How the DAMBUSTERS were nearly DOOMED from the start
Three bombers lost in five minutes. Two more downed just moments later — with both crews dead. On the 75th anniversary of WWII’s most famous raid, a heart-stopping account reveals ...
BREACHING Germany’s vital dams was a wartime priority for the RAF. When engineer Barnes Wallis came up with a bouncing bomb, codenamed Upkeep, a crack Lancaster bomber unit, 617 Squadron, was assembled under Wing Commander Guy Gibson. Six weeks of training for the mission, codenamed Operation Chastise, ended on May 15, 1943 . . . SUNDAY, MAY 16, 1943 12.30am
IN HIS room at RAF Scampton near Lincoln, Guy Gibson is staring sadly at scratch-marks on the door. His black Labrador has just been run over by a car and because the dog had been the squadron’s unofficial mascot, his death is a bad omen ahead of the raid. Gibson is still only 24 yet has flown 173 operational sorties.
An inspirational leader, he can also be very strict. Once, an RAF messenger failed to respond when he yelled: ‘George! George! Didn’t you hear me calling you?’ ‘My name’s not George,’ the messenger replied. ‘If I call you bloody George, you are George!’ roared Gibson.
elsewhere on the base, most of the Lancaster crews are asleep, having been given sleeping pills by medical officer Dr Upton.
5.30am
AFTeR a restless night, caused by anxiety about the raid and painful gout in his feet, Gibson goes to see Dr Upton for treatment. He tells Upton that he is flying this evening — the doctor replies that painkillers are therefore not an option. Gibson will just have to endure the discomfort. He orders the doctor not to breathe a word about the fact that there is a mission tonight.
The kitchen staff at RAF Scampton are preparing the squadron’s usual breakfast of toast, cereal and porridge followed by sausages and potatoes.
9am
GUy GIBSON walks into the office of Flight Lieutenant Harry Humphries, the squadron adjutant, holding a heavy red file marked ‘Most Secret’. Such is the mystery around the mission that even Humphries, who looks after the day-to-day running of the squadron, doesn’t know what the target will be.
Gibson gives him the flying programme for the day. ‘Training programme, sir?’ Humphries says. Gibson hesitates: ‘No, um, that is, yes, to the rest of the station. We are going to war at last, but I don’t want the world to know about it.’
Gibson asks Humphries for flying rations of chocolate, orange juice and chewing gum to be surreptitiously put in the Lancasters.
11am
LAST-MINUTe repairs and instrument checks are being carried out on the Lancasters, which have been modified to take the Upkeep bouncing bombs. One aircraft was damaged a few days before by the spray caused by the bomb hitting the water — its ground crew is racing to get it fixed in time.
Upkeeps are being fitted to the underside of all the Lancasters, which the ground crews have nicknamed ‘pregnant ducks’. The Upkeep is shaped like a garden roller and contains 6,000lb of underwater explosive.
Suddenly, an Upkeep falls from the belly of one Lancaster and the crew flee the aircraft as fast as they can. By a miracle it doesn’t explode.
11.30am
GUy GIBSON gives instructions to a flight sergeant that his dog should be buried outside his office at 2300 hours, just as he is crossing the enemy coast. He says that no one on the base must be told of the dog’s death.
Although there has been no official announcement to the crews, the fact that live ammunition is now being loaded makes it obvious that the operation is imminent.
Midday
THe Lancaster pilots and navigators enter the briefing room — the rest of their crews will be briefed later. The men are stunned to see scale models, maps and aerial photographs of German dams. Most thought their mission was to drop bombs on U-boat pens or the battleship Tirpitz.
The plan is for the 19 Lancasters to take off in three waves. The first wave of nine bombers, led by Guy Gibson, will attack the largest dam in the Ruhr, the Möhne, before proceeding to the eder.
A second wave of five will attack the Sorpe dam, and a third wave of five will leave two hours later and act as an airborne reserve to be sent to whichever dams have not already been breached. The pilots and navigators stare at the maps and models, memorising every detail.
They are concerned to see that their route takes them over some of the most heavily defended parts of Germany.
2.30pm
THe bomb-aimers and gunners join the pilots and navigators in the briefing room.
Reconnaissance photos of the dams have good news — water levels are high, which is essential for the Upkeep to work.
The bomb-aimers mark up their route to the dams with care. To avoid German radar, they will be flying at only 100ft, so they mark electricity powerlines with thick, red crayon.
Over the past few weeks, the RAF has received a number of complaints from members of the public about 617 Squadron.
Farmers say the low- flying bombers are affecting their cows’ milk yield and forcing labourers to dive off hayricks. People have been toppled off their bikes, and yachts sent rocking from the downdraft.
More than one Lancaster has returned to Scampton with foliage in its tail.
5pm
SITTING in a Nissen hut at the end of RAF Scampton’s airfield is WAAF radio operator Ruth Ive. She arrived earlier today for a special mission — to eavesdrop on the base’s telephone exchange to make sure no calls are made to the outside world.
She plugs in her equipment and waits, ready to disconnect any unauthorised calls. On some bases, Ruth can tap into a telephone exchange using only a hairgrip.
6pm
THeRe’S an announcement over the PA system at Scampton: ‘ All crews of No. 617 Squadron report to the briefing room immediately.’ It is the final mission briefing.
Gibson thinks his men look ‘tousled and scruffy’ as they file in past two armed guards, but he knows they are now ‘ experts, beautifully trained’. The doors are then locked.
Gibson is sitting next to a tall grey-haired man. Flight Sergeant George Chalmers mutters to a colleague: ‘ Who’s the bloody civilian up there?’ ‘That’s Barnes Wallis.’ ‘ What does he do?’ ‘you’ ll find out ...’ Using a blackboard, Wallis explains to the smoke-filled room the construction of the dams and how the Upkeeps work. He stresses the importance of flying at 232mph and exactly 60ft over the water.
He reminds the bomb-aimers that the Upkeeps must be revolving in their cradles at 500rpm before they are dropped and should bounce three times, hit the dam wall then explode 30ft underwater.
The Lancaster crews are impressed by Wallis’s thoroughness and dedication. Bomb-aimer Jim Clay thinks it incongruous ‘ that this kindly and quietlyspoken man should be involved with devastation’.
7.30pm
THe briefing draws to a close and there are few questions. Barnes Wallis turns to Guy Gibson: ‘I hope they all come back.’ Gibson replies: ‘It won’t be your fault if they don’t.’
Some men leave for a wash and a shave. Gunner Doug Webb decides to have a bath, as he is determined ‘to die clean’. One man asks the padre for his blessing, others look for the squadron adjutant, Harry Humphries, to give him their wills and letters for their next of kin.
Humphries finds it strange that
often those who don’t leave anything with him are the ones who don’t return.
Australian wireless operator Charlie Williams is in his room writing a letter to his fiancée, Bobbie. He apologises for being too busy to see her, but believes he may have leave soon.
‘I hope you are able to get leave also, so we can be married. Cheerio for now darling and believe me when I say I love you very dearly and always will.’
7.45pm
In THE messes, the 19 crews are having their ‘flying supper’ of eggs, bacon and pancakes. Melvin ‘Dinghy’ Young is already thinking about the breakfast they’ll eat after the mission.
He calls to Guy Gibson: ‘ Hey, Gibbo, if you don’t come back, can I have your egg tomorrow?’ Gibson fires a friendly insult back.
Flight Lieutenant David Shannon is having a cigarette at the back of a hangar with John ‘Hoppy’ Hopgood, who at only 22 is already an experienced pilot.
Hopgood says: ‘I think this is going to be a tough one, and I don’t think I’m coming back, Dave.’ Shannon replies: ‘ Come off it Hoppy, you’ll beat the bastards. You’ve beaten them for so long, you’re not going to get whipped tonight.’
8.15pm
HAvInG collected all their flight equipment, Gibson and some of the other men are waiting outside the crew rooms, some nervously smoking, some sitting in deckchairs. no one is speaking much. They have their escape equipment — wallet full of Dutch and German currency, morphine, small compass and a silk map of Europe showing rail and road routes.
Squadron adjutant Harry Humphries studies their faces — some look grim and determined, others are seemingly unperturbed by what lies ahead.
8.30pm
THE buses taking the first and second wave crews to their Lancasters pull away. One bus waits behind — the crew of the Lancaster designated L-Leather are still missing their pilot, David Shannon.
He eventually emerges from the locker room. One of his crew shouts: ‘Have you cleaned your teeth?’ Shannon grins as he gets on the bus.
As the buses reach the Lancasters, some men are seeing the Upkeeps for the first time. Most have their own rituals before boarding — ‘watering’ the rear wheel of the Lancaster or entering the aircraft in a particular order.
Some have lucky mascots — Micky Martin carries a koala bear, Guy Gibson wears a German inflatable life-jacket.
Just as Gibson and the crew of G-George are about to climb on board, an RAF photographer runs up and asks to take their picture. ‘Make sure you send a copy back to my wife!’ Gibson says to the photographer.
9pm
A RED flare shoots into the darkening sky — the signal for the first two waves of Lancasters to start their engines. The second wave, which is taking a longer route to the dams, will leave first.
Q- Queenie was due to take off first, but during pre-flight checks her American pilot Joe McCarthy discovers it has hydraulic trouble. He yells at his crew: ‘For Christ’s sake, get into that spare aircraft before some other b**ger gets there and we don’t get to go!’
They dash for T-Tommy — which arrived only a few hours ago.
9.28pm
THE sun is still above the horizon when the control caravan flashes a green lamp — the take-off signal. E-Easy starts to move down the grass airfield, slowly gaining speed. Fifty seconds later, it is airborne.
For weeks, the other bomber squadron at Scampton has teased Gibson’s men, telling them they are ‘all practice and no action’. now 617 Squadron can prove itself.
At the end of the airfield, the nissen hut where WAAF Ruth Ive is bugging the telephone exchange shudders as the Lancasters take off only a few feet over her head.
9.39pm
HAvInG abandoned his faulty aircraft and collected a replacement for a piece of navigation equipment that was missing from T-Tommy, a sweating Joe McCarthy runs towards his new bomber.
In his haste, he accidentally pulls the ripcord of his parachute and a mass of white silk billows behind him. McCarthy keeps running and flings it to the ground. Just in time, a spare one is given to him.
Gibson takes off in G- George, with Hoppy Hopgood in M-Mother to his left and Micky Martin in P-Popsie to his right. From his office window, Harry Humphries watches them take off. He knows that, one way or another, it’s going to be a historic night.
A flight sergeant, clearly moved, says: ‘Grand night, sir. I do hope they finish the job. They have worked so hard.’
10.01pm
THIRTY-FOUR minutes late, Joe McCarthy in T-Tommy takes off. All 19 Lancasters are now airborne and flying low towards the north Sea. They know that once they cross the Dutch coast they face scores of Luftwaffe night-fighters and hundreds of anti-aircraft guns.
10.55pm
FOR more than an hour, Gibson’s crew in G- George have flown in absolute silence. Then, suddenly, navigator Terry Taerum speaks: ‘Five minutes to go until the Dutch coast, skip’. Someone starts whistling but is immediately told to: ‘Shut up!’
Flying at only 100ft alongside G-George, as part of the first wave heading for the Möhne dam, are M-Mother and P-Popsie. All three Lancasters are badly off course: a stronger wind than forecast has sent them south.
Ahead is not the Scheldt estuary as they had expected, but Goeree-Overflakkee — a heavily defended island. Gibson says: ‘Stand by front gunner; we’re going over. OK. All lights off. no talking. Here we go!’
10.57pm
OnE hundred miles away to the north, the second wave is approaching the Dutch coast at a height of only 70ft. Les Munro, the pilot of W-Willie, can see waves breaking on the shore. ‘Suddenly to my right I saw a bright light and an explosion. I hoped it wasn’t one of ours.’
The first casualty of the mission, K-King, has been hit by flak. The crew of seven are all killed.
A single line of tracer comes towards W-Willie. Munro hears a crack and his headphones go dead. He circles while they assess the damage. The crew and engines are fine, but the intercom and radios are down — they can only communicate by shouting over the noise of the engines.
To attack the dam successfully, they have to be able to speak to each other. Flight Engineer Appleby passes a note to Jim Clay the bomb-aimer: ‘InTERCOM UnSERvICEABLE — SHOULD WE GO On?’ Clay scribbles on the paper: ‘WE’LL BE A MEnACE TO THE REST.’
Les Munro has no choice. W-Willie turns and heads back to RAF Scampton.
11pm
THInGS get worse for the second wave. Initially on track and on time, H-Harry, with Pilot Officer Geoff Rice at the controls, climbs slightly to avoid sand dunes on the Dutch coast and then changes course.
The moon is now reflected in the water ahead and Rice finds it hard to judge the height of the Lancaster. His flight engineer is just about to warn him that the altimeter is showing zero when there is a violent bang. The Upkeep
hanging underneath hits the water and is ripped out of the bomb bay, smashing into the tail-wheel and sending the wreckage up into the plane’s Elsan chemical toilet.
‘Christ! It’s wet back here!’ rear gunner Stephen Burns shouts, almost drowning in the seawater and chemicals from the toilet filling his turret as the aircraft climbs steeply.
Operation Chastise is over for H-Harry which flies back to Scampton. Three of the five aircraft that make up the second wave to attack the Sorpe dam have been lost in three minutes.
11.10pm
TO THE south, Guy Gibson, heading for the Möhne Dam, is flying so low over the Dutch countryside that his bomb-aimer, Frederick Spafford, keeps shouting at him to pull up, to avoid tall trees and powerlines he can see shining in the moonlight.
Pilot Micky Martin in P-Popsie is finding it hard to spot landmarks because of all the dead bugs splattered on his windscreen — one of the many hazards of low-level flying.
11.20pm
A LIGHT malfunctions and comes on in the nose of T-Tommy. It makes them an easy target for Luftwaffe night-fighters. No one knows how to turn it off, so the flight engineer smashes it with an axe.
The front gunner spots a goods train. ‘Can I have a go, Joe?’ McCarthy agrees, so the gunner opens fire. However, the train is wellequipped with ack-ack and fires back, hitting the bomber’s starboard tyre, but McCarthy manages to control his aircraft.
11.30pm
BARNES WALLIS is monitoring progress from the Operations Room at Grantham.
With him is the head of Bomber Command, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris, who had been sceptical about Wallis’s idea, declaring at a one meeting: ‘This is tripe of the wildest description! There are so many “ifs” and “ands” that there is not the smallest chance of it working . . .’
At Scampton, a mist is settling. It’s very quiet. In her Nissen hut, WAAF Ruth Ive is being taught how to play poker by the two sergeants guarding the hut.
11.50pm
THE second wave’s E-Easy hits 100,000-volt power lines near the town of Haldern. The Lancaster ploughs into a field and its Upkeep rolls free — but doesn’t explode. It will ultimately provide the Germans with valuable information about the bouncing bomb they christen the ‘ Britische Rotations-Wasserbomb’.
All the crew of E-Easy are killed, including Charlie Williams, the Australian gunner who’d written to his fiancée Bobbie a few hours earlier about their wedding plans.
11.55pm
THE first wave heading for the Möhne is being targeted by intense German antiaircraft fire. ‘They did not like our coming,’ Gibson said with typical understatement.
Over two hours ago, he had taken off in formation with Hoppy Hopgood in M-Mother and Micky Martin in P-Popsie, and remarkably they are still together — Gibson can see their markings and insignia illuminated ‘like Broadway signs’ in the searchlights. All three are now so low, they are flying
underneath power lines.
Monday, May 17 12.09am
AT SCAMPTON, the five Lancasters of the third wave take off, unaware of their comrades’s fate. They will initially follow Gibson’s route and then be told where to go by the controllers at Scampton based on the success of the first wave.
12.15am
TWENTY minutes behind Gibson, bringing up the rear of the first wave, are N-Nuts, ZZebra and B-Baker. Just south of the German town of Borken, Z-Zebra is forced to climb over power lines, and soon afterwards N-Nuts does the same. But B-Baker, lagging behind, flies straight into them.
A girl in a nearby farmhouse watches in horror as the burning Lancaster roars overhead and crashes into a field. The Upkeep explodes, leaving a 40ft-wide crater and breaking windows up to two miles away.
A statue of St Joseph, 150ft from the crater, is left untouched, which locals believe is a miracle.
B-Baker’s crew are all killed. The mission is going badly wrong.
Gibson, Hopgood and Martin finally reach their destination — the Möhne dam, the main source of water supply for the Ruhr Valley, holding back 140 million tons of water.
On top of the wall, six German flak guns take careful aim at the bombers roaring towards them. This is the moment of truth for Operation Chastise. n