Wing Walking VC
In an astonishing act of bravery when the wing of a Wellington bomber caught fire over enemy territory, its New Zealand co-pilot decided that the only way to deal with the blaze was to crawl out onto the wing and extinguish it.
On his sixth operation, James Ward, a young New Zealand pilot was flying as copilot in a Wellington of 75 Squadron from RAF Feltwell, Norfolk, on the night of 7/8 August 1941. The mission to Munster, Germany was considered a relatively ‘low risk’ sortie but a Messerschmitt 110 night fighter crept up behind and fired a devastating burst into the Wellington, then flying at 13,000 feet, heading for home, and approaching the Dutch coast and relative safety.
The aircraft was badly hit, with damage to its hydraulics and the cockpit filling with smoke. The rear gunner, Sergeant Box, was taken by surprise and wounded in the foot. Nevertheless, Box collected his wits and got in a burst of fire on the fighter. Meanwhile, the Canadian pilot, Squadron Leader R P Widdowson, put the aircraft into a steep dive to escape its attacker.
On levelling out, it was clear serious damage had been inflicted; hits in the starboard wing had ruptured a fuel pipe, spilling petrol onto the wing and into the hot exhaust. Immediately, a raging inferno engulfed the wing, burning away much of the fabric. The situation was critical.
Ward moved back to the centre of the aircraft, and in a bold initiative hacked a hole in the the fuselage and attempted to deal with the fire with extinguishers. However, the violent slipstream blew the fluid away. Either another way had to be found to deal with the fire or the crew would have to bale out. In desperation, three of them threw the contents of their coffee flasks over the fire. It was a futile attempt, the coffee simply dispersing into the slipstream.
Ward told his pilot the fire didn’t seem to be gaining and was steady in the way it was burning. However, getting home was looking unlikely. Nevertheless, a decision was made that an uncomfortable night in a dinghy in the North Sea was probably better than becoming POWs. Thus, Widdowson set course for home.
Back in the fuselage, Ward reassessed the situation, picked up a heavy canvas cockpit cover, and said: “I think I’ll hop out with this.” He later reflected: “I had a good look at the fire and thought there was a sporting chance of reaching it by getting out through the astrodome, then down the side of the fuselage and onto the wing.”
His crewmates thought him crazy, But Ward was insistent and decided climbed out of the aircraft after having been tied to a rope from the dinghy. He then edged out of the top of the fuselage into the blasting slipstream, kicking footholds in the fabric covering of the aircraft. Ward later took up the story:
“I reached out with one foot and kicked a hole in the fabric so I could get my foot into the framework of the ‘plane and then punched another hole through the fabric in front of me to get a handhold - after which, I made further holes and went down the side of the fuselage onto the wing. Joe was holding the rope so I wouldn’t drop straight off. The fire was burning through the wing rather like a big gas jet and blowing back just past my shoulder. I had only one hand to work with as I was holding on with the other to the cockpit cover. I never realised beforehand how bulky the cockpit cover was. The wind kept catching it, and several times it nearly blew away - and me with it - but I kept punching it under my arm. Then out it would blow again. All the time, of course, I was laying as flat as I could on the wing but couldn’t get right down close because of the parachute clipped to my chest. The wind kept left lifting me off the wing. Once, it slapped me back onto the fuselage again, but I managed to hang on. The slipstream from the engine made things worse. It was like being in a terrific gale only much worse than any I’ve ever known in my life!”
In the howling slipstream, he edged down the wing, discovering a large hole in the side of the engine. Holding on with one hand, he tried stuffing the flaming hole with the canvas. Holding it in place with one hand, and clinging on with the other while battling wind and cold, exhaustion set in rapidly. The heat from the fire burnt his hand, forcing him to let go. Gripping onto the aircraft with his left hand, the slipstream was excruciatingly painful. The cover then began to move, but with his remaining strength he rammed it back into the fire. Seconds later, the canvas blew away.
What Ward achieved was the impossible; although the fire still burned, the flames died down and the surrounding fabric all burned away or tore off. This reduced the intensity of the fire and Ward undoubtedly saved the wing from burning through.
Totally fatigued, he battled back into the fuselage. In the relative calm, Ward compared it to a tomb, it being eerily quiet when compared to the tempest that raged around him outside. Although the fire flared up again, Ward’s efforts had ensured it didn’t spread and was no longer critical, the Wellington returning safely.
Although Ward saved the Wellington and its crew, he only survived another three operations. His 11th mission, on the night of 15 September 1941, was an attack on Hamburg.
Ward’s aircraft was hit by Flak and set ablaze, and although he managed to drop his bombs, only two of the crew escaped the Wellington which spiralled into the ground and exploded.
Ward’s CO had recommended him for a VC, this being announced in the London Gazette on 5 August 1941.
His Victoria Cross was presented to his brother by the Governor General of New Zealand in the aptly named capital, Wellington, on 16 October 1942. Today, Ward’s VC is displayed at the Auckland War Memorial Museum.