allotted to his crew, and then if he considered it necessary, get a duty boat and go out on board to check the operational status of the aircraft. But in actual practice there was little that he could do, there was always a shortage of duty boats due to the frenzied activities of the service crews, and even if he got on board, he would invariably be surrounded by busy armourers, engine, airframe and radio service personnel, and find himself considered little more than a nuisance, even at the best of times! In any case most of the service and inspections were carried out with a minimum of fuss, and it was only rarely that the crew would be boarding and find a pair of armourers refitting a machine gun, or the fuel or bomb barge just pulling away.

The skipper and 2nd pilot together with the navigator would be at the operations briefing, one of the wireless operators would be checking for frequency information. By noon most of the crews would be at the mess, one of the crew, usually someone who had cultivated a rewarding friendship with one of the mess supply staff would be collecting a cardboard box containing steak and eggs, vegetables, bread and butter, tins of canned fruit and condensed milk together with fresh fruit and other goodies that could be scrounged. Each crew also had it’s own stores box in which was kept a good supply of tea, coffee, cocoa and sugar. These were from the mess stores, but it was usual for the crew to chip in and buy packets of biscuits or the occasional cake, sometimes donated by friendly households that we knew in the town. We would also at times divert some of our rations to friends in town, and they would cook us up a treat. It was good to leave the target area and set the kettle to boil and by the time we were well clear of any trouble spots there would be tea and coffee all around with a slice of fresh cake.

Take off times varied according to the distance to the target area. We were usually scheduled to be over target at around midnight, but generally we would be heading for the wharf area sometime around 2 or 3pm (1400-1500 hours). Usually one of the crew would have the job of getting the crew together at the allotted time – there was always someone who would doze off after lunch and have to be awakened! We had one exception to this rule, a crew member who had found soft lodgings in the Cairns township, and we would invariably pick him up at a designated spot on the regular route through town. If he wasn’t there, we would find him at the wharf having walked the distance, or even already out on the aircraft busily stowing gear and checking that all was in readiness. The aircraft serviceability sheets would be checked, and a crew boat would take us out to our allotted craft, usually in company with other crews, the boat would approach from the rear of the aircraft on the port (left hand) side, and one of the boat’s crew would secure a slip line to the wing support strut and the crew would embark through the blister, this was the only proper method of access on Cats. Once the crew had boarded, the boat would drift back and head for the next aircraft or the wharf, and the crew would prepare for departure at the designated time.

Personal gear and stores would be stowed and each member of the crew would make a final check that all was in readiness, one of the wireless operators would go forward and prepare the moorings for slipping. The moorings consisted of a permanent mooring that was properly shackled to a point on the bow, another hose covered loop was mounted on the mooring buoy, and the procedure was for the aircraft to be pulled forward to the buoy by a line provided until the loop could be reached and it was lifted from it’s stowage and slipped over a retractable bollard at the bow. The permanent moorings were then unshackled and dropped, and the aircraft would then swing on the loop line. Any loose mooring gear was then stowed in a compartment in the bow that also stored the folding stainless steel kedge anchor, and it’s SS cable. The wireless operator would then stand outside the bow on a narrow step which was in fact an anti-spray strake to divert the bow wave away from the cockpit during the taxiing and take-off and landing. In most cases it did it’s required job but most of the water it diverted in rough conditions went straight into the whirling propellor blades producing a cloud of spray!

The 2nd engineer would stand by at the APU (auxiliary power unit) mounted on the starboard (right hand) side of the engineer’s compartment which was directly below the mainplane. The APU was a petrol driven 28 volt generator that was run to supplement the normal shipboard storage batteries at engine start up. Once one motor was running and it’s generator charging satisfactorily, the APU could be shut off. When ready, the skipper would signal start up of either port or starboard engine, this depended to a certain extent on wind direction and the position of the moorings, or maybe just the skippers frame of mind!

The engineer would signal the 2nd engineer to start the APU with the pull rope provided and the appropriate starter motor would be switched to inertia run up, mixture control would be set at Full Rich and the motor primed with raw fuel with a hand pump. When the inertia flywheel had reached full RPM as noted by the constant high speed whine, the starter switch would be moved to the start position and the starter would engage, and if the engineer had done everything correctly the motor would fire up almost immediately. Failure to start was almost always the result of over priming, and I can’t recall that I ever had this problem – it was easier to under prime and if the motor didn’t catch immediately, a quick shot on the priming pump would fire up the motor on the second or third revolution. As soon as the motor was running the skipper would signal the wireless operator to throw off the moorings, and the other motor would be started.

Under certain conditions the start up procedure was changed, in extreme conditions both motors could be started almost together. This involved running the starter inertias up to revs one after another, and then topping up the revs together, then the starting procedure could be carried out simultaneously. If all went well, it gave the skipper both motors to manoeuvre – very necessary in restricted conditions in a narrow river such as Tanahmera, where we were caught on the water in a flash flood that could easily have been a disaster!

We had floating trees entangled in the anchor cable and small logs and rubbish piled across the bow of the aircraft, the navigator and wireless operator struggling to clear the mess and get the anchor and cable stowed while we coasted down river with the skipper juggling the throttles until all crew were safely inboard. But we still had to dodge flotsam and approaching trees till the skipper decided that we had enough clear water ahead of us to risk a take off. Even so we found ourselves following the sweeping bends of the river and dodging floating trees till the skipper managed to gain flying speed, then we had to follow the river upstream till we had gained a good margin of speed to enable the skipper to lift the aircraft above the wall of jungle rising from the river banks – we all heaved a sigh of relief when that was over!

In the event of electrical failure in any part of the start up system, there was manual backup. In the case of the inertias, a long handle was provided which engaged into the inertia mechanism through the engine cowlings, and two crew members would stand/sit, one on the wing and the other on the engine nacelle and slowly wind up the inertia flywheel. This was quite a physical undertaking, the winder on the wing would find himself hanging out over the water most of the time, bracing his feet against the leading edge of the mainplane, the other winder was little better off, finding himself scrabbling about on the side of the nacelle. If the motor was cold it took every effort to even start the inertia flywheel rotating, and full revs was only attained after a prolonged struggle. In the case of total electrical failure, once full revs was attained, one winder would take the winding handle and climb back down through the blister, then at the skipper’s signal the other winder would engage the starter by means of a pull handle in the engine cowling. He would then hang on till the motor started, at which point he too would return to the blister compartment, hastened somewhat by the blast from the propellor which the skipper would endeavour to keep at a minimum. None of this was fun! And while we all had to carry out a manual start at some time during our training, I was glad that we never had to do so in the open sea somewhere. Luckily, Catalina’s were well designed with excellent motors and auxiliary systems, and vital equipment failure was comparatively rare. We did have a starter failure on one occasion at Bowen, but it was considered prudent to replace it immediately, even though it meant a delay in our scheduled departure.

Once clear of the buoy the skipper would run up the motors a little and manoeuvre the aircraft into a clear stretch of water where the engine magnetos would be checked by noting the drop in engine revs when each magneto was switched off (2 magnetos to each engine). The motors would also be run up to operating revs and the aircraft positioned for take off. The crew would have stowed all loose gear by this time and settled into their take off positions. On the skipper’s instructions the engineer would set the mixture levers at Full Rich, and the engine fuel lines to all tanks on, and the motors would be opened up to take off requirements. The aircraft, after a period of plowing through the water, would slowly rise on to the step in the hull, at which point acceleration would became more rapid as the hull planed and with a final shake we would be airborne.

But it wasn’t always so easy! A combination of a full fuel load and the normal bomb load supplemented by dozens of 20 pound (10kgs) fragmentation bombs stacked in the blister and bunk compartments, plus some incendiary bombs! These extras were the skipper’s contributions, and were thrown out of the blisters as fast as four people could manage it, after the main bomb load had been delivered to the target. A second or even third run may even be necessary, sometimes an alternative target would be selected from the daylight recce photographs. This sort of thing was indulged in by all the senior pilots, but there were times when getting the aircraft unstuck from the water involved long take off runs out of the river and into the chop of the open sea – it was always a relief to get airborne under these conditions. Once in the air all crew would settle down while the motors roared at high power settings in Auto Rich mixture. The engineer would be keeping a close watch on temperatures and pressures, and it would be a relief when the desired altitude was reached, and the signal lights would go on for Auto Lean, and the skipper would juggle power and propeller pitch settings to give best performance of the labouring aircraft.

Flying under these conditions was very critical, nobody was permitted to move about the aircraft unless instructed to do so by the skipper. Moving from front to rear of the aircraft (or visa/versa) would cause a shift in centre of gravity, and almost certainly cause the aircraft to lose airspeed with the result that throttles would have to be opened and pitch settings altered until the aircraft had resumed flying speed and throttle and pitch settings could once more be resumed. This situation was usually referred to as flying on the hump, the inference being that you could easily fall off the hump, and have to climb back on again! The skipper could well become quite angry if someone moved and this happened, but it was also prone to occur if the controls were too finely tuned with no margin, then even a small air disturbance could have the same effect. I can remember times when we were overloaded to the point where we would start to slide off the hump time and time again in the first hour or so of flight. So it would be that for the first few hours everyone sat still until some fuel was burned off, and the skipper, probably starting to feel hungry, would announce that it was about time that someone made tea and coffee and started cooking the evening meal!

By this time the power settings on the motors would have been reduced to maintain a reasonable fuel economy and still maintain the aircraft in a reasonable flight attitude and cruising speed.
One of the crew would now start preparing the evening meal, and the engineer, being close to the hot plates, would have some time before switched on a hot plate under a container of water and tea and coffee would be served. The galley (if such it could be called!) was situated next to the APU in the engineer’s compartment, and all cooking smells rose and filled the confined space in which the engineer sat. He could open the sliding windows next to his shoulders, but this did little to help the problem. However, if the engineer was prepared to cup his hands and hold them out through his open windows, the resulting intake of air could be welcome throughout the aircraft under tropical conditions.

The galley was equipped with a set of strange saucepans with peculiar sealing lids and a valve that could obviously retain a fair head of steam! We figured that all this was to prevent spillage in rough weather, and there were times when you would be trying to cook with the pans tied to the hot plates to prevent them sliding off! However eventually someone came up with the story of the pressure cooker, something that was completely foreign to us, and so it was, that despite our misgivings, we were eventually introduced to the wonders of seemingly instant cooking! Prior to this we had almost despaired of ever getting a meal together for the entire crew in a reasonable time, so if all went well there would be another round of coffee and tea while the dishes were washed and stowed and the galley cleaned up, this a matter of great pride in most crews! It didn’t go down well to come on board and find a dirty galley from the previous crew, but sometimes due to terrible flying conditions and the operation near disastrous, it could happen, and was forgiven.

The engineer’s compartment is located in the highest point in the hull, and is actually the mainplane support. It is ironic that the engineer, if he has a keen nose can identify the smell of an electrical overload, the APU leaking petrol, and other less pleasant odours! Thus it was that most of the time the windows were slightly open to ventilate the aircraft, but the humidity in the tropics is such that sometimes you would have the windows wide open, and most times we flew with only a pair of shorts and flying boots. The boots could be hot, but the extra leather around the ankles was good protection in rough weather when it was very easy to slip on the very narrow well named cat walks just above the bottom of the hull, it was easy to slip off the walks if the aircraft lurched suddenly, and shins could be cracked on the sharp edges of bulkhead doors as you passed from one compartment to the other.

The engineer’s panel has gauges that give all the vital engine information, this includes fuel flow meters and controls for the carburettor mixtures, electrical switches are provided for starting and float operation. Opening and closing of engine nacelle gills to control engine temperature, is by winding handles, and possibly one of the more important features, a row of lights and two way switches at both the pilot and engineer’s station to give positive communication, this includes floats up and down, engine start – port and starboard, Full Rich, Auto Rich, Auto Lean etc. All signal lights are normally off. To give a command, the pilot flips the appropriate switch and the signal lights go on at both stations, the engineer carried out the command and flips his switch and the lights go out.

This system was foolproof in comparison to any attempt to communicate using the intercom system to which all crew members are connected. The intercoms were difficult to understand at the best of times, and in an emergency with guns firing, speech could be hopelessly garbled. The systems of the 40s were vastly inferior to those we enjoy today – background noise and static were the norm in those days, and most microphones and earphones soon deteriorated in use.

The signal lights were handy for another task! In the early morning hours after leaving the target and enemy territory had fallen far behind, the skipper and most of the crew would head for the four bunks, or some convenient padded corner and would quickly be asleep. The navigator would nave calculated a course on his plotting table and given the headings to the pilot at the controls, then probably dozed off with his head cushioned on a life preserver laying on the plot table. One of the wireless operators would be listening out on the appropriate frequency in case there may be a mayday call, or an incoming coded message. The two blister gunners, although technically on watch, would almost certainly be dozing in their seats affixed to the forward bulkhead of the compartment. The engines would be throttled back to an easy cruising speed in an aircraft that once having dropped it’s bomb load and used more than half of it’s fuel load was with it’s large wing area, little more than a powered glider, and the noise levels were considerably down throughout the hull.

Under these conditions it was easy for the crew operating the aircraft to doze off! Remember they had not slept for some 18 hours or more, and after some of the conditions encountered over the target area, and sometimes another hour or so of barge hunting and/or finding another target and shooting it up and throwing out incendiaries or fragmentation bombs, the whole crew would be ready for sleep! At this time there would only be one pilot tending the automatic pilot and keeping a watch on course, the other pilot’s seat could be occupied by anyone whose aim it was to make conversation and keep the pilot awake, the engineer had no such help and it was a constant battle to stay awake with nothing but a wall of hypnotic green dials in front of your face, and the continual watch on the clock to make sure you entered all the engine readings in the log book every 20 minutes! It was at these times that you would attempt to chat to the pilot on the intercom after his companion had invariably fallen asleep, but suddenly you would be aware that the guy on the other end of the line was no longer responding!

At these times the first recourse was to flip all the signal lights on at once and flash them till you got a response! If this failed, the pilot would awaken his companion if he was asleep, and he would go back to the engineer’s compartment and give the engineer’s leg a good shake! If on the other hand the engineer got no response he would drop down from his perch and walk forward and give the duty pilot’s arm a nudge. It has to be said that it happened that quite a few Cats sailed quietly on in the early hours under the sole command of the Auto Pilot, who when set up properly was quite a reliable fellow! But generally you would find the pilot and engineer and one of the wireless operators sharing these quiet hours. Maybe someone would get the Bendix working and check on a few navigational fixes even finding some good music to while away the hours.

But I have digressed too far! The evening meal over, machine guns are checked, possibly a few rounds are fired from each, the navigator will check the bombsight, and roll up the metal window that has protected the glass bow window during take off. By this time several visual checks will have been made on navigation if the night is clear and islands and coastlines are visible, in any case the navigator will have us in the vicinity of the target area and on course.

There is a chance that several other aircraft will be due at the same target at set intervals, and a watch needed to be kept to identify any who may have been scheduled ahead of you and in some cases will remain in the area having completed their bombing run to observe results as the other crews make their runs and then turn for home. At this point some of the skippers who have studied the daylight reconnaissance photos will have each picked out an individual target to pepper with hand launched incendiaries or the 20 pound (10kg) fragmentation bombs. In the case of targets a great distance from home, all will set course for home as soon as the bomb load has been released.

With a mining operation, the drop area will almost certainly be in a harbour entrance or a small sea lane between islands, and the mines have to be placed with pin point accuracy to ensure a proper minefield. This was done by calculating distances and flight times from known geographical features, such as a prominent cape, inlet or river mouth, sometimes there would even be a lighthouse, a wharf or other man made object. Whichever the case, a moonlight night helped and in general, positive identification was not all that difficult. Once the datum points had been identified, the skipper would commence his run on the datums, the navigator would have his stop watch at the ready and the 2nd pilot would be calling the altitude off the then new radio altimeter, the aircraft would be stabilised at the correct height, say 200 feet (60m approx) and at a predetermined number of seconds after passing an identified point, the mine would be released with a solid bump and the skipper would make an immediate correction for the loss of quite a large heavy piece of potential destruction. The aircraft would then do a circuit and possibly retrace it’s course over the datums, releasing the second mine a little sooner or later to build up a pattern of mines in the locality, or as sometimes happened, the second mine would be released on a different heading.

At one point someone had the idea that we should try launching torpedoes against stationary shipping in harbours as a more effective way of sinking a ship where it lay. So it was that we found ourselves laying a mine and then going off to a torpedo target. For us at least the exercise proved less than effective, we encountered heavy fire from both the moored ship and gun positions and the skipper found himself taking violent evasive action with a heavy torpedo under one wing. I seem to remember that we tried a second run with the same results as the first, and the skipper did his best to line up the ship and release the torpedo and break away, but the most we could claim was that the torpedo had narrowly missed the vessel and we had probably sunk a truck nearby! One other attempt at a torpedo launch resulted in the presumed total loss of aircraft and crew, and as far as I know the torpedo idea was dropped. So we would eventually find ourselves rid of our bomb or mine loads and we would thankfully depart the area. On at least two occasions this wasn’t the end of the story. Once, a rare Japanese night fighter suddenly appeared preceded by a shower of tracer – it wasn’t a comforting thought to know that between every one of the multitude of flashes there were usually four or five lethal bullets, some armour piercing, some possibly explosive! The skipper took evasive action and changed course and the gunners spent a few anxious minutes at the ready, but the fighter never reappeared.

On another occasion we encountered heavy machine gun ground fire, and felt several hits all of which did no damage, or so we thought – the rude awakening came several hours later when upon landing we found water flooding into the hull! The skipper immediately took off again and upon dragging the large five man dinghy out from under the navigator’s table we were confronted with a couple of large holes about a metre apart. The tool kit provided leak stoppers and we were soon able to land again. The five man dinghy was not so lucky! The heavy calibre bullets were recovered from it’s folds by the marine service boys where they had come to a stop after ploughing through several thicknesses of rubberised fabric! The navigator considered himself very lucky, because at the time of the hits he was working on the homeward plot at the table, and had the dinghy not been there he would nave almost certainly collected one of them, the other, or maybe both would have continued on probably going through the wing fuel tanks. The aircraft was also holed in three other places – I can’t remember where! We were lucky!

Another time, while over target there was a rapid bump-bump, and the skipper felt the control column shake. In seconds all crew reported on the intercom. OK, but there was no reply from the 2nd engineer at the tunnel gun position. To this day I remember Curley coming on the intercom in a few seconds and saying, ’He must be OK, his gun is still firing' then adding, "unless he’s gone with his finger wrapped around the trigger!’ At that moment the gun stopped firing and Griffo burst out of the rear compartment clutching his leg and yelling ’I’ve been hit!’. In seconds the boys had his flying boot off and there it was, a piece of aluminium extrusion from one of the hull stringers, it had passed through the leather upper and come to rest in his bloodied calf – luckily the injury was little more than a scratch. The shell only missed his leg by millimetres!

Not so our poor old Pussy Cat – a large anti-aircraft shell had come through the bottom of the hull (dead centre!), disintegrated a stringer, and continued out through the top of the hull, parting the rear control cables on the way through, hence the shake that the skipper felt, and the bump-bump we felt. We were extremely lucky, either the shell was a dud, or more likely we figured that the shells were being set to explode a few metres above the height that we had been flying, all and all, probably the closest call we had, as had the shell exploded it would almost certainly have killed the three gunners, all within less than three metres, and the rear section of the aircraft would never have survived the explosion. At least one other aircraft took a hit in the same compartment, resulting in the immediate death of several crewmen, and an intelligence officer, who was just about to enter the blister compartment at that instant, lost his lower leg in the explosion, but miraculously, the aircraft made it back to base! But we were lucky! And so back to our return from the target area. It would not be long before only the pilot, his companion, the engineer and wireless operator would be awake and we would be sharing these hours before the first glow of daybreak appeared in the east. It was a time for coffee, tea and biscuits and maybe a slice of home baked cake. Then a pilot, engineer and wireless operator would be awakened to take over and the dog-tired first shift would fill the vacated bunks – if you were lucky!

I had a favourite spot on top of the radar power box on the floor of the engineer’s compartment. It wasn’t very large, but it was always warm, and I used to pack a few life vests in the space between it and the outside of the hull, and there was just enough room to curl up and I would be asleep in seconds. I remember spending a long night on the bunk on the occasion that I had a minor appendix attack, I had been having them for years! And this one like all the others subsided in a few hours. Some months later I wasn’t so lucky, but by this time I was on Liberators as an instructor at Tocumwal, and within hours I was resting in hospital minus the troublesome appendix! The skipper on the other hand almost lost his life over his appendix, I have mentioned this on the last page of my diary excerpts.

So the sun would be on the rise and it was only a matter of time and we would be landing at Milne Bay, Port Moresby, Darwin, Groote Island, or as sometime happened a seaplane tender moored somewhere on the remote Australian coast or elsewhere. Fuel barges would be alongside as soon as possible, and in most cases we would be off the water again within a couple of hours or less. On occasion we would go ashore and have a meal, sometimes it would be an overnight stay while the aircraft was serviced sometimes by the crew. Then the next afternoon we would be off the water, sometimes returning to the same target again.

On other occasions we would be returning to Cairns, and it was at these times that most of the crew would hit the bunks again and sleep. It was common practice on these occasions for the skipper to give the 1st engineer or navigator a chance to learn to fly the Cats and I spent quite a few hours at the controls. At other times the pilot in charge would be bored with the long hours of inactivity, especially in the hours just before dawn properly lit the skies, and if you were lucky you had the chance to disconnect the auto pilot and take over for an hour or so, provided you stayed on course and altitude! Thus it was that I progressed to the point where the skipper would take up a test flight and we would have the chance to progress to steep turns and attitude recoveries, this was all good insurance in case the pilots were unfortunate enough to be badly injured and there needed to be someone who had a reasonable chance of getting the aircraft home. This never happened as far as I know – it is an unfortunate fact that in a lot of cases, a Catalina and crew would just disappear without a trace, as mentioned previously, we were extremely lucky not to have become just such a statistic.

This experience at the controls was good, and I was lucky enough to be able to do the same on occasion when I was transferred to a Liberator training school, as an engineering instructor. Here it was doubly handy, as when trainee pilots were sent solo, the engineer was the only other person on board, and took over the chore of operating the throttles on the four engines and the other 2nd pilot’s duties of flaps and undercarriage, in fact on one occasion with a first solo, I found myself having to cope with a pilot in a state of virtual nervous collapse and in truth I landed with very little help from him. It must be admitted that this took place at Tocumwal, and there the runways were enormous and the Liberator was an aircraft that was virtually flown all the way to the airstrip and then allowed to roll to a halt.

Back to our crew returning home! The landing at Cairns with a lightly loaded aircraft was a mere formality and in minutes the skipper would be approaching the mooring buoy, with a wireless operator out on the bow with a boathook ready. If the skipper did it right, the loop on the buoy would be caught by hand and in a second it would be over the extended bow bollard, and the main mooring line would be hauled up and shackled into place, the loop replaced on the buoy, all in the time it took the aircraft to lose way after the engines were cut. I can’t recall a single occasion where the mooring drill was fluffed, but I believe that in training it could easily happen, even to the point where the wireless operator finished up in the water. However we would have no such problems and within minutes we would have the craft stowed, and would be standing in the open blister compartment and a duty boat would be approaching. Then the short ride to the wharf, the serviceability report and the truck ride back to the barracks area and the debriefing that seldom, if ever involved the whole crew, maybe a quick meal, shower and sleep – and the possibility that tomorrow would see you doing it all over again!

With all this in mind, take an extract from my log book.

SEPTEMBER 1943
25 – Cairns to Darwin 8 hours 45 minutes.
26 – Darwin Celebes 15 hours.
27 – Landed Darwin on return.
28 – Darwin Celebes. 16 hours 10 minutes
29 – Landed Darwin 0840, take off 0935 8 hours 10 minutes to Cairns.
Total 48 hours and five minutes.

Over a period of five days, close to 50 hours of flying, but add the time on water refuelling and travelling back and forth by boat, getting duty trucks and meals while on land, plus on the 26th, 27th and 28th there were trips to the aircraft to carry out an 80 hourly inspection and do other tasks that would have amounted to four hours at least on each occasion, and it gives you some idea of the pressure that was on the crews at this time. July, two months previously, had seen, apart from two days, flying from the 1st to the 26th – sometimes two flights in one day, even three short flights on the 21st and 26th. The last day of June records two test flights, and then an operation of 16 hours 50 minutes ending at 8.30am on July 1st.

Quite apart from the normal problems of aircraft operations, the tropical weather could be a factor to be reckoned with, and no one will ever know the number of wartime aircraft that failed to return for this reason alone! Returning from the target area on one occasion, our aircraft suddenly ran into a violent rainstorm that quickly deteriorated into what proved to be a fast growing tropical cyclone. We would normally be aware of these conditions through the weather reports, and there were times when an operation would be postponed in the face of doubtful weather conditions, but the tropics are notoriously fickle, and on this occasion we were one of several aircraft that came near to disaster.

However the situation was gauged by the skipper and navigator to be no more than ’just another storm’, the general conditions being bright moonlight as we approached the storm front, and we held our course. But within seconds of plunging into the seemingly solid blackness we were buffeted by ever increasing turbulence, and I guess most of the crew were wondering as I was, how long the aircraft would stay in one piece under these conditions, Lightning flashes were virtually continuous accompanied by deafening thunder. The skipper and 2nd pilot were battling the controls, the auto pilot being unable to cope with the conditions. One moment the aircraft would be climbing at full emergency power and still going down like a stone, with everyone experiencing total weightlessness and striving to hang on to something solid, but at times finding themselves against the roof of their compartment. Then a moment later being hurled to the floor, as in an instant we would have passed into a violent up draught with the pilots fighting to get the nose down with both motors throttled back.

Under these conditions I was the lucky one, as it was possible to wedge yourself into the restricted space of the engineer’s bucket seat perch but even so I remember struggling to stay in place, feet and hands hard against the surrounding hull. In fact at the moment of flying into the violence, I was writing up the log book, and when we hit the first violent up draught the log book held on my knees suddenly seemed to weigh a ton! Despite my trying to hold on to it, it was wrenched from my grasp and spent the next half hour or so in the bilge, or being tossed about the compartment together with life jackets, tins of food, saucepans etc. This went on for what seemed an age, when suddenly all buffeting ceased and we were cruising in still air and stars shining brightly overhead, but all around us was a jet black wall rising thousands of feet above us! We were in the eye of the cyclone! It was a strange experience, I can’t remember how far across the eye was, but it was several miles, and we flew around in the still air for a few minutes till the crew had recovered and checked for serious damage. The aircraft was an absolute shambles, and some attempt was made to stow gear that had torn loose before the skipper decided to resume course and we re-entered the wall and faced the violent conditions all over again! There was no way that we could attempt to climb out over the wall the conditions up higher being almost certainly worse than where we were.

So it was that we experienced what seemed to be an even worse ride than before, the skipper saying later that just before we broke through once more that he had the aircraft climbing under full emergency power, and dropping so rapidly that he feared we would hit the ocean, and moments later we were spat out almost at sea level, once more in calm conditions. We climbed once more to cruising altitude and cleaned up the aircraft and made tea and coffee while our nerves settled. There were numerous bruises and abrasions and tales to be told of the horror of weightlessness under those conditions, but we were lucky! There were broken bones in another crew, and as I remember, we lost an aircraft in the storm without a trace.

On another occasion we had a rather less frightening experience that only lasted moments. We had dropped our bomb load, and due to the heavy enemy fire the skipper put the nose down and headed out to sea and what he considered safety. The night was dark and he levelled off over a still, glassy expanse of water and we all started to relax, when all of a sudden the aircraft gave a huge lurch forward accompanied by all the noise of a normal landing. And so it was, we had actually touched down! Of course full power went straight on, and we climbed away after a few seconds on enemy soil (water!). Rather embarrassing for the skipper, but if the barometric pressure over the target area had been miscalculated by the weather boys our altimeter settings could be a long way out, and it is almost impossible to gauge the distance to the water by eye under any conditions, night or day, especially night!

Luckily for us we could all look upon it as a huge joke on the skipper, who doubtless told all his mates about it on our return.