Bomber Command Commemoration Service 2019
Presentation By Wing Commander Mike Oram – 2/6/2019
Consul General, Distinguished Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen, Veterans
In just a few days’ time it will be exactly 75 years since
the commencement of Operation Overlord, the D-Day Invasion of Europe. A fitting
time indeed to commemorate the heroic actions of the Men and Women of Bomber
Command - whose efforts were instrumental in not only creating the conditions
for a successful invasion, but also in directly supporting the allied troops advancing
against a determined and well-fortified enemy.
Initially operating twin engine aircraft such as the
Wellington, (considered the ‘backbone’ of Bomber Command in the opening years
of the war), as well as the Hampden and the Whitley, Bomber Command
transitioned to a heavy bomber force of four engined Halifaxes and Lancasters
as the war went on and the scale and scope of operations demanded higher
payloads, longer range and more effective defences.
Australian aircrews served in Bomber Command virtually from
the outset of hostilities, all the way through to Operation Manna,delivering
aid to starving civilians in Holland during the last 10 days of the war in
Europe. Although there were dedicated RAAF Squadrons within the Command – I
know that for many of you 460 Squadron holds very special significance – most
Squadrons were fully integrated, with Royal Air Force airmen serving alongside
aircrew from every corner of the Commonwealth. Men of disparate backgrounds
bound together with a common purpose, the defeat of an evil enemy and the
liberation of the occupied territories.
Bomber Command crews were expected to fight through to
heavily defended targets hundreds of miles inside enemy territory, beyond the
range of fighter escorts and with no hope of rescue should they be forced to
abandon their aircraft. They did this night after night, enduring casualty
rates substantially higher than any other theatre of operations. If they
managed to survive this horror for 30 operational missions, they were offered a
short respite, predominantly in training roles, before many returned to
complete second and subsequent combat tours. Bomber Command statistics are
staggering – over 365,000 operational sorties, more than a million tons of
bombs dropped and, almost inconceivably today, over 55,000 Killed In Action, of
which nearly three and a half thousand were Australian.
Noting the composition of the audience today, I am sure that
these statistics are not new to you. Given that fact, rather than tread the well-worn
path of talking about the sheer enormity of the effort, I thought I would talk
about just one small piece of the puzzle, the experiences of an Australian
Pilot, FLTLT Johnny Oram, DFC and Bar – who happens to be my Father.
In a somewhat ‘boys own adventure’ style still possible in
the late 1930s, at the ripe old age of 16 and following the death of his
beloved Mother, Dad ran away from home in New Zealand to join the crew of a
four master sail powered cargo vessel as a steward. Settling in Australia some
years later, he managed to parlay his experience as a ship’s steward into a job
with QANTAS as what was, in those days of refined passenger air travel,
referred to as an ‘aircraft purser’ on Empire Flying Boats.
My father wanted to join the RAAF at the beginning of the
War, but for good reason, QANTAS had been declared a ‘protected occupation’,
and he was not deemed eligible.At the outset of hostilities in the Pacific,
QANTAS Flying Boats were pressed into service, assisting in the evacuation of
Singapore and Java in advance of the Japanese attacks. After one such flight in
1942, whilst unloading refugees in Broome Harbour, the dock came under intense
attack by Japanese fighter aircraft. In the 20 minute attack 25 aircraft were
destroyed and dozens of people were killed. Dad’s efforts in assisting in
rescuing the wounded in small boats, while the attack continued are called out
in Hudson Fysh’s book, QANTAS at War.
Following the attacks on Broome Dad reasoned that, as he no
longer had a QANTAS aircraft in which to fly, he should now be eligible to
enlist – the RAAF accepted his logic and he commenced training as a pilot
immediately. Like thousands of other Australians, he was trained in the Empire
Air Training Scheme – it is worth noting that in 1942 even training was not
without considerable risk, with many accidents claiming the lives of
considerable numbers of the young trainees. Notwithstanding, Dad had many fond
memories of his time in Canada following his initial training here in
Australia.
On arrival in the UK, and after completing a number of
operational training courses including ‘Army Cooperation’ course, designed to
prepare heavy bomber crews to fly missions in direct support of allied ground
troops, Dad joined Number 626 Squadron, as a SGT pilot flying Lancasters out of
RAF Wickenby in Lincolnshire. He often recalled a conversation with some of the
senior aircrew that he had,immediately after arriving at the SQN, where he
asked how long it generally took to complete 30 operational missions. The
response “we don’t know, no one has ever done it” did not fill him with
confidence.
On just his second operational mission in July 1944, having
been commissioned as a Pilot Officer to fill combat vacancies, Dad was introduced
to the true nature of Bomber Command operations. On a mission against targets
in Caen, just after releasing their bombs, his Lancaster was hit by Flak three
times – Flak so thick my father had commented that you could “walk back to
England on it”. The bomb bay doors refused to close, the aircraft was described
by the mid upper gunner as being ‘riddled with holes’, and the Nav somewhat
urgently reported that the floor of the aircraft was awash with a combination
of fuel and hydraulic fluid.
As Dad manoeuvred the aircraft away from the target area and
the still concentrated attention of the German gunners, he became aware that
the Port Outer engine and more disturbingly the Port Fuel Tank, appeared to be
on fire. Not long after, the Starboard wing caught fire and it became clear
that there was no chance to save the aircraft. Giving the order to bail out,
the aircraft now being two or three miles off the French Coast, Dad recalled
that some of his crew, the Rear Gunner in particular, had indicated that they
were not strong swimmers. With this in mind he steered the now difficult to
control aircraft back over land and re-issued the order to bail out, telling
the crew that he would remain on board to steer the aircraft back over water to
avoid it crashing into the allied troops massing in the vicinity. This
operation was further complicated by the inconvenient fact that, while Dad was
attempting to don his parachute with one hand while standing in the cockpit and
flying the aircraft with the other, he noticed that he had flown overhead an
area of the channel thick with allied warships and troop carriers. As he
steered the aircraft away from the friendly shipping, and having ordered the
crew to leave some time earlier, he was understandably a little surprised to
feel a tap on the shoulder from the Navigator who, against orders, had decided
to stay onboard with his skipper. Satisfied that the aircraft was now clear of
allied forces, Dad and the Nav, having satisfied themselves that they were the
last remaining crew on board, parachuted into the ocean. (Anecdotally, and not
included in the official after action report, there was a slight disagreement
at the parachute door, whereby Dad told the Nav to “go now” while he checked
the aircraft for injured crew, and, while the Nav initially refused, in Dad’s
words he “convinced him to leave’” – assisted by the large pool of hydraulic
oil in the doorway!)
Unfortunately, and to Dad’s eternal regret, neither the Mid
Upper nor the Rear Gunner survived the bail out, the consensus of opinion being
that they had been seriously wounded in the initial contact and had been unable
to successfully deploy their chutes. It was only well after the event that Dad
was able to take stock of his own physical state and recognise that he too had
suffered a number of shrapnel injuries in the initial attack.
Dad’s experience after leaving the aircraft is recorded in
the official after action report – and I quote “After leaving the aircraft the
parachute opened normally, but unfortunately his boots fell off. He
eventually landed in the sea just beyond the outer line of shipping without any
violent impact. He was picked up by a small launch after only 2
minutes in the briny, and transferred to the Albatross (A Navy Depot Ship)
where he was put to bed in the sick bay with numerous hot water bottles and
plenty of Navy rum. The Navy fitted him out with clothes, and he was
transferred by Air Sea Rescue launch to Normandy, where he spent the night at a
Royal Marines establishment. There was a particularly vicious air
attack during the night, but he had been so liberally supplied with rum that it
hardly mattered. He returned to England the following day by
Anson. The Lancaster incidentally had performed numerous evolutions
before hitting the sea clear of the shipping.” Dad was awarded a DFC as a
result of this action.
After a short period of recuperation, Dad returned to the
Squadron, eventually completing his 30 operational missions and proceeding on
his well-earned break having had several more close calls – including being
attacked by a pair of ME-109 fighters, one of whom the crew managed to shoot
down. Dad was awarded a Bar to his DFC at the completion of his tour in
recognition of these efforts.
Typically of Bomber Command aircrew, when asked after the war
to tell of his wartime experiences, his stories were much more likely to be about
cosy English pubs – and their friendly (often very friendly!) English barmaids
– than about the terror of operations. But he couldn’t hide the long term
effects of such awful experiences from his family. As a young boy, and many
years after he had left the Air Force, I would often wake to the sounds of my
Father crying out in fear, my Mother would put me back to bed and tell me that
Dad was just “having one of his dreams”, typically that he was trapped inside a
burning Lancaster and unable to escape. Unlike many others however, he was able
to live a relatively happy and normal life, despite enduring what we would now
know as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His wartime shrapnel injuries
eventually got the better of him and he passed while I was still a boy.
I have not chosen to talk about Dad because his story was
extraordinary, in fact just the opposite. His experiences, his courage and the
long term impact of his service was typical of the Aussie aircrew who
volunteered to serve. Every day of a long and bloody campaign was full of
individual acts of courage and selfless devotion to duty, some recognised and
lauded, some known only to the individuals directly involved.
Without straying into the contentious area of histories view
of the nature of the area bombing campaign, I think all here would agree that
the members of Bomber Command were not sufficiently well recognised for their
service at the cessation of hostilities.
I am greatly honoured to join you here today in helping to
ensure that their contribution is appropriately acknowledged and commemorated
now - and into the future.
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