Clifton, St James Church - Part 2
Eric Davies - 4612565
Eric Davies was born in Rotherham in the second quarter of 1913 to George Henry Davies, a coal miner, and his wife of five years Elizabeth (nee Hill). In 1911 his parents were living at 14 Park St, Rosehill, Rawmarsh, the home of his paternal grandfather.
Eric enlisted in the Army, and became a Lance Corporal in 2nd Battalion, Duke of Wellington’s (West Riding Regiment), serial number 4612565. The Duke’s were in the Far East and during the Japanese advance through Burma were involved in mid-February in the defence of Sittang Bridge and the battle there.
Eric died on 23 February 1942, aged 28 and is commemorated on the Rangoon Memorial.
Eric enlisted in the Army, and became a Lance Corporal in 2nd Battalion, Duke of Wellington’s (West Riding Regiment), serial number 4612565. The Duke’s were in the Far East and during the Japanese advance through Burma were involved in mid-February in the defence of Sittang Bridge and the battle there.
Eric died on 23 February 1942, aged 28 and is commemorated on the Rangoon Memorial.
Leslie De Fontaine
Peter Owen Fenner - 1058300
Peter Owen Jones was born in Rotherham in the first quarter of 1923, the third child of Raymond Henry George Owen and his wife Kathleen Phyllis (nee Oxton-Jones). The family were originally from Sussex but moved to Rotherham in the early 1920’s. His father was a Squadron Leader and served in the Royal Flying Corps and RAF. Peter married in Rotherham in early 1942.
Peter enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, following his Squadron Leader father into the air service. He became a Sergeant (Air Gunner) with 166 Squadron of Bomber Command, service number 1058300. Sgt Fenner was on board Avro Lancaster ND620, squadron number AS-I, when it was lost on its first Key Raid. The
aircraft had taken off on 24 March 1944 at 18:45 from RAF Kirmington (now Humberside Airport) on a raid to Berlin. This was the last major raid carried out by Bomber Command during the war and was know as 'the night of the strong winds'. A large bomber force of 811 aircraft - 577 Lancasters, 216 Halifaxes, 18 Mosquitos were sent out to bomb the German capital. Very powerful winds from the north push the bombers south at all stages of the flight and even corrections to expected winds did not fully compensate. The bomber stream became very scattered which made them more vulnerable. The aircraft was last heard on a wireless transmission at 22:27 transmitting wind speed and direction. The aircraft was one of four from 166 squadron that went missing on that night, the reason for the loss and crash-site have not been
established. In total 72 aircraft were lost on this raid despite 147 aircraft from training units undertaking a diversionary sweep west of Paris. Peter Owen Fenner died on 24 March 1944 along with four other crew members that night, although two survived to become prisomers of war. He was 21 years old and now lies in the Berlin 1939-1945 War Cemetery.
Notes
Full crew list was:
F/L W.R.Jackson RCAF PoW
Sgt R.V.Keen PoW
F/O G.C.Reed KIA
F/O B.C.Jones KIA
Sgt F.E.Fountaine KIA
F/S K.G.Mitchell KIA
Sgt P.O. Owen KIA
Sgt Keen later recounted his story:
I first joined 116 Squadron as a fitter, based all around London, but got a bit fed up with it and put in for flight engineer. They were screaming for them at the time and within six weeks I was on the course at St Athan. I used to fly as flight engineer, before becoming fully qualified, in Albemarles from 511 Squadron at Lyneham. I flew in several types - Oxford, Lysander, Anson, and Halifax. I had a total of nine months training - six weeks for Flight Engineer. I felt quite happy with the knowledge I had of
the aeroplane - I made sure I knew it as my life depended upon it."
"I only did eight missions. Our mid-upper gunner had done thirty-two trips before he came to our crew. The pilot, nav and bomb-aimer got together before we all met, then the wireless operator and gunners joined them, last to join being me. I met these guys at Lindholme's Heavy Conversion Unit and my skipper said 'I chose you because you've got a dirty overcoat on; you must have been on a squadron!'. My skipper's name was Bill Jackson, but we called him 'Rex'. He was a Canadian. The silly thing was that there weren't enough Lancasters to go round, and we did our course in Halifaxes! Not very good for the engineer; I was trained on Lancs, but you suddenly get in a Halifax and have to do the business! I remember once looking at my oxygen bottle and noticing I'd got about a minute left before it ran out. I thought 'I've just got time to change the tanks' - now, in a Halifax you have to climb underneath the restbed, where you've got a bank of six levers each side, about twelve tanks from memory. I thought 'I've got to do 3 and 4 I think', but all of a sudden the plane pitched down, so I put them back and said 'Sorry, Skipper!'"
"I wasn't at Kirmington that long - I got there just before Christmas '43, and they stuck us on a few little trips around the locality. I spent Christmas in a hotel in Doncaster. I used to go into Grimsby - I teamed up with the wireless operator more than anyone else as the pilot, nav and bomb-aimer were all officers, so they weren't allowed to mess
with us. I taught him how to do my job, well loosely, in case there was any trouble, and the skipper taught me how to fly straight and level in case he got knocked off. I'm quite glad that I never had to take over! If I had have done, we weren't supposed to land, just point it out to sea and bale out. But between us, we had agreed that I should
try and land it, as I used to operate the landing gear anyway. We perhaps stood a fifty-fifty chance that way as the guys didn't particularly want to bale out!
"If we were flying that night, I'd have to spend the morning with the ground staff looking at the aeroplane, run up the engines, check they didn't blow up! Then we'd go back and have a sleep before taking off at six or seven o'clock. I did one or two back-to-back night raids, but I haven't got my logbook to recall. Operations did affect some people worse than others, I smile sometimes when I hear there's been a slight accident and everybody has counselling - we didn't get any if we'd had a foot blown off! We hadn't a hope of getting leave - I got married during the war and asked for a week off. I got forty-eight hours, and was told I was lucky to get that. We were on call seven days a week. If we were flying that day, we had to stay on station. Every morning was the same - at ten we'd see if we were flying, and if not were allowed off the airfield. We used to go to Grimsby, Scunthorpe or Lincoln, and be back to report the next day."
"One day the skipper collared us as we were leaving the airfield and said we were going test-flying. I went up in just my battledress - we were up three hours, and I was frozen stiff! I've never been so cold. Normally we had three pairs of gloves, silk, wool and leather, flying boots, long pants - it was uncomfortable. I used to stand up on takeoff, I was never strapped in. The seat was like a little camp stool with a canvas strap, if you did want to sit down. The skipper was strapped in, of course!"
"We had other flying to do apart from operations - there was air-sea searches, fighter affiliation flying, and so on. You didn't just do ops. You were always training, like on H2S, which came out about that time. It was cold, cramped and noisy - other than that it's a lovely aeroplane! At night, you did have a torch, but in the main you didn't bother. All the controls were up the front, and if one of the gunners wanted anything you had to sneak down the back. The only bother we ever had was taking off once
when the rear gunner said 'I'm covered in petrol!' - I could tell why, as we had just taken off and the tanks were venting, so I changed tanks and told him he'd be alright if he didn't smoke! The rear gunner was always the loneliest - very cold, they had electrically heated suits, but were still cold."
"The front turret was officially my job. I never had to use it, but I had done gunnery practice. Most of our training was done in a simulator, you went in a big dome where they showed fighters going across the sky. I never fired a Browning with proper bullets!"
"My first mission - I think it's like everything else - when you're sitting on the grass ready for take-off, your mind's in a bit of a whirl, you wonder what the hell's going to happen. But once you get in the aeroplane and take off, you're busy. I'll never forget the first trip we did, which was to Berlin. It always had a bit of a name, did Berlin, the 'Big City', and I was absolutely amazed at the sight of the target in the middle of a big raid - it was fantastic. It's like Blackpool lights, times twenty! It's very unreal - you look down and see coloured lights, you see aircraft underneath you, above you. Very hairy. But, you don't think anything's going to happen to you. I've seen quite a lot of
aircraft go down, I suppose it can get to you a bit. I was usually intent in looking out for trouble, but I can't say that I was particularly nervous."
"They used to make a bit of a fuss of you when you got back to base. Egg and bacon, and if anyone didn't come back you had theirs! You just had to dismiss it - sometimes four aircraft would disappear off the scene, but the more you did, you realised your time may not be far away..."
"When we joined the squadron, we took over aircraft that were normally flown by crews who were on leave at the time. We flew in some very nice aeroplanes actually, we could normally get up to about 26,000 feet, the higher the better as far as we were concerned, but on the night of 24 March ND620 was brand new, on its first trip. Before we took off, I'll never forget that the wireless operator said 'We're going to get the chop tonight'. The skipper immediately pounced on him, but of course he was dead
right."
"We could not climb above 21,000 feet - I tried all ways to get more height, but we couldn't. The bomb load was normal at about 12,000 pounds. The skipper tried trimming the plane, but nothing would work. It's like a car, you sometimes get one that won't do what it's supposed to. We couldn't get it any higher. We got coned by searchlights on the way in over the Dutch coast and we had to jink about like hell to get out of it, but because the winds were stronger we were over the target twenty minutes early - my navigator was going barmy! He was a spot-on navigator. That was the main reason we got shot down, as we were too long over the target. I don't think it paid to hang about over Berlin longer than you needed to!" One hundred knot winds were experienced that night, instead of the anticipated sixty-knot tailwind - this led to several formations overshooting the target area.
"We couldn't find anything to bomb the first time, so we went round again - we assume it was a fighter that actually took us out from underneath, but nobody saw it, none of the gunners reported anything. There's a step from the Flight Engineer's position down to the bomb-aimer's compartment - I was sitting on that step looking out of the window and we had this horrible crash, a funny kind of sound, very loud, and I looked around and my panel had disappeared. There was a fire between me and the bomb-aimer. We immediately got the order to bale out, which we decided to do. The trouble was it was so quick and violent that there was nothing anyone could do - we were just straight down, screaming down. It was very hard to move with the G-forces."
"Did I feel scared? No, not really, to be quite honest. I got the order to bale out, so I thought I wouldn't argue with that, there was no point in stopping! I can remember putting my chute on, and something said to me 'take your time, don't panic, you've got time'. So I took my gloves off so that I could use my hands properly, put my chute on, and tried to go head-first out of the hatch. I got wedged in it, as the hatch was about eighteen inches wide, and I passed out. Next thing I remember is I woke up some way down, feeling very sick, the straps on my chute were holding my head and I felt like going back to sleep - I must have passed out again and eventually woke up with my arms round a tree trunk wondering what the hell had happened! When I landed, the fur collar of my suit was all burnt, so there must have been fire getting through the
hatch."
"I was like a pendulum on the way down - if I had been 'compus mentus' I could have stopped that, but I was a bit woozy. I can't recall pulling the ripcord - I obviously did, unless I snagged it on something. It definitely worked - I'm a member of the Caterpillar Club! I heard afterwards that the aircraft blew up about a minute and a half after my skipper and I got out."
"I pressed my parachute release and clambered down from this tree, finding that I couldn't walk as I'd been hit in the leg and backside. I was hopping about, hopping mad shall we say! I was fortunate in that I was very close to a road. I was trying to decide what to do when I heard a whistle, which I thought odd at that time of night as it was pitch black and freezing cold, but it was my skipper! His face was covered in blood, but he said 'How are you?' and I said 'I'm alright apart from I can't walk! I can hop along...' He and I agreed that it wasn't a time to be heroic; we came across a hut on the edge of the forest and we bashed on the door. We heard voices inside but nobody came to the door, so maybe they experienced the explosion of the aircraft above them. Anyway, we struggled on to what was the forester's house - we knocked on the door and the chap came out in a bit of a temper, calling us 'schwein', 'terrorfliegers' and goodness knows what! The lady eventually took us in who bathed my skipper's face and got him tidy; then they phoned the Army. Once they got us, that was the end of it. I was taken to hospital, Stalag 3A I think it was. We travelled by rail, in a cattle truck, it was eight horses or forty men!"
The rest of the crew perished - "I can't understand it, as the bomb-aimer definitely got out before me, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to. He took the hatch off, but he was killed. Somebody said he was very upset at leaving his girlfriend just before, but I wouldn't have thought it had anything to do with it. Six plancs were lost just south of Berlin by being early, the rest were picked off on the way home."
Peter enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, following his Squadron Leader father into the air service. He became a Sergeant (Air Gunner) with 166 Squadron of Bomber Command, service number 1058300. Sgt Fenner was on board Avro Lancaster ND620, squadron number AS-I, when it was lost on its first Key Raid. The
aircraft had taken off on 24 March 1944 at 18:45 from RAF Kirmington (now Humberside Airport) on a raid to Berlin. This was the last major raid carried out by Bomber Command during the war and was know as 'the night of the strong winds'. A large bomber force of 811 aircraft - 577 Lancasters, 216 Halifaxes, 18 Mosquitos were sent out to bomb the German capital. Very powerful winds from the north push the bombers south at all stages of the flight and even corrections to expected winds did not fully compensate. The bomber stream became very scattered which made them more vulnerable. The aircraft was last heard on a wireless transmission at 22:27 transmitting wind speed and direction. The aircraft was one of four from 166 squadron that went missing on that night, the reason for the loss and crash-site have not been
established. In total 72 aircraft were lost on this raid despite 147 aircraft from training units undertaking a diversionary sweep west of Paris. Peter Owen Fenner died on 24 March 1944 along with four other crew members that night, although two survived to become prisomers of war. He was 21 years old and now lies in the Berlin 1939-1945 War Cemetery.
Notes
Full crew list was:
F/L W.R.Jackson RCAF PoW
Sgt R.V.Keen PoW
F/O G.C.Reed KIA
F/O B.C.Jones KIA
Sgt F.E.Fountaine KIA
F/S K.G.Mitchell KIA
Sgt P.O. Owen KIA
Sgt Keen later recounted his story:
I first joined 116 Squadron as a fitter, based all around London, but got a bit fed up with it and put in for flight engineer. They were screaming for them at the time and within six weeks I was on the course at St Athan. I used to fly as flight engineer, before becoming fully qualified, in Albemarles from 511 Squadron at Lyneham. I flew in several types - Oxford, Lysander, Anson, and Halifax. I had a total of nine months training - six weeks for Flight Engineer. I felt quite happy with the knowledge I had of
the aeroplane - I made sure I knew it as my life depended upon it."
"I only did eight missions. Our mid-upper gunner had done thirty-two trips before he came to our crew. The pilot, nav and bomb-aimer got together before we all met, then the wireless operator and gunners joined them, last to join being me. I met these guys at Lindholme's Heavy Conversion Unit and my skipper said 'I chose you because you've got a dirty overcoat on; you must have been on a squadron!'. My skipper's name was Bill Jackson, but we called him 'Rex'. He was a Canadian. The silly thing was that there weren't enough Lancasters to go round, and we did our course in Halifaxes! Not very good for the engineer; I was trained on Lancs, but you suddenly get in a Halifax and have to do the business! I remember once looking at my oxygen bottle and noticing I'd got about a minute left before it ran out. I thought 'I've just got time to change the tanks' - now, in a Halifax you have to climb underneath the restbed, where you've got a bank of six levers each side, about twelve tanks from memory. I thought 'I've got to do 3 and 4 I think', but all of a sudden the plane pitched down, so I put them back and said 'Sorry, Skipper!'"
"I wasn't at Kirmington that long - I got there just before Christmas '43, and they stuck us on a few little trips around the locality. I spent Christmas in a hotel in Doncaster. I used to go into Grimsby - I teamed up with the wireless operator more than anyone else as the pilot, nav and bomb-aimer were all officers, so they weren't allowed to mess
with us. I taught him how to do my job, well loosely, in case there was any trouble, and the skipper taught me how to fly straight and level in case he got knocked off. I'm quite glad that I never had to take over! If I had have done, we weren't supposed to land, just point it out to sea and bale out. But between us, we had agreed that I should
try and land it, as I used to operate the landing gear anyway. We perhaps stood a fifty-fifty chance that way as the guys didn't particularly want to bale out!
"If we were flying that night, I'd have to spend the morning with the ground staff looking at the aeroplane, run up the engines, check they didn't blow up! Then we'd go back and have a sleep before taking off at six or seven o'clock. I did one or two back-to-back night raids, but I haven't got my logbook to recall. Operations did affect some people worse than others, I smile sometimes when I hear there's been a slight accident and everybody has counselling - we didn't get any if we'd had a foot blown off! We hadn't a hope of getting leave - I got married during the war and asked for a week off. I got forty-eight hours, and was told I was lucky to get that. We were on call seven days a week. If we were flying that day, we had to stay on station. Every morning was the same - at ten we'd see if we were flying, and if not were allowed off the airfield. We used to go to Grimsby, Scunthorpe or Lincoln, and be back to report the next day."
"One day the skipper collared us as we were leaving the airfield and said we were going test-flying. I went up in just my battledress - we were up three hours, and I was frozen stiff! I've never been so cold. Normally we had three pairs of gloves, silk, wool and leather, flying boots, long pants - it was uncomfortable. I used to stand up on takeoff, I was never strapped in. The seat was like a little camp stool with a canvas strap, if you did want to sit down. The skipper was strapped in, of course!"
"We had other flying to do apart from operations - there was air-sea searches, fighter affiliation flying, and so on. You didn't just do ops. You were always training, like on H2S, which came out about that time. It was cold, cramped and noisy - other than that it's a lovely aeroplane! At night, you did have a torch, but in the main you didn't bother. All the controls were up the front, and if one of the gunners wanted anything you had to sneak down the back. The only bother we ever had was taking off once
when the rear gunner said 'I'm covered in petrol!' - I could tell why, as we had just taken off and the tanks were venting, so I changed tanks and told him he'd be alright if he didn't smoke! The rear gunner was always the loneliest - very cold, they had electrically heated suits, but were still cold."
"The front turret was officially my job. I never had to use it, but I had done gunnery practice. Most of our training was done in a simulator, you went in a big dome where they showed fighters going across the sky. I never fired a Browning with proper bullets!"
"My first mission - I think it's like everything else - when you're sitting on the grass ready for take-off, your mind's in a bit of a whirl, you wonder what the hell's going to happen. But once you get in the aeroplane and take off, you're busy. I'll never forget the first trip we did, which was to Berlin. It always had a bit of a name, did Berlin, the 'Big City', and I was absolutely amazed at the sight of the target in the middle of a big raid - it was fantastic. It's like Blackpool lights, times twenty! It's very unreal - you look down and see coloured lights, you see aircraft underneath you, above you. Very hairy. But, you don't think anything's going to happen to you. I've seen quite a lot of
aircraft go down, I suppose it can get to you a bit. I was usually intent in looking out for trouble, but I can't say that I was particularly nervous."
"They used to make a bit of a fuss of you when you got back to base. Egg and bacon, and if anyone didn't come back you had theirs! You just had to dismiss it - sometimes four aircraft would disappear off the scene, but the more you did, you realised your time may not be far away..."
"When we joined the squadron, we took over aircraft that were normally flown by crews who were on leave at the time. We flew in some very nice aeroplanes actually, we could normally get up to about 26,000 feet, the higher the better as far as we were concerned, but on the night of 24 March ND620 was brand new, on its first trip. Before we took off, I'll never forget that the wireless operator said 'We're going to get the chop tonight'. The skipper immediately pounced on him, but of course he was dead
right."
"We could not climb above 21,000 feet - I tried all ways to get more height, but we couldn't. The bomb load was normal at about 12,000 pounds. The skipper tried trimming the plane, but nothing would work. It's like a car, you sometimes get one that won't do what it's supposed to. We couldn't get it any higher. We got coned by searchlights on the way in over the Dutch coast and we had to jink about like hell to get out of it, but because the winds were stronger we were over the target twenty minutes early - my navigator was going barmy! He was a spot-on navigator. That was the main reason we got shot down, as we were too long over the target. I don't think it paid to hang about over Berlin longer than you needed to!" One hundred knot winds were experienced that night, instead of the anticipated sixty-knot tailwind - this led to several formations overshooting the target area.
"We couldn't find anything to bomb the first time, so we went round again - we assume it was a fighter that actually took us out from underneath, but nobody saw it, none of the gunners reported anything. There's a step from the Flight Engineer's position down to the bomb-aimer's compartment - I was sitting on that step looking out of the window and we had this horrible crash, a funny kind of sound, very loud, and I looked around and my panel had disappeared. There was a fire between me and the bomb-aimer. We immediately got the order to bale out, which we decided to do. The trouble was it was so quick and violent that there was nothing anyone could do - we were just straight down, screaming down. It was very hard to move with the G-forces."
"Did I feel scared? No, not really, to be quite honest. I got the order to bale out, so I thought I wouldn't argue with that, there was no point in stopping! I can remember putting my chute on, and something said to me 'take your time, don't panic, you've got time'. So I took my gloves off so that I could use my hands properly, put my chute on, and tried to go head-first out of the hatch. I got wedged in it, as the hatch was about eighteen inches wide, and I passed out. Next thing I remember is I woke up some way down, feeling very sick, the straps on my chute were holding my head and I felt like going back to sleep - I must have passed out again and eventually woke up with my arms round a tree trunk wondering what the hell had happened! When I landed, the fur collar of my suit was all burnt, so there must have been fire getting through the
hatch."
"I was like a pendulum on the way down - if I had been 'compus mentus' I could have stopped that, but I was a bit woozy. I can't recall pulling the ripcord - I obviously did, unless I snagged it on something. It definitely worked - I'm a member of the Caterpillar Club! I heard afterwards that the aircraft blew up about a minute and a half after my skipper and I got out."
"I pressed my parachute release and clambered down from this tree, finding that I couldn't walk as I'd been hit in the leg and backside. I was hopping about, hopping mad shall we say! I was fortunate in that I was very close to a road. I was trying to decide what to do when I heard a whistle, which I thought odd at that time of night as it was pitch black and freezing cold, but it was my skipper! His face was covered in blood, but he said 'How are you?' and I said 'I'm alright apart from I can't walk! I can hop along...' He and I agreed that it wasn't a time to be heroic; we came across a hut on the edge of the forest and we bashed on the door. We heard voices inside but nobody came to the door, so maybe they experienced the explosion of the aircraft above them. Anyway, we struggled on to what was the forester's house - we knocked on the door and the chap came out in a bit of a temper, calling us 'schwein', 'terrorfliegers' and goodness knows what! The lady eventually took us in who bathed my skipper's face and got him tidy; then they phoned the Army. Once they got us, that was the end of it. I was taken to hospital, Stalag 3A I think it was. We travelled by rail, in a cattle truck, it was eight horses or forty men!"
The rest of the crew perished - "I can't understand it, as the bomb-aimer definitely got out before me, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to. He took the hatch off, but he was killed. Somebody said he was very upset at leaving his girlfriend just before, but I wouldn't have thought it had anything to do with it. Six plancs were lost just south of Berlin by being early, the rest were picked off on the way home."
Ronald Leake Grayson - 123114
Ronald Leake Grayson was born in Rotherham in Q2 1922 to Walter Grayson and his wife of 22 years Sarah Elizabeth (nee Leake). His father was a clerk on the railway, and originally lived at 54 St Leonards Road, Rotherham moving to 266 Badsley Moor Lane, Rotherham.
Ronald enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve in June 1941, service number 123114. He trained as a pilot and attained the rank of Flying Officer. On 22 December 1942 Ronald was the pilot of Vickers Wellington W5494 which was on a training flight. The crew, who were from No. 1446 (Ferry Training) Flight, were using an aircraft borrowed from 21 Operational Training Unit. The aircraft which took off from Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire and set off towards the Welsh borders on a map reading exercise. Shortly before 11:30, the Wellington, now flying very low, entered a valley and crashed into a hillside near Gerlan, less than a mile east of the small Caernarvonshire town of Bethesda, 5 miles from Bangor, a sheet of flame lighting up the gloom as it impacted. It is believed that F/O Grayson was desperately trying to turn and climb in those last few minutes. Eye‐witnesses saw the aircraft fly very low through Nant Ffrancon, between Carnedd y Filiast and Fronllwyd, narrowly missing the two mountains. It flew above Braichmelyn before impacting in the centre of a field above Gerlan. The aircraft slid along the ground, ploughing through three stone walls until coming to rest 75 yards from a farm where it burned out. The crew members were killed instantly. Local people were onsite but unable to take any action. Oxygen cylinders in the wreckage were initially considered to be bombs. It is believed that the aircraft, which should not have been flying below 5,000 feet, flew up the wrong valley, tried to turn, lost height and hit a hillside killing the five crew members. Ronald Grayson was 20 years old and was buried on 29 December 1942 in Rotherham (Moorgate) Cemetery.
Note
The other crew members killed were:
Robinson Stables – Navigator – 126972
F/O Dennis Walter Hogg - Navigator/ Bomber - 121776
Sgt Robert Noel Braithwaite – Wireless Operator / Air Gunner - 1379657
F/O Eric Frank Chatterton – Air Gunner – 127150
Ronald enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve in June 1941, service number 123114. He trained as a pilot and attained the rank of Flying Officer. On 22 December 1942 Ronald was the pilot of Vickers Wellington W5494 which was on a training flight. The crew, who were from No. 1446 (Ferry Training) Flight, were using an aircraft borrowed from 21 Operational Training Unit. The aircraft which took off from Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire and set off towards the Welsh borders on a map reading exercise. Shortly before 11:30, the Wellington, now flying very low, entered a valley and crashed into a hillside near Gerlan, less than a mile east of the small Caernarvonshire town of Bethesda, 5 miles from Bangor, a sheet of flame lighting up the gloom as it impacted. It is believed that F/O Grayson was desperately trying to turn and climb in those last few minutes. Eye‐witnesses saw the aircraft fly very low through Nant Ffrancon, between Carnedd y Filiast and Fronllwyd, narrowly missing the two mountains. It flew above Braichmelyn before impacting in the centre of a field above Gerlan. The aircraft slid along the ground, ploughing through three stone walls until coming to rest 75 yards from a farm where it burned out. The crew members were killed instantly. Local people were onsite but unable to take any action. Oxygen cylinders in the wreckage were initially considered to be bombs. It is believed that the aircraft, which should not have been flying below 5,000 feet, flew up the wrong valley, tried to turn, lost height and hit a hillside killing the five crew members. Ronald Grayson was 20 years old and was buried on 29 December 1942 in Rotherham (Moorgate) Cemetery.
Note
The other crew members killed were:
Robinson Stables – Navigator – 126972
F/O Dennis Walter Hogg - Navigator/ Bomber - 121776
Sgt Robert Noel Braithwaite – Wireless Operator / Air Gunner - 1379657
F/O Eric Frank Chatterton – Air Gunner – 127150
Approximate crash site of Wellington W5494 above the village of Gerlan
Ernest Greaves - 122118
© IWM (HU 92994) Handley Page Hampden
Ernest Greaves was born in Rotherham on 16 October 1922, the youngest of five children on Frank Greaves and his wife of thirteen years, Alice Martha (nee Maples) of 38 Gough Street, Rotherham. Ernest was educated at Spurley Hey School and was later employed at Owen & Dyson Ltd, Rotherham. The family later lived at 55 Gilberthorpe St, Rotherham.
Ernest enlisted in the Royal Air Force in 1939 and became a Pilot Officer (Observer), service number 122118. He undertook his training in South Africa in early 1942, where he gained his wings. By November 1942 he was undertaking final training with 5 Operational Training Unit at RAF Turnberry in Scotland. On 10 November 1942 he was part of the crew of Handley Page Hampden serial number AE379 when it dived into the ground at Miltonburn, Ayrshire. Ernest
Greaves was 20 years old when he died, he left a wife who he had married six months previously, he was buried in Dunure Cemetery, Ayrshire.
Note
The other member of the crew of the Hampden killed in the crash were:
Sgt (Pilot) Alan Charles Smart - RNZAF - 412752
Sgt (Wireless Operator / Air Gunner) Donald George Barnie - RCAF - R/117689
Flt Sgt (Wireless Operator / Air Gunner) George Kingsley Shaw - RCAF - R/90100
Ernest enlisted in the Royal Air Force in 1939 and became a Pilot Officer (Observer), service number 122118. He undertook his training in South Africa in early 1942, where he gained his wings. By November 1942 he was undertaking final training with 5 Operational Training Unit at RAF Turnberry in Scotland. On 10 November 1942 he was part of the crew of Handley Page Hampden serial number AE379 when it dived into the ground at Miltonburn, Ayrshire. Ernest
Greaves was 20 years old when he died, he left a wife who he had married six months previously, he was buried in Dunure Cemetery, Ayrshire.
Note
The other member of the crew of the Hampden killed in the crash were:
Sgt (Pilot) Alan Charles Smart - RNZAF - 412752
Sgt (Wireless Operator / Air Gunner) Donald George Barnie - RCAF - R/117689
Flt Sgt (Wireless Operator / Air Gunner) George Kingsley Shaw - RCAF - R/90100