A bottle of Scotch at the end of a harrowing aerial journey
Flight Lieutenant Roy Borthwick didn’t talk much about the Second World War, but occasionally he sat down, put pen to paper and shared his memories with pals in the Burma Star Association — B.C. Branch.
Here is one experience: “Skipper, we’ve been hit in #3 (engine) and we’ve got black smoke pouring from it.
“The urgent voice of my flight engineer came through my headset. We had just pulled up and away from a low level attack on the railway bridge near Three Pagoda Pass, south of Moulmein. This was one of the many bridges on the infamous Bangkok to Moulmein railway built by the Japanese using thousands of Allied PoWs.
“The engine was the nearest to my cockpit window, but the wing hid my view of the smoke that was coming from the bottom. I pulled back on #3 throttle and directed Fred, my co-pilot to feather the propeller.
“He hit the large button for #3 but nothing happened.
“It then dawned on me that the black ‘smoke’ was actually black oil, making it impossible for us to feather the prop to stop its rotation. We had now left the coast and were heading for base, six hours away across the Bay of Bengal.
“The engine oil soon dissipated, but the prop kept turning, the engine getting hotter and hotter as it began to seize, and was shaking so hard it was on the point of either the prop or the whole engine shearing away from the wing. Finally there was one great jolt as the engine seized completely and bust into flames, but the prop did not sheer.
“Now our only option was to ditch, and this was not good news. The fire was still burning fiercely. When we were down to 50 feet above the water I began easing off the throttles to just above stalling speed. At 20 feet ready to cut to throttles I saw out of the corner of my eye — NO FLAMES.
“As I rammed on the power again and thanked whoever was looking after us that day, I couldn’t help wondering if our problems were yet over.
“Neither sea nor land offered an appealing welcome should a fuel shortage necessitate ditching, bailing out or a forced landing.
“The latest intelligence we had regarding Akyab, a small island farther up the coast of Burma reported it was presently under British command.
“By this time it was night, and pitch black with no lights showing, but they offered to put two flares at the end of the strip. We landed and skidded to a stop with our nose against the jungle. We all sat back and thanked our very lucky stars for having landed safely.
“Moments later a Jeep arrived and a British Army officer climbed aboard our aircraft. He handed us a large bottle of Scotch saying, ‘Here, chaps, I expect you could use this.’”