101 Squadron hero.. who made it to 100
‘His legacy extends far beyond the cockpit’ of his Lancaster
We were all convinced that we’d be killed, it was just a matter of when
When Russell “Rusty” Waughman first flew daring, heart-stopping bombing raids over Nazi Germany, he wasn’t much more than a boy full of bravado.
When he died last month, he was one of the last pilots of Bomber Command, up there with the most dangerous assignments of the Second World War.
And it wasn’t lost on those who attended the memorial service for the veteran last week that he was just one month shy of turning 101 – the number of the Special Duty Squadron in which he served.
That Rusty even survived the war, let alone lived to see his 100th year is, in itself, remarkable.
The life expectancy of a typical airman in 101 Squadron was just a handful of sorties.
Their Lancaster bombers were equipped with special apparatus that searched out and then jammed enemy radio transmissions. But that also allowed German Luftwaffe to track and attack them, and the squadron suffered the highest casualties of any, losing 1,176 aircrew killed in action.
When Rusty’s crew completed their set of 30 operations, they found out that they were the first from the squadron to survive a full tour for more than six months.
“Survival was 99% luck,” he later said. “We had bits shot off us and holes knocked into us.
“It was a very strange feeling because we were all genuinely convinced we’d all be killed. It was just a matter of when.”
Born in Shotley Bridge, County Durham, and plagued with ill-health from childhood tuberculosis as he grew up, Rusty had meant to sign up for the Navy when war broke out.
But when he saw that the naval recruiting officer was his own doctor and therefore likely to reject him, he went next door and joined the RAF instead. He was only 18 when he earned his wings and just 20 when, in November 1943, he flew his first operation, straight to Berlin.
“We’d only just got over Europe when we had five fighter attacks, one after another,” he recalled in video recordings in the International Bomber Command Centre’s Digital Archive, managed by the University of Lincoln. “Our rear gunner Harry Nunn, who was Canadian, basically kept us alive.”
On his next sortie, Rusty flew over the heavily defended Ruhr industrial region for the first time. He remembered his terror as he saw the searchlights, German fighters and heavy flak. “My knees were shaking, I was shaking... I really was terrorised.
“So I dropped my seat so I couldn’t look out and funnily enough, I don’t know why, but I said a little prayer that my mum and dad used to say when I was about six years old by the side of the bed, which ended, ‘If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take’. And I said this little prayer and the terror disappeared. I raised my seat and carried on. I was still apprehensive and frightened but the terror went.”
But Rusty’s brushes with death got closer with each mission, as the squadron, flying out of RAF Ludford Magna in Lincolnshire, stepped up their raids ahead of D-Day.
During one sortie, the crew were fortunate to survive when, after they had attacked a tank depot, another plane exploded right under them, blowing them upside down.
He remembered: “We lost about 10,000ft and our wireless operator, little Taffy, ended up with the contents of the pee can tipped all over him. He wasn’t exactly flavour of the month, I can tell you.”
Another time they were hit by anti-aircraft fire over Stettin – in German-occupied
Poland – and had to fly back to base without two engines, arriving home so late they were presumed dead. “The committee of adjustment [which returned belongings to families] had been in and started to take our kit away.” His final sortie was a diversionary raid to convince the Germans the Allies would not land in Normandy.
Rusty stayed in the RAF after the war, became an instructor with Transport Command, and married Pat Burditt, who died in 1952. He later married teacher Diana Lea, and they had four children.
Feeling the Lancaster crews’ contribution to victory wasn’t talked about enough, Rusty often told his extraordinary stories. And his tenacity was rewarded in 2012, when the Bomber Command Memorial was unveiled in Green Park, London.
But the veteran, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Force Cross, also admitted that with age his heroics haunted him more. He said: “You suddenly realise ‘how many people have I killed?’ And this came to me after the war. In 1991, when they were rebuilding Berlin, I said to a lady, ‘They’re not doing much to mend that church,’ and she said, ‘No, that’s going to be kept as a memorial to the 260 children who were killed when we were bombed’. And you suddenly realised, ‘I could’ve done that’. But at the time you had no consciousness about it at all, you’re just doing a job.” Rusty, who was last year praised by King Charles, died at home in Kenilworth, Warks, in mid-December, surrounded by his family. The Veterans’ Foundation hailed him as “not just a pilot, he was a living testament to dedication, courage and unwavering commitment. His legacy extends far beyond the cockpit, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of all who knew him.”
■ To see Rusty speak, go to the International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive.