Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Fwd: “SOLDIER”…THE MARE THAT GABRIELA RESCUED

Date: December 27, 2019 at 6:19:48 AM EST

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: “SOLDIER”…HE MARE THAT GABRIELA RESCUED

Date: December 26, 2019 at 2:26:16 PM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

“SOLDIER”…THE MARE THAT NEEDED RESCUE

alan skeoch

dec. 2014

“Who is this?”

  “Her name is Soldier…got her recently.  She  was in distress…starving and her legs were  

deep in a muddy field…mud about 6 to 12 inches deep.”

“:How did you know about her?”

“Phone call from concerned person who knew me and was aware  I had leased Shenley Stables.”

“Do you own  her now?”

“Yes,  she has an excellent pedigree…we will breed her but first she needs

to get her health back.  Starvation easy to see under the blankets.  But her feet

are now fine.”

“Why was she so neglected?”

“Owner fell on hard times.   She was also under distress and did not know what to do.

Offered me  Soldier for a small amount of money.  She  is worth a lot more.  The former 

owner is overjoyed that Soldier has  such  a nice new home.”

Note:  Owning a horse is  a major commitment.  Many owners find they cannot keep up the costs and have

to make distressing decisions.  Often to have the animal put down.

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Fwd: “WE WLL HAVE TO SHOOT HER.”…Then along came Gabriela , horse rescuer.

Date: December 28, 2019 at 10:46:28 AM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: “WE WLL HAVE TO SHOOT HER.”…Then along came Gabriela , horse rescuer.

Date: December 28, 2019 at 10:45:43 AM EST

To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>

“WE WILL HAVE TO SHOOT HER.”

alan skeoch

Dec.  30, 2019

“Hello, is that you Gabriela?”

“Yes.”

“A friend gave me your number.  There is a  magnificent 

mare who is  about to be shot.   Irish…excellent pedigree. Perhaps  you can  intervene.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Her name is Mojo.   She is a 12 year old  Irish mare.  Big horse.

“Why shoot her?”

“She  has gone lame in one foot.  And she  is 12 years old.”

“Lots of horses are 12 and  older.  A friend just lost their

horse at age 32.  Natural  death.”

“The lame leg can get better we think.  The decisions to shoot

her was  a  tough one for the owners so if you want to rescue her,

she is yours.”

“I’ll hitch up the trailer and come down tomorrow.  Let the owners know.”

(Trip there and back took  several hours…but no problem loading

Mojo into the trailer.)

“Alan, this is  Mojo.  Saved in the last moment.”

“Save from what?”

“Being shot.”

“What is she like…hard to handle  I bet because she is  so big?”

“She is gentle…loves  us.   You should  have been here when she arrived.  We put

her out in one pasture with another mare and they ran like the wind…tails flowing…jumping

as high as they could.  Pure joy.”

“What about the lame leg?”

“Not that noticeable really but will need Vet care I  guess.”

“Alan, you should  have been here today.  The mares including Mojo were put in pasture again and

they ran like  wild horses…free…”

“Are you planning to breed her?”

“Already booked…may use AI since a stallion on her back quarters might not be a good  idea.”

“Is she interested?”

“You bet she is.  We put our gelding in the next pasture  and  all hell broke loose as Mojo and the

gelding tried to get together.  He charged the fence as  if he was a  stallion.  And she teased

him the same way.   It was quite a  sight to see.”

“We are trying to think of a new name for Mojo…do you have any ideas?”

“Lots.  I  like the name TRIUMPH for instance.

“I’ll keep  that in mind.”

“Marjorie would call her “BLACK BEAUTY.”

Note…That is Mojo in the distance.

“WHAT are you doing Gabriela?”

“Decorating the stables for Christmas.”

“Why would horses  care?”

“They do care…a horse is  much smarter than people think.”

“Does Mojo know  I am scared of her?”

“Yes,  she  does.”

“Does  she know you are the  person that saved her life?”

“yes.  I could tell by the way she followed me to our horse trailer.

She  did  not hesitate.  And now she greets me every day..  I think

she liked the Christmas  balls as  well.”

Begin forwarded message:

From: SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: BLACK LEGGED TICK GOT WOODY…MARJORIE GOT IT OUT, I HELD WOODY.

Date: December 2, 2019 at 12:09:48 AM EST

To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>

WE GOT IT…A BLACK LEGGED TICK FULL OF BLOOD

alan and marjorie  skeoch

Nov. 2019

featuring Woody, the host

“Alan, come quickly, Woody has a tick embedded in his back.”

“Tweezers…got to get them.”

“You hold Woody, I’ll get the tick.:

“Remember…a firm grip then a steady slow but determined  pull…make sure we get the head of the tick

as well as the body.”

“What kind  of tick do you think it might be?”

“Hope it is not the BLACK LEGGED KIND.”

“steady Woody…steady.”

“Hold his head.”

“Get the tick…ugly looking bastard.”

“Slippery…tweezers keep sliding off.”

“Get right down to Woody’s skin.”

“Got it…firm, determined  but not jerky pull…must get the head of the tick as well as the body”

“Does it have BLSCK LEGS?

“YES, a Black Legged Tick…worst kind”

“Carriers  of Lyme disease.”

“Love deer best…called deer ticks by some.”

“How  does it get attached?”

“The little SOB’s sit on the very tip of plants waiting for Woody to touch the plant…then ZIP!…THE TICK grabs the fur or the skin…

usually the fur … then the tick walks its way down to the skin.”

“Wants  blood…sucks up blood  like a balloon.  Ticks  are so tiny they are not noticed until filled  with blood.

“Some people, like our good Friend “Rooter” do not even know they had a tick on them.  Painless…fills with 

blood then drops off and gets ready to lay 3,000 eggs.”

“Look at the tick.”

“See the black legs?”

“I also see a  chunk of Woody’s flesh.”

“And some strands of Woody’s fur.”

“Ticks could be waiting for us anywhere here…on corn stalks or wild grapes …just about any tall plant…

“What should  we do?”

“Certainly live our lives as normally as possible.”

“But check for ticks and get a Lyme disease shot from

the doctor if  you suspect a tick bite.”

“Do you think Woody knew he had a tick?”

“He likes to rub  up against us often…saying “Get the tick off my back.” with his eyes.

“And us?  What should we do?”

“Well, we should strip and  check our bare bodies  for ticks each night.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Begin forwarded message:

From: SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: PART 3: THE VICTOR POPPA STORY

Date: November 7, 2019 at 4:56:26 PM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, johnricker23@gmail.com, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>

PART 3: THE VICTOR POPPA STORY

Above is a post card Victor sent me shortly before he sent his diary 

manuscript written in 1984-1985 based on the detailed  diary he kept

during World War Two.

When Victor sent me this story in 1984 I was still teaching history at Parkdale Collegiae

Institue, a Toronto downtown core high school.   Parkdale was  and remains a gritty

place where many students have faced poverty and social dislocation..  Tough kids.

Realistic kids.  Nice  Kids.  The  kind you would want as a son or daughter.

Even so, I did not think they could handle the Victor Poppa story without 

some laundering.  And  laundering the historical record  is a very slippery slope.

So I never told the full story.  I told the story of the day HX 313 was shot down

but I did  not put that in its full context.  I used the voice of Vera Lynn whose

wartime singing was used to boost morale.  White Ciffs of Dover, I’ll Be Seeing

You and other songs.

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way
I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you

Note:  The pop music of  World  War II has endured…

Today I think I would not be  so afraid  of using  the “F” word.  Everyone else

is using it.  Netflix uses it so often in its films that the word has no shock value

any more.   I might explain diplomatically that ‘Bless ‘Em All’ is fake news.

The  real song makes a lot more sense.

And, once free of inhibitions, I could tell the Victor Poppa story in a

real  gritty, tragic, compassionate and  humorous way.

Stick with me if you can.  If you can’t just press delete.  Do not

bother to phone me.   I am on a roll.

BLESS ‘EM ALL…THE LONG AND THE SHORT AND THE TALL

alan skeoch

Nov. 2019

beginning Part 3

The Victor Poppa Story

“Bless ‘em All” is the laundered version of a very popular World War 2 song.

The song’s origin is a bit misty.  Maybe written in 1917 during that horrific

war.  But more likely written later.  Certainly popular in World War 2 and

made so by  George Formby and  Vera Lynn.  The laundered lyrics do

not make much sense.   Ordinary  NCO’s were very unlikely to Bless their

sergeants and  officers, especially if they ‘crawled off to their billets’

when the real fighting began…i.e. when to bombers rolled along

the taxiways…

Now take  the lyrics and substitute one word.  Suddenly the song

makes sense.  What is that word? The word is ‘Fuck’. Go ahead

sing it both ways and  you will see  what I mean.  And I bet $10 you

will be humming and singing the unlaundered tune all day.

Bless ’em all,
Bless ’em all.
The long and the short and the tall,

Bless all those Sergeants and WO1‘s,
Bless all those Corporals and their blinkin’/bleedin’ sons,
Cos’ we’re saying goodbye to ’em all.
And back to their Billets they crawl,
You’ll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads bless ’em all

NOW I just wonder if the RCAF flight crews

sand this song while cursing Bomber Harris?

I like to think they did.

SOME of the crew of HX 313.   Ken Sweatman, Bob Muir (?), Eric Mallet, Victor Poppa.  And The Blonde Bomber…HX 313, 424 squadron, RCAF, 1944

Victor looks like so many of the kids I taught in high school which is a reminder that the airmen of  World War Two were just recent high school graduates .

The aircrew of HX 313.  Hank Freeman (George) on far left, and Victor Poppa

on the far right.

THE VICTOR  POPPA STORY, PART 3

(Feb. 21 to May 27, 1944)

“February 21, 1944:  Hank and  I did an inspection of “P” Peter then went to Stores to trade in my old bots for a pair of shoes

and changed my damaged electrical slipper for a new  one.  Hank and I then gave ourselves the afternoon off.  We had a bath.

Hank, Ken, Wilf, Eric and I headed for town and drank it up. The crew now seems closer together for we are now fully

‘blooded’ after our Leipzig experience.   Leipzig was Hand’s first mission as it was for Maurice, our engineer and our

spare Navigator, Ozzie.  Ken told me later that Ozzie sharpened his  skills and we made our way accurately to target 

points marked out by a Pathfinder Squadron.”

“February 22, 1944:  Hank and I reported to Flights  and  were assigned another inspection of “P” Peter.   I skipped ou

Flights and went to our billet to light our small stove.  The coke they gave us was hard  to light so  I pulled the flare

portion out of a Very Pistol Cartridge, slipped the explosive into the bottom of the heater, lit it and that got the coke

going in no time at all.  Must tell the crew about that trick.  Later i went up to the mess and  saw  Joan.

“Eric was always volunteering for other things than flying.  One of  our gunners  had a misfortune and was killed. Terrible

One of our aircraft was following the gunners’ aircraft and could not stop.  His propeller chopped  up the gunner of

the lead  plane. Eric tried to enlist me  as a pall bearer.  I refused with a strong ‘Oh, No!’  Eric  had to find someone 

else.  Think for a moment about that accident.  Grim. “

“Here is another instance about Eric and  his volunteering.  One night we were to go  on a mission. On A long trip

there was always the problem  of urinating.  I kept a can  just outside of my turret in the fuselage.  when the urge came

upon me I just used that can and when the urine froze I threw the ice lump out my rear window which  I kept open

for better visibility.  Then Eric got the bright idea to use me as a urine volunteer.  He was given a device which 

looked like an overlarge condom.  I  was supposed to put it around my penis which was  in turn tied  around

my waist to  prevent it from falling off.  I could urinate to my hearts content just so long as the thing  did  not overfill.

I declined this   magnificent gift saying ‘why don’t you wear it yourself?’  So he  did…for a while.  He disappeared

for a few minutes  while we were going for a briefing and I said, ‘Where did  you go?”  He said the device kept rubbing

on his penis  and as a  result he had  an erection that would  not go down.  We had a good laugh over that one.

“February 23,  1944: Hank and I reported to Flights and did another inspection of “P” Peter.  We find we are too

late to go to Leeming to get our pay.  The  rest of the crew went to Harrogate except Hank who had a date

with Kay.  I stayed in the barracks.

“February 24, 1944:  Hank and I went to Leeming for our pay and hitch hiked a ride to Thirsk and then to Leeds.

Had a few  drinks  then caught train to London.  We  arrived in our usual beat condition, straightened  

ourselves  out at Queens Garden  YMCA.

“February 25, 1944: Hank and I made  a snap visit to the Beaver Club and I was surprised to run into Dick Schott

We trained together in Canada. Dick had been posted to an  English squadron flying Lancasters.  (Later Dick

was shot down and turned up in Stalag Luft VII with me.)  Hank and  I went to London’s Latin Quarter, boozed  

it up and back to YMCA before we fell down.

Note:  Readers who have read Parts 1 and 2 might assume Victor’s consumption of beer so often would

make him an alcoholic  if he survived the war.  When I met him in 1984 he did not drink at all…gave it

up.  Young men in their twenties often drink a lot of beer which does not mean that alcohol  consumption

is a lifetime phenomenon.   Hank and  Victor became very good friends.  Victor survived the war.  George

Hank  Freeman  did  not.   When  Victor was told of Hank’s death in HX 323, he cried.  And  the, 40 years

later , I sent a  letter to Victor, he  also cried.

“February 26, 1944: Hank and I left London for Caterham to visit my brother Max.  We took Max and his

friends out boozing and then dancing. What a wild night.  Met a girl and that’s rhe way she stayed.

“February 27, 1944: Got up late, ate at the snack bar and went to corny movie after which revisited the Valley

Hotel for a few beers then back to sleep on the floor at Max’s billet.   Hardwood floor and two blankets.

“February 28, 1944: I ran into a fellow I knew casually, Joe M…forget his last name.  He recognized me

first.  We  went out dancing again and were thrown out of the dance hall.

“February 29, 1944: Hank and I left for London after saying goodbye to Max and his  pals.  Then on to Leeds,

ate  at the  YMCA and went girl hunting.  We met a couple of nice prospects.  Pub crawling as  usual.

The only place for love making was in the cemetery.  My girl would only venture in a  few yards but Hank’s

girl was willing to go further.  The girls  I was with was too nervous  about her surroundings and no matter

what tactics  I used my efforts  were to no avail.  A  considerable amount of time elapsed and  my girl

and I  were getting cold so she said she was staying at Hank’s girls house. “Let’s walk there and

wait for them.”  It was a  long wait.  About 3.30 a.m. they had still not arrived.   So I left and told  my

girl to tell Hank I  would  meet him at the railway staton.   Some time later Hank came storming into

the station.  Raging mad.  “Hold your breath and then tell me what happened.” It seems Hank and  his

girl were having a  great time and  thought they were in Heaven.  On one occasion they were  making

out with her sitting on a tombstone and  the girl had her legs  off the ground and around Hank’s waist.

At the crucial moment the  Tombstone ‘shifted’  which scared the daylights out of them.  They thought

the ground  was about to open up and swallow them in a grave.  Back at the girls’ house  things got

worse.  My girl  got tired of waiting outside and went into the house and was met by the father. “Where is

my daughter?  He got really angry and got the local constable.  Both looking for the daughter

in the cemetery.   Hank spotted the constable and  the girl’s father first.  Ducking from tombstone to

tombstone they managed to work their way out of the cemetery and  made a  run for it.  This  episode

brings  a smile to my face every time I think about it.  Life does have its’ beautiful moments.

Note:  Sounds hard to believe?  But it fits.   Victor’s diary has so  many similar stories  with

names, dates,  place included.    Lucky George Freemans mother, my  aunt Kitty, has died long

ago.  She might not approve of Hank’s womanizing.  On the other hand ??  I was surprised to

learn that Hank was never mentioned at the Freeman home after his death.  His sisters children,

Doug and Christopher , did not even know George existed until they were adults. The hurt was

that deep.  “I remember  asking why Grandma was crying one day snd  Mom  said, ‘This would

have  been  George’s birthday.”  I said, “Who was George?” “My brother, killed in the war.”

“March 1, 1944:  Hank and I arrived  back at Skipton on the 5.18 out of Leeds.  Had  baths,

opened letters and parcels.  Nice to sleep  between clesn linen sheets.

:March 2,  1944:  Not much doing.  Practiced shooting with my .38 Smith and  Wesson.

Ammot for the .38 is hard to come by.

March 3, 1944:  Reported to flights and were assigned “Q” Quance to inspect.  Hank and  I were

asked if we wanted to apply  for a commission.  We  said ‘sure’ and got busy  filling in the forms

and presented  same.   We felt we could do what we  do and still be gentlemen…just need to refine

the rough edges a  bit.  We are going on a night Bullseye, my 5th, from Base to Redding, London,

Dagenham, Sait Abbots Head, Glasgow,  Catterick, Manchester, Birmingham and  back to base.  

This trip  took 6 hours and15 minutes

NOTE:  Interesting comment “We could do what we do and still be gentlemen.”  The great charm

of  Victor’s diary to me is its’ lack of pretence.  No phoniness.  No snobbery.  Just great joy stripped

of all caution.  Underneath, however, is constant fear.

March, 4, 1944:  We slept till noon then reported to Flights.  Did  our inspections  of “P” Peter.  Took

rest of the afternoon off.  Went back to our billet and lit the stove with a cartridge from a  Very Pistol

(a flare gun) .  Not too worry as I took all the precautions.  Then we had toast and sausages and

tea.  We talked  for a while.  Ken is lost somewhere.

March 5, 1944:  Reported to Flights and were sent to inspect “H” Harry. We were supposed to do

some fighter affiliation but the aircraft was declared  unserviceable.  Back to our billet, lit the stove

with the help of the flare gun. Had toast then went to a  movie.

March 6, 1944:  Reported  to Flights. Operations are in for tonight.  We are to bomb the marshalling

yards in France.  Seems to be an easy target but we are alert.  The  target is the town of  Trappes

which is my 1th mission.   There will be 346 aircraft on the raid, all of them four engined  heavy bombers.

Our gross load is to be 11,500 pounds…8 x 1,000 pound bombs, 7 x 500 pound bombs, 

The trip went smoothly as all of  our squadron made it back safely. Time was 5 hours and 50 minutes.

Happy debriefing.

March 7, 1944: Awoke around  noon hour, had lunch, cleaned  billet, then back to the mess for beer

I  wrote Mary a letter , read a bit and fell asleep.

March  8, 1944:  Hank and I  went to Flights  then gave ourselves the  day off at our favourite pub.

March 9, 1944: Hank and I inspected “Y” York.   Operations were supposed to be on but were 

cancelled.   Wilf went to town with his sailor-boy brother in law.  Wilf was full of alcohol before they

left the base.  

March 10, 1944:  Reported to Flights…we are ‘on’ for tonight…then a few  hours later it

was called of,  Flew out to the North Sea where a smoke float was thrown out and Hank and I

shot the float from a broadside position.  We used 2,000  rounds apiece.  Very low  flying, close

to the water.   Flying time 2 hours

March11, 1944:  We reported to Flights and were assigned “P” Peter to do complete job checking

from guns to turrets.  Then we were of to the Sam Hutton pub for beer.  Had some trouble

walking home.

March 12, 1944:  Same…assigned “P” Peter to check after which we did some “homing on our

radio beam”  and some 3 and 2 motored flying.  Later Hank  and  I did some Skeet shooting and

I got 14 out of 20.  

Today a new Mark VI Halifax landed,  a new  replacement.

March  13, 1944: Usual routine and  checked “P” Peter again. The special equipment and

bombsight were declared unserviceable.  Then  some 3 motored flying.

Maurice pissed me off and  just as I was going to settle things with my fists Bob intervened

and pushed me aside.  Maurice will never fit in as part of our crew.   Missions were on for 

tonight but we were not on the Battle Orders.

March 14, 1944:  Reported  to Flights.  Another air test which took 5 minutes doing evasive 

action practice.  Special equipment checks out.  Then  sent out on a Command  Bullseye, my

6th.  Took off at 2015 hours..base to Cambridge, Norwich, Lincoln, Newcastle,  Leeds,Hull, Peterborough

and  Base.  We were coned by searchlights once for 4 minutes.   The whole exercise makes

me feel good.  Took 4 hours and 10 minutes.

March15, 1944:  Operations on for tonight.  Target is  Stuttgart,  my 11t mission.  We  are sending

788 aircraft all 4 motored heavies.   Bad  night for we lost 40 aircraft and 280 crewmen…some killed,

some  captured snd  some wounded.   Our bomb was 4,000 pounds of  incendiaries

plus 2 x 250 lb bombs.  At briefing  we  are given our winds, altitudes, turning point which  is

redding, North of London.   The  wall map points out all the flak positions and the concentration

of their 88 mm. anti-aircraft gun.   Also what potential  night fighters we may  meet.   

On the raid we did not have too much of a problem, plenty of flak though.  We fly south

and make our turn over the Swiss Alps just short of the border.  The firing of  flak  guns

defines the border for us. There is not much distance between us  and the snow capped mountains.

 Stuttgart suburbs the worst flak.  We are getting banged about. 

Ken is now in position getting ready to drop the bombs.  Hank yells as another aircraft above

us is dropping his bombs.  Eric quickly moves “P”Peter  as bombs pass on our side.  The

whole city of Stutgart is illuminated by our fires and their searchlights.  I can  see bombs

exploding and  new fires  starting.   Down below Hitler’s people are getting their premature

view of  Hell.  Shells are bursting close and we are taking some hits from Flak shrapnel.

Hank and I are keeping both eyes open for night fighters.   This is some night.  Ken  has

dropped  his bombs. Eric is  now flying straight and even until our photo flashes go of and

our camera catches our bombs bursting.  Then Eric is given his new course and  we are on

way home but everyone is alert because this mission is far from over.  We do not make it

home and have to land at a Typhoon fighter base on the south coast of England.  We pick

our location to land using the ‘Nemo’ emergency call and the corresponding  ‘Darky’

response.   As we  circle  the field the outer lights are in water.   Is this a dummy airfield?

“Darky” responds by  flashing lights on  and  off.  We spot the runway lights and make your

final run, touch down and park “P” Peter at a dispersal.  since this is a fighter base the dispersal

points are not too large.  We got what rest we could and in daylight found our hydraulics were

unserviceable.   We had a  hole in our flap and the bomb bay doors also had holes. The flaps

for landing are set at 90 degrees but we could  not raise the flaps hydraulically for takeoff.  Rather

than hang around for repairs we elected to push the flaps up manually into takeoff  position, leave

the landing gear down and fly to base at Skipton.   This  worked out fine.  Sttuttgart took 8 hours  and 40 minutes.

Each bombing raid  was horrific for German civilians as seen above

…the  picture may have been taken after the HAmberg raids  but

could apply to other raids. 

Note:  There were 53 raids on Stuttgart because of the heavy industrial plants. Only partly  successful

because the  city had deep valleys and heavy defences.  Allies lost 300 aircraft and 2,400 crewmen.

Death toll on ground  was 4,950 people.  Death toll lighter than the Hamburg raids that killed

35,000 to 45,000 people. The bombing created 15 million cubic metres of  rubble

and damaged or destroyed 39,125 buildings.  

March 17, 1944:  Hank and I did  a little Skeet shooting.  I got 9 out of 10.

March 18, 1944:  Operation are on.  Target is Frankfurt on the Main River.  This will be

my 12th mission. At briefing we were told what to expect as we were given our weather, altitude ,

route as well as the flak positions.  This time we are carrying 4,600 pounds of explosives.

There will be 719 planes, all heavies.   We lost 22 aircraft and 154 men.   We took off at 1850 hours,

Over the English Chnnell.    Our airspeed indicator quit working as did our compass.

Bob does  not want to continue’   We still have  our magnetic compass and  Eric  can get Quite close

to the air speed required.  Bob rofuses to navigate and  the rest of the crew are pissed off at him.

So Eric makes a turn to return to base. A new decision needs to be  made.  Should we  dump our  bombs….

a danger below as some troops are practising for the coming invasion of Europe in.  We did not know this

but we knew there were our ships at sea.  Or should we return to base with our bombs  which is always a danger

especially when we had  a load of fuel.  We decided to fly around  and burn up fuel and then land.  Nobody is

happy about this situation for it means we will face another mission to make up for the aborted mission

at the end of our 29 missions.

March  19, 1944:  We slept until noon and then reported to Flights.  I played checkers with Hank and Rennie…lost.

We  are giving the job of trying out “M” Mother for an acceptance test.  Over the North Sea with the airplane…seemed 

fine .  Hank and I fired off 1,000 rounds apiece at the water.  silly.  Landed at 1800 hours.

March  20, 1944:  Hank  and I do our usual inspection of “P” Peter but did not finish due to rain.   Mission is on for

tonight laying mines north of Kiel in the Baltic Sea.   but mission was cancelled.   It is much easier on the nerves

to go on a mission rather than  plan for a mission that is then cancelled.  The led down is terrible.

March 21,1944:  We were supposed to be on a mission tonight, again mine laying in the Baltic Sea. And again

it is cancelled.  The excuse this time is that Eric and Ken are on another course.  Eric is going on an Air Sea Rescue 

course and Ken is on a course on the Mark 14 bomb sight.  I ent over to see Mary at Dishforth for some Tender

Loving Care.

March 22, 1944:  We flew twice today ferrying aircraft  to Croft and returned with another newer Halifax Mark III.

Only firing today was using the flare pistol cartridge to light our stove.

March  23, 1944:  Hank and I got up early to go to Leeming to get some overdue pay…my share was 11 pounds 

and four shillings then went over to the mess and had some gin and bitters along with beer.   Hank and  I took

Kay snd  Betty.  Betty and I have never really got along well together.    Hank decided to end his relationship with

Kay after all this time.  

March 24, 1944:  Hank and I are going on leave today.  We decided not to visit any distant city so set our sights

on York.  Caught train  from Harrogate to York and signed  in at the YMCA.  Then off we went to Betty’s Bar, an

RCAF hanout.  We got talking to P/o Fenton who asked  us to say  hello to Eric as he knew him from some other

place.  The place  was full and drinking was in full swing.  Later we ate at Jack’s cafe.

March 25, 1944:  Hank and I decided to see if we could survive a leave without getting involved with girls.

We planned  to spend a  quiet evening drinking at Betty’s Bar but a couple of girls made their way  to our table

and we chatted  a while then palmed  the girls off to a couple of guys we knew who  were glad to hit ‘pay dirt’

with no effort on their part.  We went back to the YMCA and bed.

March 26, 1944: A  nice spring Sunday with the sun shining and  all the good  stuff.  Hank  and I had 3 beers 

each then visiting places of interest.   Doing all the things a tourist would do.Hank and I were really enjoying our walk

 when out of the  blue this girl runs across the street and skids to a stop in front of us saying, note “I’m ‘Legs’ of

the Robin  Hood (pub) and I’ve fucked every jerk  in Sixth Group Bomber Command”  This presentation came on so

strong that we took a couple of steps back.  This appears to be a threat to this new doll.  So we said, “Well

we are the flying part of Six group and  have never heard  of you”  Meanwhile  the three of us are blocking

the sidewalk.   Hank and I are smoking with our hands  in our pockets, jackets unbuttoned, caps tucked  into

our shoulder straps, when this British Army type officer of some sort of high rank is forced to walk around  us

to get by.  Legs was using some great language and we were given  a real frosty look but we felt it was

best to say nothing.  The Robin Hood was a notorious pub in Leeds but was off limits because of  rampant

V.D.

Legs language was so raw that we  sought to escape to a local park where no one  was near. We  tried

all sorts of things to get rid of her but she just would not leave.  Hank and I were getting hungry and

since we couldn’t get rid of this Gem, we asked her to go with us.  We were getting her to the point

where  her choice of words was almost acceptable. We ordered our meal and then I asked her a

fairly simple  question. “How did  you get the name Legs?”  She promptly pulled up her skirt, way up

past her hips.   You should have seen the looks we  got from the patrons. She  really did have nice legs

however she  was not wearing underwear.   Our respectable leave was being compromised.  We finally maneuvered

Legs to he railway station and we thought that was the end fit all.   Legs was more tenacious than we thought.

We headed back to the YMCA then headed for Betty’s Bar.  In we go…  most of the action is in

the basement.  I asked  Hank to find  a table while I went to the washroom.  Returning I see Hank over

in a corner making frantic gestures.  I hurried over and  Hank  Said,  “Legs is here!” Good grief, our

darling is  right in the middle of the room where she can  Zero in on a victim..  Our beer came and

we kept as low a profile as possible.   Legs spots us and  gives us a wave, heads our way until some

unknowing type introduced himself to Legs and our moment of terror was over.

Well Legs and her new  victim moved to  a booth.  we now felt at ease.  Nor too long later two lovelies walked in 

and sat at the table Legs had vacated.  We  both happened to glance in their direction when one picked up

a cigarette and  asked for a light.  Hank started to rise  and I said, “Hank if you get up and giv her a light, our

respectable leave is as  good as  over.” Hank  said, “No don’t worry, i will just give her a light.”  Hank does this

and comes back saying they want us to join them.  “Ok, just you wait and see,” and after a few drinks  in Betty’s

Bar we all leave for another bar.  Here the girls decide to chug a lug.  Imagine that!  This raises  our eyebrows

so, what the Hell.  Our morals took a giant step backwards.  We hunted around and found a  small old hotel

where the proprietor took us  to a bedroom on the 3rd  floor that only had one 3/4 bd.   The four of us looked

at the bed with an unsaid  question.  Then the proprietor tuned into our wave length and took us to 

another room on the first floor.  The room had two full size beds and a bathroom.  But there was someone

sleeping in one of the beds.  It seems Hank and I were expected to sleep in the empty bed.  No way,  we

had other plans.  After the landlord left, Hank snd  I sped  upstairs to see Gwyn snd Ilene.  Upon entering the

room Gwyn was standing near nude with her shoes, stalkings  snd garter belt.  What a  sight.  Ilene  was

almost in the same state.  I picked  up Gwyn, clothes and  all, and  said ‘’Let’s Go!”  We  made  our way to

the first floor room, snapped on the light and awoke the guy in the other bed.  He was  startled and  did

a double take.   “Don’t interfere, she’s all mine.”  Just then the door opened and  a new guy comes in.  He asked  

what were we doing.  I nodded  towards the empty bed whereupon he said that bed was his.

What a  mess.  I was carrying her clothes  and  Gwyn was still nearly nude.  Off we go back upstairs

where Hank is in bed  with Ilene.  Without saying much Gwyn crawls over those two against the wall  and

get lodged between the two girl.  Nice spot.  We all have our fun and games  and fall asleep.  

Around 5 a.m. the proprietor makes his rounds.  He  has figured things out.  Runs upstairs to our 3rd floor

room, shakes Hank awake.   Hank forgets  where he is.  Sleepy. He gives the proprietor a good  back hand.

Hank becomes fully awake then shakes me  awake. We threaten him a  bit, “you gave us this room

with only one small bed, what do you expect?”  His response “I’m going to get the Specials (MP’s?) and

a constable.  We all decide to get dressed  and  leave fast.  Walked the girls to the railway station. It

was early, maybe 6 a.m. and the locals were going to work.  They gave us  some frosty looks. These

people were not dumb. The girls got the train to Leeds.  Hank and I waited for the train to Harrogate where

we took in a show, lapped up some beer and  headed back to Base.

We discussed the matter and decided to give the respectable leave idea another try next time.

This one sure turned  out to be a honey.

NOTE:  I don’t know whether to include this story in the Victor Poppa story or not.  Sounds  far 

fetched  but Victor uses such precise terms that I am not sure.   Remember Victor rewrote 

the story forty years after the fact.  Did  he improve the story?  I don’t think so.  It fits the

pattern and even provides detail that might fit other romantic  episodes mentioned in short

form earlier.  My experience is limited but I spent ten years working with men in mining 

exploration.  Their stories and  actions were similar.  Some lurid  descriptions and  some  real

events. In the 1960’s  I stayed clear of the sexual opportunities as Ken Sweatman  did in 1944 but other

events involving beer were spot on.  One event in Dawson City.  We  awoke in a dumpy room

where I was sleeping in the bathtub and other guys in the bed.  One guy,locked  out, got into the room

by crawling over the transom above the door.  There were 4 or 5 of us.  We paid for one person rental.

We laughed a lot especially at the two people copulating drunkenly on a barroom floor where

the bartender just rolled them out the door like one gigantic soccer ball.  Believable?

You will say the story is a fabrication but it is a lasting memory of mine.  Victor was

likely saying the truth.  Betty’s Bar was real and can be found described as a wartime

 RCAF Hangout

 on the internet.

March  28 and 29, 1944:  Nothing to report

March 30, 1944:  Ken has been asked  to fly as  a  ‘spare body’ with another crew.  I sure

hope nothing happens to him as  he is  one nice person.

March 31, 1944:  Did  inspection of “P” Peter then drank beer in Mess with my brother Max and Hank.

Max is on leave. We all went to the Sam Hutton for another wild  night.’

April 1, 1944: We went to Flights and Max came along.  The crew like him.  

April 2,  1944:  Hank and I went to Flight…Max slept in until noon. A bunch of 424 Squadron guys took us

along to Leeming where we all had  a  party.  Hank  and  Max got rather  drunk.  I stayed sober because 

my stomach  is  in terrible shape.

April 3, 1944: Hank and I inspected  “P” Peter again.  Max must head  back  to his army units out of 

London…It was good seeing him again.

Note: Skipton Base.   Victor and his crew were assigned  one  of the quonset hut barracks

that are clustered top left.

April 4, 5, 6: 1944:  Rained heavily  for first two days.  Today, 6th of April, we checked  out the guns

on  “R” Romeo.   Later. I borrowed a bicycle and pedalled to Thirst.  

April  7, 1944:  Today  we were supposed to go on a mission to Paris and  Lille but it was cancelled.

We  stayed  around doing nothing.

April 8, 1944: Hank and I harmonized the guns  on “Q” Quebec and “P” Peter. Later Hank, Eric, and Maurice

weht to our local  pub to get boozed up.  Ken, Wilf, and  Bob have gone to Harrogate  to do the same thing.

I decided  to write letters and then go to bed.

April 9, 1944:  Mission #13, Operations  on for tonight.  We are to use “M”Mike tonight.  Hank and I  got busy

with our end  of the airplane then had  dinner before going to the Briefing Room.  Our target will be ‘Villeneuve

St Georges’ near Paris which is a railway yard.  We  are given our route in and out at an  altitude of 6,000 

feet.  We should expect lots of  flak at that altitude we are told.  Our bomb load  is 10,000 lbs of high

explosives.  The flight was not too bad but we took our share of Flak. On takeoff from Skipton, however,

we either flew into some other aircraft’s propeller washer were caught in a wind  shear.  This was not a

healthy situation.  One wing dropped abruptly when we were only 75 feet off the ground. Heavy load

aboard made the situation very serious.  We were just above stall speed.   Eric had enough experience to 

react fast .  Eric hit on top rudder speeding up our low right wing thus creating more lift.  This saved  us.

Anyone with less experience  may not have known what to do  in time.

Note:  In April 1944, Bomber Command concentrated its strikes on German

railway marshalling yards.   This must have been noticed by  German high

command who were expecting an invasion which came on June  6, 1944.

A massive deception was put in place in England. Where were  the invasion forces

going to land?  Picture shows just how concentrated bombing could be.

April 10, 1944:  We are now on leave again. It seems everyone is going off in different directions.  But we

all went to Leeming to pick  up our pay then to Thursk to a tour train.  I’m off to see my brother Max south 

of London.  Then YMCA.

April 11, 1944:  Staying in London for four days.  Went to visit Frank  Hughes but no one home so I went

to the movies and an entertainment centre.  Visited a few pubs.  Bed.

April 12, 1944: Rode  around London on the bus sightseeing then another movie and bar hopping.

April 13, 1944:  Caught the train to Caterham and found out from people who were not supposed to talk

that Max was now in Brighton, booked into the Emery Hotel.

April 14, 15, 16, 1944:  I had no trouble finding Max.  When he was  off duty we went pub crawling then dancing.

Which was what we did for all three  days.  When my funds were  used up I took the train back  to Skipton.

The train journey could have been  better.

April 17, 1944:  I spent most of the day answering letters.

April 18, 1944: Operations on for tonight.  Hank and I did our inspection of “P” Peter.  This  will be my

14rh mission.  Target is another railway marshalling yard called ‘Noisy le Sec’.  Near Paris. When we

work over these marshalling yards we come close to the ground.  So close that the bomb explosions 

make it seem someone is  hammering under the fuseage with a  telephone pole.  There will be 170 heavy bombers this  mission. 

We lost 4 of them on the mission which means  another 28 aircrew will not make it home.  Our bomb load

is 10,000 lbs of high explosives.  This time the route is right over Paris at 12,000 feet.  The flak is heavy

The smoke from the shells permeates our oxygen masks.  The flashes and smoke pass by our bomber

really fast and close together.  The explosions toss our aircraft all over the place but we stay on course.

Ken gets into position for bombing.  Our Mark 14 Bombsight compensates for our irregular flying due to 

the anti-aircraft  shells exploding.   Ken waits for the right moment and  then drops our load.  Then we must

fly straight and level as usual so our camera can take a picture of the impact locations.  We passed over

two French towns where our air forces were working over marshalling yards. 

Limburg railway marshalling yard after a bombing in Dec. 1945

As we passed  over London on our return to Skipton we noticed  that the Luftwaffe was giving

London a pasting.   The anti-aircrsaft fire from London’s anti-iraft defences was  mind boggling.  I could

not imagine any German bomber surviving.   We flew at 13,000 feet which is quite low.  I am tired

and longing for a cigarette.  I cup the cigarette in my oxygen mask. , my cigarette flamed and  burned 

right down to my lips.  I call Maurice on the intercom and

tell him to cut off the oxygen.  He asks why?   “Never mind why, just do it!”  He cuts he oxygen and

I light another cigarette.  This was the first and last time I ever smoked on an aircraft.  We land…flying

time for this mission is  6 hours and 15 minutes. At briefing our camera  confirms that our bombs

were all cocnetrsted on the target..

Note:  German night fighters could  sometimes see the Halifax tail gunners lighting cigarettes

which gave the Germans a clear target in the dark sky.  Cigarette smoking was forbidden for this

reason.  Victor lit his cigarette contrary to orders but he was then over England,  heading home.

April 19, 1944:  Slept late today then picked  up our mail.  Raining hard so we slacked  off.

Lit our stove with the pistol cartridge as usual.  The stove reduces the dampness somewhat.

April 20, 1944:  We  report to Flights and find  out we will be going on a Mission tonight.

We are assigned “U” Uniform which Hank and  I inspect.   I have been  issued a .38 Smith and Wesson

pistol which  I keep in my boot with a flashlight in the other  boot.  Easy to get them if needed.

Take off time is 2105 hours.

Through the day  each of us keep our feelings to ourselves.  This is  mission 15 for me.  Off we 

go to briefing where the target is on a wall map including the route in and  out using

a red ribbon indicating route changes.  Again we will use Redding as the collection and 

turning point.  We will be guided to The target  by Pathfinders leading the attack.

Our target tonight is  “Lens”, another marshalling yard.  There is no doubt

in our minds that we are getting close to D-day.  158 bombers are being sent.  We have

11,000 lbs of high explosives.  Ken has  done well on this one as our camera  reveals.

On  target.  

Skpton on Swale is one  of 3 airfields close to each other in Yorkshire.  Each airfield contains 

two squadrons…about 100 aircraft. There are many near misses when bombers arrive

back at Skipton as bombers take short cuts to get back  to base as fast as  possible.

We hear a lot of anger about these pilots who make Skipton air traffic very dangerous.

There are aircraft who want to get down fast for good reasons…short of fuel, damaged

engines,  serious battle damage, injured crew.  Because of  these emergency landings

we spend several minutes doing circuits around Skipton.   Later a solution is found

…Squadrons at each airfield will alternate  landings on arriving at the airbase  early.

April 21, 1944:  We slept until noon. Operations are on for tonight but not for us. 

Hank, Ken, Bob and  I do not feel  too well so it is just as well we are to

on missions today.

April 22,1944:  Misson # 16 for  me. Hank and I do our inspection of our guns

on “P” Peter then write a few letters at our billet.  Our mission today will be a real ‘gut’

grinding one.   After lunch  we  sit around the briefing room staring at a  map covered 

by a blind.  Our commanding officer enters, everyone  stands, he says ‘Gentlemen, be

seated’. The curtain is  drawn back, our target revealed…a very heavily industrialized

section of Germany  called  the ‘Ruhr Valley’…specific target is Dusseldorf. The Ruhr

Valley  is nick named  Happy Valley by bomber crews.   Today  we will send 997 heavy bombers

in a split force.  613 will bomb Dusseldorf.  384 will bomb elsewhere.  (This night we will

lose  43 aircraft and 310 aircrew.  Our squadron will lose 3 aircraft.)  We are shown

our route in and  out from Dusseldorf. Much of the route is over the heavily defended zones.

We  can expect late doses of flak going in and  coming out.  There will also be

many night fighters.  The room becomes  very quiet as the briefing continues.

Halfway through the briefing in walks Flying Officer B. whose  crew  is already

in the room.  I never saw this pilot ever make it to a briefing on time.  (Later, he was

shot down.   His crew showed  up at Stalag Luft 7 where I was also a POW.

Flight Officer B. survived being shot down but lost his foot on Bailing out.  

It seems he jumped from the hatch  above his  head and the foot was cut off

by the propeller.

Take off is to be at 2210 hours.  We go to our lockers to pick what we will need then  

into the truck that will drop us at “P”Peter’s dispersal site.  We chat with our ground

crew while we wait to climb aboard.  It is still daylight when we take off.  Finally

darkness descends as we reach our assigned altitude and our turning point above

Redding.  By the time we approach the enemy coast I start to calm down. We are often being

shot at by flak and there is danger we will be coned by searchlights. But I feel alright.  Anyway I am busy.

Long ago it seems when Hank and I loaded our guns.  All ready.  The big task is to

try and spot night fighters before we become a target.  We try to keep conversations  short.

Bob has been giving Eric  course directions.  Ken is busy helping Bob by picking up

built up areas on our H2S set.  Wilf is working  his radios.   Maurice is tending to our motors.

Maurice  has the habit of sucking our fuel tanks  dry and waits for the  motors to show

signs of fuel starvation.  Only then does he  switch tanks.  Eric never liked this practice

by Maurice however he never says anything. We are  now on our final course to Dusseldorf.

The  flak is getting more intense.  Eric  can see the target ahead and also see the flak 

density we will soon experience.  A large  area around Dusseldorf is lit up by fires

searchlights.   WE are being battered  by flak burst that are too close.  

Hank snd I are busy  scanning  the skies around us for night fighters.  Ken is now

in position to drop our bombs…2,000 pounds of high explosives snd 4,000 pounds

of incendiaries  Ken is giving Eric the necessary lefts and rights until he decides

to press the release switches.  Once done after the camera shot we start to get close calls

from the flak guns blow.   Then things start to ease up as we head for home.  

The mission took 5 hours s and 45 minutes.  We are debriefed at Skipton. I take my

shot of Navy Rum and any other shots as well.  Then we go for our special bacon

and eggs breakfast given to all returning crews  And finally to bed.

April  23, 1944:  Too busy to make notes in my log book.

Note: “Throughout the war Commonwealth squadrons  were generally the last

to receive new equipment, RCAF squadrons were saddled  with under-powered

twin-engined Wellingtons longer  than  their British counterparts, and also lagged

in receiving  four-engined Halifaxes and  Lancasters.  Many Canadian squadrons 

did without Lancasters … which  were the best for bomb load, range,  ceiling and

ease of handling and lightest on casualties … until 1945.” (Roger Dentley)

One good  point about the Halifax.  It was easier to bail out of with  higher

survival rate if being abandoned  in combat according to a different source.

April  24, 1944:  Operations are on for tonight so Hank and I do our usual inspection of “P” Peter.

We get through the early part of the day OK.   Write letters…speculate on the target…get

very nervous.  Most of the crews are in the briefing room when we enter.  This will  be 

Mission #17 for me.   The curtain is drawn and we see in an instant that the target is Karlsrue.

We note the Flak stations on our route.  Another split force.  613 aircraft will got Karlsruhe and

345 will bomb elsewhere.   Total attack force of958 aircraft. (We will lose 32 bombers and

224  crew members )  

There is a big flash of light behind us as we leave Skipton.  Some plane exploded on takeoff.

The weather is not too good…overcast at 10,000 feet. Conditions worse over Europe.

Our pilots  will have to contend with flying using only instruments.

We fear collisions.   We have six Squadrons taking off from airports  close to each other…all aircraft

Making a standard 360 degree turn left as we climb.  There’re now 144 aircraft circling.  We are in

solid instrument dependent weather…pilots flying strictly by the gauges in front of them.  All of 

us hoping and praying we will not collide with another aircraft in this “soup”.  As we climb I see

a big flash of  light bursting through the ‘soup”.   Someone must have crashed  on take off.  Finally

we break through at 10,000 feet and  sure enough off to our right is another aircraft not 500 feet

from us.  I wonder if there were others  even closer as we circled in the soup.

We continued  to climb crossing the enemy coast where flak bursts light up the clouds.  Like

looking through frosted  window glass.  One good thing.  We are no longer worried  about night

fighters under these conditions.  One worry.  We are picking up ice which is not too good.  We have

no way to break  up the ice.  We do have a kind of paste which is smeared on our wings leading edge.

Looks  like grease.  The weight of the ice and the big bomb load  pulls us down.    Bomb load  includes 

one 2000 pound high explosive and  4,000 pounds  of  incendiaries. Not much is being said on the intercom

but we are all aware of the increased  danger.  Ken is working our H2Sset , Bob passes us some

useful information  as to a  good fix on our  location but does not trust the info.  As a  result we overflew

on the right side of our target.  Bob realizes he  was wrong and gives Eric a new course to fly.We decide 

to unload our bombs  on what seems a likely target.  About 15 minutes later we fly through a hole in the

weather.   We are alone.  Our main force had finished bombing on target and had  headed for home. The

fires  below had burned a hole in the clouds.   Lucky  no Flak.  The target looks  well and truly smitten.

Bob  gave us a new course for home.  Not much more was said about our error…our’ faut pas.’ Flying time

was 7 hours.

 

April 25 and  26, 1944:  No time for diary notes…getting really busy

April  27, 1944   Operations  are on  for tonight.  This  will be my 18th mission.  Takeoff time is 2345 hours and

our target is  once again is railway yards, this time at “Aulnoye”.  Apparently we will not be bothered by

too much flak.  The  fighter problem remains though. The mission includes 116 heavy bombers.  We will carry 

10,000 pounds of high explosives.  And  once again, our ‘master of ceremonies’, the Pathfinder (Mosquito bombers)

will layout our target and instruct us where to lay our eggs. We are flying at 5,000 feet.  Ken is  busy…he does

a good job which our camera confirms  later.  Our time for this  missions  4 ours snd 50 minutes.

April  28 and  29 1944:  Recently we have been getting a lot of ‘on and off’ missions  which are terrible on the nerves.

Especially bad  when we are already in the aircraft and  ready to go. 

April  30, 1944:  Operations are on for tonight, my 19th mission.  This time we are going to “Somain”, a railway

marshalling yard in France.  Our bomb load is15 x 250 pound bomb of high explosives…7,500 pounds.

We  will bomb from an altitude of 6,500 feet.  Pathfinders were supposed to layout the target but failed  to do

so.  While the Pathfinders were taking another try we were asked or orbit off to the left….all 143 aircraft.

Flares  are being dropped  by parachute lighting up the target area as  we have done in all attacks  on 

marshalling yards.  We end  up stooging to one side for 17 minutes then there is a big rush of  aircraft

to unload and get away as  fast as  possible.   We feel the Luftwaffe must be on its way as there are many

fighter bases close by.  As a result of the disrupting the air raid is not a 100% success.  On our way back there was

a short burst of flak that hit the aircraft near us.  There was  an  explosion and bits of the aircraft 

fell  in flames.  This could have been us.  We took some hits from flak but not lethal hits.  Flying time 6 our sand 10 minutes.

My total flying time is  now 317 hours snd  55 minutes.

May 1, 1944:  Operations again  This time we are sent on a mine laying trip to ‘Brest Harbuor’ along with 5 other

aircraft all carrying 2 x 1500 pound atrial  mines.  Nice moonlit night.  We set our course at 10,000 feet altitude.

Eric and  Lt. Compton were going to fly together on this moonlit cruise.

When we reach 10,000 feet Eric says “Do you see Compton?”  I scan the sky and say he is off  to our starboard side.

Eric asks again, “Where?”  I repeat “Starboard”.   Then Eric suddenly lays  us over on our side…way over…perhaps  90

degrees….so far over that it was nip and  tuck whether we were going on our back or not.  I yell, “Eric!”.  Eric  responds,

“I know Vic!”  Fortunately we rolled back right side up.  What happened?  Eric,  in his eagerness to line up with Lt.

Compton over controlled.   (Note:  Lt. Compton finished  his tour, survived the war along with his crew.  He was a

fine person.)  

May 2, 1944:  We are on leave.  Everyone takes off on his  own.   I decided to got to Scotland on this one to visit Ann and  Ruby.

On arrival I find that Ann is off visiting her mother in Manchester.   I look up Ruby and am invited to stay which makes 

things  nice and cosy.  I have a  nice room upstairs.  After everyone is  in bed I hear the back stairs creaking. In comes

Ruby on her tip toes.  Everything was great in this nice soft bed, a real  delight.  This visit was pretty well standard

except for two occasions.  One afternoon while we were walking in the woods the urge arose.  We did  our thing and

only afterword  did  we notice we had an  audience of 6 young children around  10 to 12 years of age.  

Ruby lived very close to Loch Lomond snd one  day  i Rented a  row best and took Ruby for a boat ride. We were

about 200 yards from shore when the urge overtook us.  Ruby layed  back  on the seat  with her back in an arch,

a strain there I should imagine but Ruby was game and  we had our fun.  It never occurred to us that people could

see us easily from the shore.   Later upon returning the row boat the attendant gave us  a broad  smile.  This  

turned  out to be a really delightful leave and  I was well rested …ready to go back  on operations.

May  … I have no diary entrees.  We did a lot of flying.

May  17, 1944:  We are now using the aircraft QB-B HX313,  a  Halifax bomber.  Someone put a  big strain on 

“P” Peter after we used it.   It never seemed to fly properly any  more.

May 17, 1944:  We are assigned to fly twice  today  using QB_B HX313.  First we do fighter affiliation with a

Hawker Hurricane as  the attacking fighter.  We  have a second pilot aboard learning the tricks.  Later we

take off  again so  that Ken can practice bombing over Strensall.  

On the way to  this exercise a de Haviland  Mosquito fighter bomber comes up alongside my turret…in fact

about 25 feet.. close…he indicated he wanted to play.  What a beautiful sight.  I asked Eric if he was  game snd he said yes.

“Give him a run for the money Eric!” I said. After about 8  wild Corkscrews Eric  is pooped out and I Get the chance

to wave the Mosquito off.  He does  a  barrel roll and peels  away.  What a sight seeing such a wonderful  plane

close up and doing some really great flying.  (This picture has stayed crystal clear in my mind all my life.)

May 18, 1944:  Nothing logged

May 19, 1944:  Missions are on for tonight. My 21st.   Mission it to St. Malo, a fairly easy mission mine laying in the

St. Malo harbour  Two aircraft , each carrying 4 x 1500 lob mines.  We cannot close the bomb doors  because of

the bulky mines but this is not big deal.  The mission went smoothly and both aircraft returned to base.  We were

the only planes  used  that night.

May 22, 1944:  Missions are on for tonight.  This makes  NO 22 for me.   We notice that bombs are now being

stored  at our dispersals, a clear sign that D day is just around the corner.  Looks like we can expect more than

one mission per day.  Today our bomb loads are 250 and  500 pound high explosives snd the target is the “Le Mans”

marshalling yards.  The railways are sure getting more than their  share of bombs.  Tonight we send  112 Heavy

bombers.  Two Pathfinders  lead  the way,  Banana  One and Banana Two.   There is trouble dropping the parachute

flares due  to 40 mm anti aircraft guns below.  The Apex of these shells  is at our bombing height of 8,800 feet.

Banana One orders  us  to orbit to starboard.  We  enter a  cloud bank.  Surprisingly there is  not much complaint

over the radio telephone .  We  orbit for about 15 minutes when Banana Two orders  us to bomb the centre of

the green target he has  marked.   We begin our bomb run.  The 15 minutes delay gives our French  friends  time

to move away from the target.  We drop down to low level and do our bomb run then head for the coast

at the same low level.  I can clearly see towns and  even buildings…and  people flashing flashlights at us.  It

is nice to know we are being loved.   We climb to clear the French coast and the coastal guns gave us

our share of flak.  This trip took  5 ours  snd 50 minutes.

May 23, 24, 25,  1944:  Too many  ‘on and  off’ again missions.  Is anyone aware of how these things shatter our nerves?

May 26, 1944   We fly to Strensall today giving Ken some bombing practice.   

May 27, 1944:   NO DIARY ENTRY BECAUSE VICTOR AND HX 313 NEVER CAME BACK TO SKIPTON ON

SWALE.  WE DO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THOUGH WHICH OPENS A DIFFERENT CHAPTER IN

THE VICTOR POPPAS  STORY. BUT FIRST HERE IS WHAT HAPPENED ON THE NIGHT

OF MAY 27/28, 1944 WHICH  WAS THE LAST FLIGHT OF HX 313.

VICTOR POPPA

“Dear Alan,

Your letter came  to me approximately three weeks ago, and upon opening  and reading the first paragraph, I could not talk.

My throat constricted  and  I  had to cry.   It was 40 years ago this day (letter written May27, 1944), that we  were preparing for a

raid on a town in  Belgium…Borg Leopold.  This camp contained 13,000 German troops who had  been fully trained

and were to be moved  out the following  day.  To keep these  troops out of their air raid shelters and  above ground our

air force  planners arranged for the RAF to overfly Borg Leopold and  to continue on to  bomb Achen.  This force 

consisted  of  some 200 Lancasters. The Germans at this time went into their air raid shelters.  Then another force of some

45 Halifax bombers were routed  over our target.  They then made turn and continued on to bomb  Dusseldorf.  Again the

Germans went under to their shelters.  Then we came along…Number Six Bomber Group, RCAF with 333 aircraft which  included

424 Squadron Halifax’s ardour aircraft Q.B. – B – Hx313.  QB were the letters of our Squadron.  B was our  airport letter in the 

Squadron.  HX 313 was the serial number of our aircraft.”

“We were to bomb  from three levels.  The first level was  9,000 feet; second level was 10,900 feet; third level or wave was

11,900 feet.  We  were the third level.  Each wave consisted of 111 and each aircraft carried 18 x  500 pound bombs.

The  raid was to last for ten minutes.  As I  found  out later this raid was a classic for night bombing accuracy.  We  killed

8,500 German  soldiers in ten minutes with hardly any casualties the Belgian civilian  population.”

Note Made 1984: At this point Victor Poppa explained the routine events  of a  bomber operations day  from briefing to

a special meal of bacon and eggs.  As the day wears on the crew begin  to get nervous.  Some write  letters.  George  Freeman

wrote to a girlfriend  (platonic by sound of it) and  sounded  cheerful.  Faking perhaps.  (see Georges’ letters later). 

Some even preferred to write their last wills and  testaments.  Not George  or Victor that I could tell. As evening approaches

the crew put on their flying suits.  Victor loaned  his fur lined  suit to Bob Irwin as his feet got freezing cold…moreso

than the rest of the crew. Victor prefers the electric  flying suit as it take less space in the tiny tail gunners bubble. One 

of the most moving snapshots sent was taken surreptitiously from the crew truck.  It shows a corner of the truck

windshield and  off in the distance silhouette  against the skylines HX 313, the Blonde Bomber.

“Into HX 313 we go, each to his position.   Eric and our passenger  Bob Elliott, co pilot;  Moe, our engineer; Ken to his bomb

aimer’s position;  Bob, our navigator; and Wilf ,our wireless  operator;…all accounted for. Then George  and  myself  to our 

gunners bubbles…George as  upper middle gunner and me as tail gunner.  Eric  goes through the check  list and soon we

are taxiing around the perimeter track to the main runway.  In  position. Eric advances the throttle and we are on our way.”

Note:  Liftoff is  extremely dangerous  as HX 313 is loaded with bombs  and  high  octane fuel.  An error can detonate the load.

There would  be little chance of survival.  The crew knows this…they have seen  it happen.

“We are soon at altitude. Bob, our  navigator, has given Eric  a course and suggested so that we can arrive as scheduled.

All of the previous aircraft have stirred things up.”  (Perhaps German soldiers in Bourg Leopold will be  out watching

the bombers overflying their camp.) “Ken  (bomb aimer) is now in  his position for  bombing as we start our run.  He 

gives Eric  course directions…left, left, right, etc.  We  are  now but a few miles from the  target when Ken says, “Vic, there  is

a JU 88 below us.  I stand  up and try to see under our aircraft but cannot.   Eric  is asked  to  drop a wing so  George can

see.   He can’t see it either.  Ken is asked to give Eric evasive  action  instructions if necessary.  Just then there is  a

horrible explosion in our left inside motor.  HX 313 lurches  up as if struck  by a gigantic hammer.  Flames  run down  our

left side.  Then a few seconds later there is the chatter of machine gun bullets and  cannon shells slamming  through our

aircraft.  The plexiglass nose is shot out but the bombs are secure.”

“Our bomber did not explode.  There were  fires in from front to rear.  The inside  of much  of the plane was cherry red.

My first thoughts were: ‘You have been waiting for this and now  it has finally happened.’ I called on the Intercom

but received  no answer, only static.  HX 313, however, was still flying in a straight line.”

“I pulled off my flying helmet, opened my turret doors, reached for my parachute and snapped it to my chest. I stayed in my

position because  I saw  no parachute go by the tail.   Then,  a few seconds later, I saw  one.  It was open and  on its side

parallel to the ground  just missing the  port rudder and fin. Then I decided to go.  I swung my turrets 90 degrees in the

fuselage and tried to go  out but couldn’t because of the fire and wind.  I tried twice to no avail.   By this time the ground

was appearing quite close.  I could tell from  the fires that to bail out from the aft fuselage exit would have entailed too much 

time and  by then it would be too late anyway.  So I sat there waiting for my end.  The aircraft then went into a  flat spin.

My turret twisted  free and I was flung out by the brute force.  My leg, however, was stuck momentarily under my leg guard.

I could feel my knee pull right out of its socket.   Then my leg came free.  I was falling flat on my back.  I looked on my

chest for my parachute  and it was not there.  The parachute had been pulled away for my chest by the wind force and was

 nowhere feet from my face and above.  Pulled on the

harness  and brought the parachute down close enough so I could  grab  the D ring and pulled. It opened with sharp snap.  A pain

knifed through my groin, I put my arms above my head, grabbed the harness and  pulled thereby  relieving the pain.  A few

seconds later I saw  the ground coming up real fast. I felt as though  I was an arrow.  I hit the ground hard  and collapsed

with my parachute falling on top of me.  I am  sure the chute had  opened  at less that 1,000 feet and our aircraft had been

at 11,900when we were first hit by the flak and  then shot up  by the JU 88.”

“I managed to get onto my feet but I could not feel  anything  from the waist down…felt like metal bands were clamped around

my ankles and knees.   I was standing balanced as though on stilts.  Just t hen I could hear motors screaming…an aircraft

in its death sieve.  I Dropped flat to the ground.  It is amazing how close you think you are to the ground, as  if you are being

pulled down tight, pressed into the grass.  This aircraft hit a few fields away and  exploded.”

“All of this happened at approximately 2 a.m. on the 28th of May, 1944.  After the explosion I found I couldn’t walk but moved with

a painful shuffle.  I moved away from the area slowly.   At wire fences I would put my body through and  then with my hands pull my legs  through.

I moved along in this manner until the dawn started to glow.  Then I made my way  into the centre  of a wheat field where  I  lay down

and fell into a deep  sleep. I awoke at noon hour with the sun shining down at me.   I made my way out of the field and crawled  under

a tree.  I took off my electric suit and found I  had suffered some  spinal chord damage and had torn open my left leg and buttocks.

The  leg was swollen twice its normal  size and black  and blue.  I also had torn muscles and  ligaments.  I crawled  to  a farm house

where the farmer  was kind but reluctant  to hide  me.   He gave  me water and milk to drink.  We were advised in England never

to impose upon these people.   I they showed willingness, fine.   If not, leave.  If we were caught with them they would suffer

Grievously.”

“My legs were starting to stiffen up and  the pain was increasing.  I made  my way to another field where I lay down and rolled and rolled

in agony.   I was this way well into the afternoon.   Finally I felt that I must get  some assistance.  On my knees I made my way  

back to the  farm house and indicated I  would like police assistance.  While waiting, a Belgian doctor gsve

me an injection of some sort but it had no effect.  I gave the farm woman all of my escape  money and shortly two Luftwaffe

NCO’s came  in an automobile.  I was placed in the  back seat with one  NCO and because I  could not bend my  legs I had

to lay across his body.”

“I was driven to our target the previous night.  There was one room left standing where I was deposited on a  bed.   Despite all

of the  killing we had done I was not mistreated.  I was given a bowl of greasy stew which i could not down.  Later, I was visited

by a German medical officer   All he did was rant and rave  at me in German.   Although I Felt he was going to strike me, he did not.

Three days later I was taken outside and placed in the back of a truck with four caskets.  A German NCO pointed to one and

said “Komerad  Irwin. This was our navigator Bob Irwin.  I gave a negative response.  He then pointed  to the casket on my right

and said “Kamerad Wakely”.  This was the coffin of Wilf Wakely.  Again I gave a negative response .  I was not questioned about the 

third caskrt. This one must have been George. The fourth  was empty as I had moved it with my foot.  At that  time I did not know George

was dead.   It wasn’t until I returned to England after the war  was over that I got word from RCAF records that George had  been

killed.  This left me stunned as  Hank (George)  and I were real close friends.”

Note:  Victor  Poppa’s account closed the file on the  last flight of HX 313.   He was the last person to get out of the aircraft.  All had

been able to get out one way or  another, except for George Freeman.  Two who got out were killed when they  hit the ground.

The rest survived. George was  likely killed  when  the JU 88 strafed the plane.  One of the crew remembers George’s legs hanging down

as he worked his way past the upper turret to reach the escape hatch.   The nagging thought that George was remained  alive because

gunners were often trapped in their  turrets like  Victor Poppa.  HX 313 exploded on impact near an abandoned railway station.   Eric  Mallett

and Ken  Sweatman were escorted  past a pile of melted metal that had once been The Blonde  Bomber.  They could not stop to look

closely for their  escorts were members of the Belgian Underground and it was imperative that they hide Ken and Eric as 

quickly as possible.   Victor Poppa, George Elliott and Morris Muir became POW’s.

Victor’s adventures as a POW Had similarities to Steve MacQueen in the The Great Escape…only life was a hell of a lot less

fun.  Worse  for the Russian POW in he adjoining camp where abuse was more prevalent.   Victor had a  choice  when  the war

ended.  Either to walk out of the Stalag or  stay put until Russian troops took over.  The German guards  just disappeared one

night leaving the gate  open when the sun came up. Victor and a friend decided  to take their chances  and  start the long and potentially dangerous

trek through the  Russian sector in hope he could reach the American sector.  He had he good fortune of  hooking up with nine

French  girls hiking their  way  back  home from a German labour  camp.  

Victor had been  on a long march  from a  POW camp in Poland to another in Germany.  On that trek he became aware of the

hatred the German civilian population had toward  air force prisoners.   The bombing of  Bourg Leopold killed  many but the 

constant bombing of German cities killed  a whole lot more.  Mobs tried  to attack air force prisoners. “While in Kohn train station we   were

threatened by a large mob.  Our guards, however, kept order and we were not molested.”   So he knew the risks when  he walked

out of his Stalag and  headed south to American  lines.   In one instance, at dusk, Victor and  his French girls entered a German house

which they thought had been abandoned.   Instead they met a  German officer who was already in bed  but with a  Luger under his sheet

aimed right at them.  They left without incident.  Fear was spreading through the German civilian population in what was to become

East Germany. German  officers and soldiers feared for their lives.

END  OF PART 3:  THE VICTOR POPPA  STORY

PART 4 WILL COVER HIS PRISONER OF WAR (POW) EXPERIENCE

alan skeoch

Nov. 16, 2019

Appendix

1) Eric Mallet’s Description of THAT EVENING OF MAY 27/28, 1944

“Dear Alan:

In the first place I must you that George Freeman was never known to us  as George,  he was Hank.  Hank carried out his duties as  Mid Upper Gunner

with great courage and at no time was overcome  by fear. I am enclosing the only picture  of our aircraft that I have with a member  of the ground crew

sitting in my seat.  The ‘Blonde Bomber’ was one of the finest aircraft that I have ever flown (note: Eric was an experienced  pilot)  At that time the  Halifax 

was the fastest heavy bomber in the world.  We  carried 42 tons of  bombs and 21,000 gallons of100 octane  gasoline, total all up weight was 85,000 pounds 

Hank’sturret had four Browning machine guns capable of firing  1,250 rounds per minute.”

Note from 1984:  Eric Mallett’s enthusiasm for the Halifax contrasted with the opinions of military historians who regarded the Halifax heavy bomber inferior to the Lancaster.

Some historians even went so far as to note that the conversion of  bomber squadrons to Lancasters was done in a discriminatory manner which favoured

RAF  bomber squadrons.   Canadian Number Six Bomber Group continued to fly Halifax bombers to the end of the war.

“The member of  my crew were  Flight Lieutenant Bob Irwin (deceased); Wireless Operator Wilf Wakely (deceased); Vic Poppa, tail gunner; Ken Sweatman, bomb aimer;

Engineer Morris Muir (English); Mid-UpperGunner George Freeman (deceased); and flying  officer Elliot who was coming  along on his first trip…The target was Borg

Leopold in Belgium a base  which the Germans  were using as a  rest camp for their troops from the Russian front.   After leaving the briefing I  mentioned  to the 

crew that we were being sent on a mission for the sole purpose of killing people. We  carried  14,000 lbs. of anti-personnel bombs and the aiming point was to

be the officers quarters.  This mission did not sit well  with the crew. We had already  been through some tough missions against industrial targets but

this  mission made us feel uneasy.”

“Strangely enough we were not able to drop our load.  We were  right on our bomb run when we got hit.  Just a few seconds prior to being hit I had  an

urge to take evasive action but I did not because we had  our bomb doors  open and  had  started  our run.  I didn’t want to spoil the bomb aimers sighting

as there was  no indication of an attack other than my hunch.   Suddenly there  was  a tremendous burst of flame and I gave the order to ‘abandon aircraft ‘

immediately.  Knew from past experience that we only had seconds to do so because  100 octane gasoline  would blow  up once the  flames reached  the 

tanks. The Navigators position was right on top of the  forward escape hatch.  The whole crew was supposed  to go out this exit so  I would know when all

were out.  They did  not, however,  because Bob Irwin couldn’t get the hatch  open.  The second pilot (Elliott) and engineer (Muir) took off the rear seat and

went out of the entrance hatch.  I went forward to see how Bob was  doing and  by good fortune he was  beginning to have some luck so  I went back and

straightened out the aircraft.  In what seemed  like an eternity I returned to the hatch in time to see someone leaving.  I then, did not hesitate to  follow.

Upon hitting the air my flying  boots left me and I then tried  to find the rip chord  on my parachute.  I couldn’t find the  ring for what seemed like another

eternity. Eventually I hooked the ring, otherwise I would  not be here.”

Note:  Even today, Oct. 2, 2019, I can remember reading Eric Mallett’s letter.  Rivetting.  I could hardly believe I  had set an event like  this in

motion back 1984.   I had an idea that this  was  the end of the story so I read  slowly  and  re-read even slower.   But the story of the  Last Flight

of  HX 313 was really just beginning.  Read on!

“Drifting down through the nigh sky, I could see the target with the bombs landing, exploding and  setting fire to the buildings.  I thought for a moment or two

that I was going to land right on it.  The next thing I recall was seeing the ground  come up to me and then  ‘Boom!’…everything was silent.  When I came

to, I found myself right beside  a barbed wire fence.  Remembered my previous training and buried my parachute.  It required much effort.

“It is almost  impossible to describe the feeling that overcame me.  Since that day nothing has ever scored me as all I have do is recall in my

mind this dreadful night and the terrible feeling that I had.”

“I spent the rest  of the night sitting in a cornfield taking off my rings and rank markings as well as looking at my purse and pandora.  The escape kit

contained Horlicks tablets, benzedrine, German, Belgian And French currency.  When daylight came I discovered that I  was close  to a small village.

I knew that i  must get some help as I had a badly cut finger and no footwear.  I waited and  waited to  see what  sort of  traffic was entering or leaving the village.

There seemed  to be none other than that of  someone  tying up a  goat close to  where  I  was  hiding, for  quite  long time I wondered what the tinkling of

the goat’s bell  was.”

“Alan,  I  am going  to sign  off for now for this  is  only the beginning of a long, long story.  Enclosed you will find  your map with the location of the attack. Also 

you will find pictures of my crew, and one of  the Blonde Bomber.   We  were not allowed to take any pictures of our aircraft for security reasons, as  you can

well understand.    Also included is a  picture  of Hank  and Vic  Poppa engaged in a  little horseplay outside of our flight room.   Vic Poppa  and Ken  Sweatman

would be very pleased to hear from you if  would  care to write them.”

Kikndest  Regards

Eric  L. Mallett

2) REMEMBERING GEORGE (HANK) FREEMAN

PICTURE of George Freeman and, I believe, the girl known only as  Kay.  I think

this is the woman he wanted to marry after a year of  chasing women  with his good

friend Victor Poppa.

This story began as an attempt to find out what happened to George Freeman  on that horrific May 27/28 evening.

“At times  Hank and  I went on leave together where we  had undisciplined fun.  Hank had a real way of charming the girls in the mess

as well as on our trips  away from he base.”  As Day approached the crew of  HX 313 were working together  like  a well

oiled machine.  A human machine.  “On one mission it was Hank’s birthday and we  arranged for Ken  to say  ‘Happy Birthday Hank’ instead

of ’Bombs away’.  QB B HX 313 was shot down on its  fourth mission.   The  crew had  flown more than double that number.  Eight missions

for some.  For others, many more missions.  The death rate was high.  They knew  that.

Both planes and men  had short lives in  #6 Bomber Group.   The results of the  steady bombing  was a devastated  Germany.

Ciies turned into rubble.  Factories flattened.  Many many thousands of people maimed and killed.  As allied land troops fanned

out across Germany this devastation became an  embarrassment to many.  As a result  the  Bomber  Groups were never  given

full recognition for their service and some  felt neglected.  Side  lined.  Overlooked.  

The  story was assembled back in1984 and now updated in 2019.  Much has happened and continues to happen.

Discoveries.  Take the war graves for instance.  One of my colleagues, John Maize, was working in Holland in 1984

and I asked him to see  if he could find the grave  of George Freeman.  He found George and Wilf and Bob all

buried side  by side in a military grave in Belgium.   What day do you think he visited the grave site? 

…John Maize arrived  there  on May 27, 1984…exactly 40 years to the day after the Bourg Leopold attack.

And on that same day, May 27, 1984, Victor Poppa, Eric Mallett and Ken Sweatman sent the letters that made this

story possible..

GEORGE FREEMAN’S LAST TWO LETTERS:  THEY WERE NEVER MAILED

When George Freeman’s personal things  were returned aunt Kitty and Uncle Chris, there were two letters

that George had written but never mailed.  They reveal much so have been included.  George was a young man…barely

past the teen age part of his  life as  will be apparent.  Thoughts  of death are not a big part of the letters but those

thoughts  can be found between the lines.

“Arrmed Forces Air Letter

Flight Sergeant Freeman, G.F.,

R190568

RCAF

Overseas

MAY – 1944 (/)

MRS. C.W. FREEMAN,

C/O Scanons Store,

1439 Kingston Road,

Toronto 13, Ont.

Canada

Dearest Mom and Dad,

Well dearest, here I  am again.  Have received a letter from you and another from Mickey (sister).  It sure is swell to hear from you.

We have been pretty busy of late and  I’m pretty tired and would like to see the end  of the war.  Maybe it’ll end soon.  I’m

flying as a  spare gunner and  also as  a  regular member of the crew, it’s a bit risky flying every time but at least it keeps  me from 

being browned off.  Auntie Jean and everybody down that way are fine and send  their love  to you and dad.  I’m sorry dad can’t get the help 

he needs the golf  course. (Chris was  head greenskeeper at the Hunt Club Golf Course in Scarborough where George spent

his teen age years  caddying.) I don’t think I told  you about the visit I paid  on my last leave to one  of the girls parents house.

The girl works in our mess  and is  a good girl.  In fact, mom, she is a Cockney so you have an idea that what she is  like.

Her parents made me very welcome and  I had two eggs there.  Eggs area blessing when you can get  them.  (This  ‘good girl’

and George were planning marriage but her name has been lost).  Frankly,  mom, I like Cockneys the best of anybody

in the south of England.   They don’t beat around  the bush if they are going to tell you something.  Gosh!  I almost forgot you

should receive a Victory Bond  pretty soon.  I’ve paid  for it so do what you want with it.  Seems  like there isn’t much more

to say Mom, outside of I’m fine and  hope you and  everybody are the same.  I’ll close for now with love to all  and  all my love

 to you and Dad and may God

be with you.

All my Love, 

Note: This letter had been ‘opened by the examiner’  on April 6, 1944.

All personal letters were censored in case crucial information would

compromise the war effort.

George   xxxxxxxxx

SECOND LETTER TO ‘DOT’, A GIRLFRIEND BACK HOME IN CANADA

R190568

Sgt. Freemand,

RCAF

OVERSEAS,

30/3/43

Dear Dot,

This is just a couple of paragraphs to let you know I’m still kicking and  that Jerry hasn’t had much  success in getting rid  of me.  How 

goes the battle with you and are you still working as hard as ever?  First, I want to thank you for the swell Valentine.  It was super.

How did  you ever dig it up?  I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favour and send  you  one.  Guess  you’ll have to settle for a  

Christmas card when Christmas rolls  around  again.  Will you thank Beryll for her card and tell her as  soon as I can find  the 

address I will write her too. Kind of me don’t you think?  Thank her for the pics  as well.

Things  are pretty much the same as ever over here.  Nothing good to eat and lots of beer.  I’m still as teetotaler.  The dances 

are corny…always  will be.  This mountain music they dish out here is worse than Columbus  Hall  stuff.  Guess  I sound pretty 

browned  off (fed  up) with things. Well I’m not too  badly put out.  It’s just the monotony of things.  One good thing is ‘leave’

which comes up pretty regularly.  We do get a  bit of a change in scenery, faces,  etc. I saw Sam Manhood on one leave.  

He looks  pretty fed up with everything not to mention that he has  aged  about 4 years.  Say, I wonder if I have aged  too?

The next thing on my list of jazz to talk about is flying.  That too is very monotonous.   I have put in a few trips  over Germany

and haven’t had too  much trouble with Jerry although he does try to give us a scare once in awhile.  The last trip over the 

skipper was in an excited mood at having seen his first real live fighter…F.W. 190.  So  he “dood it in his pants’ if you know

what I  mean.   If  I ever did that I’d ask  for my discharge  so  help me.  The agony of  it was that he had to sit that way for 

six hours.  On the whole it’s not to bad over  there if you keep your eyes open.  Maybe I’ll live through it.  Who knows?

Let’s skip that and talk about you.  That picture we had taken sure was terrific.  I had some time explaining to the boys

that it was  purely a platonic  friendship we had for each other.  How goes you and the Masonic Temple.  Still up there regular?

Are Beryll and  Freddie still on just friendly terms or has Freddie put on the old charm and  made her fall for him?

Well, Dot, there doesn’t seem to be much  more to say outside of it’s closing time.   So give my love, etc.  to the gang

and write soon.  Love to Berryl.

xxxx love xxx

xxx George xxx

4)  IMAGINARY DIALOGUE:  VICTOR POPPA  EXPECTS TO DIE

ALAN SKEOCH

Alan’s Oeuvre

POSTED ONNOVEMBER 7, 2017 BY ALAN SKEOCH

THE LAST FLIGHT OF HX 313

On May 27, 1944, a Halifax Bomber, HX 313, was ripped and torn by a German night Fighter after dropping its bomb load on Bourg Leopold, Belgium.

A cousin who I had  never met was the upper Middle Gunner and was killed as the  night fighter shells ripped  across the underbelly of the plane.  Over the last few decades I have been able to reconstruct much of what happened before, during and after that fateful evening.  My use of dialogue may offend sensitive ears.  Sorry about that.  This will be a long story…to be sent in segments.

alan skeoch

Nov. 2017

(from manuscript written in 1980-1990)

“Night Fighter coming fast…under our guts.”

“Can’t see him Vic…”

“Stitching us…fucking bastard…can anyone hear me?”

“We’re hit bad, Vic…trying toehold her steady…think we’re going in.”

“George…George…for Christ sake answer, George.”

“Crew check, pipe down Victor…

”Bob…bob…take a  look behind me…Bob OK?”

“Dead, Eric…slumped…blood.”

“Victor?  …Am Ok but hydraulics hit.:’”

:Wild…Wilf?…someone check  on Wilf…”

“Ken…Ok…think Wolf got it, maybe George too.”

“Morris…Morris?…Someone check on Morris…controls  shaky…”

“Elliot, you all rigjht?”

“OK!  Fuck, we’re going down.  Eric can you hold  her?”

“Get the hell out…now…Jesus Christ she’s shaking.”

“Victor?”

“Fucking bubble won’t turn…hydraulic lines  cut…can’t get out of this fucking thing.”

“Rest of you, jump now…’chutes on I  goddamn well hope.”

“Victor…Victor…try to manually twist the goddamn bubble…”

“Won’t fucking move. “

“Someone  get back  there and get that fucking bubble to swivel…”

“Ken here…fucking thing is fucked…Victor, can’t help you…goddamit”

‘Get the hell out yourself Ken…I’m going down with her…”

“Everybody out that can get  out…can’t hold  her any longer….going into flat spin…”

“All out…so long Victor.  Sorry…keep trying…”

“Jesus, I’m done for…witness to my own death.  Hope George got out.  Never heard  from him.

Ken was evasive.”

….

“Starting to turn…centrifugal force..”

…

“Fucking bubble moving outward…outward…I can fall out…”

…

“Falling…free…”

…

“Goddamn ‘chute not attached right… just the buckler belt…Falling…got to pull ‘chute down…reach it … shove

myself in…now. can just pull the  rip  …ready?  PULL HARD.

…

FWOOM!

…

“She’s opening.  …

…

“YOW…hurts  like hell…my Groin…my balls…jesus!”

…

“Old Blonde Bomber pirouetting…going to hit…FLASH!…She’s gone…hope boys got out.”

…

“George didn’t answer roll call…maybe his  intercom  fucking smashed.  Maybe not!”

…

“See a field…coming  up fast…YOW! …hurts like hell…but on the fucking ground.”

…

“Dark…must hide ‘chute…pain bad…crawl to fencerow…hide….God…the pain.”

…

“Got to give myself up…crawl to that farmhouse…”

…

“Here, take this evader money…call police to come and get me…Pain bad.:

(Note:  Crew of HX 313.  Eric Mallett, pilot; Bob Irwin, wireless operator, killed; Wilf Wakely (killed), Vic Poppa, Tail Gunner;

Ken Sweatman, Bomb Aimer; Morris Muir (English engineer); George Freeman, mid-Upper Gunner, killed; Flying Officer Elliot (assigned to HX 313 to

make him familiar with bombing raids, his first trip)

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Halifax bomber identical to HX 313…only thing distinguishing HX 313 from others was a nose art painting of a semi-clothed woman beneath which  was

painted  “The Blonde Bomber”.  Just one of the 12,000 planes, mostly bombers, shot down in World War 2.

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The Skipton on Swale air base as  it appears today.  When  we visited the site years ago  it had been converted to  a  large poultry operation.  the ruways had been ripped up except for some  heavy concrete set down pads.

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This is what Skipton on Swale looked like in 1944…a triangle of runways and  holding pads.

“Alan, we don’t have much…just a few fragments…mom and dad only got this and a few others.”

“Thanks, Mickey, I know this story could be rough on you.”

“Mom and dad are  gone now…I would sort of like to know what really  happened to George.”

And so the story began…fragments became clues…clues unfolded the story of The Last Flight of  HX 313…the Blonde Bomber.

One piece seemed Just a nonsense photograph.  Almost a throwaway.  An RCAF officer’s hat sitting upside down n front of a military quintet hut with a little dog sitting in the hat and scrawled below was the picture was the word ‘Nooky’, obviously the puppies name.

Sometimes very simple things  lead  to very big events.  Such was the case of that photograph.  It was taken in 1943 or 1944 by George Freeman at a newly constructed

air base at Skipton on Swale in central Yorkshire.  That much I knew.  One of the few reminders to me that George was once a living breathing  young man.  Never met

George even though he was  my  cousin.  When  he volunteered as a gunner in World War II, I was just a little boy perhaps four or five years old.  At that age the world  is huge, anonymous and a  bit frightening.  Puzzling out relatives impossible.  If George met me, as he may  well have done, he might have tickled me under the chin

or frizzed up my hair with his hand.

“Here Alan are a couple of pictures of George.  RCAF pictures.  Not supposed to take many pictures.  Security. Once they were joyful but tragic events changed all that.”

“Who was George?”

Who was George indeed!  Forty years ago, maybe around 1975 I Was  doing short stories on CBC’s Radio Noon.  Little five minute things.  That was  why  my cousin Mickey

gave  me George’s  picture.  “Might be something you could use for Remembrance day on the radio.”    Could  I uncover the short life of a cousin I had never met?

The officers cap with the puppy and the word  ‘Nooky” was as  good a place as any to start.  “What does the word mean?”  If I  had known the meaning of the word

I would never have made it the central  mystery of my radio  story.  Over the air waves  I wondered  if anyone could tell me anything about the lives  of the young men aboard HX 313 when it was  shot down in May 1944.  “perhaps this  word  Nooky is a clue”

The  response was immediate.  Particularly I  discovered that Nooky referred to sexual activity.  Something young airmen sought after frantically because, by 1944, most of them were aware their lives were going to come to an abrupt end.   Too many of their friends had  died for them not to know  the odds were stacked against them as they made raid after raid deep into  central   Germany in Halifax and  Lancaster bombers.  Slow lumbering machines targeted  by swift German night fighters.   So it was sex  that started me

on the trail of George.  This is the story which I have titled  ‘The Last Flight of HX 313”.

Death doesn’t impact on a five year old as  much sit does on an older person. When George Freeman was  declared  missing on Mya 27, 1944, I  barely noticed.

My parents were a  little different that day,..distracted…so  my brother and I just sipped out to Dufferin Park a little earlier than usual. We didn’t really know there was a war being fought in Europe, the Soviet Union, the Middle East, Burma, China and ten-aged hoodlums attacked each other with lead pipes, baseball bats, knives and, when the weaponry was limited, their bare fists and feet. Etc and I scouted  the battlefield from our third  floor attic  like  turkey vultures seeking carrion. Our rented

flat at 18 Sylvan Avenue was dark and scary, a Victorian mansion at one time but subdivided by our landlady into apartments.  After the gangs ceased fighting due

to police counter raids, Eric and  I tried to gather the hidden tools of war and  trundled them home.  Some things we found were more  related  to love than war as it turned out.  Mom told us  not to bring any more  of those Perfectly good used  balloons

found  beneath the forsythia bushes. “Dirty things, boys,”

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“Red, the letter came today saying Missing in Action.”

“Who this tlme?”

“George Freeman, the  kid.”

“They are all kids, Elsie,…How are Uncle Chris and Aunt Kitty taking it?”

“Bad but hope for the best”

“Those Air Force boys  are getting the  shit knocked out of them.Especially the bomber crews…Flying coffins.”

“What do you think his  chances of survival  are?”

“Not good but some  survive.  We know that from the  Red Cross  parcels that get to German Stalags.”

It was a whispered  conversation, not meant for our ears. Eric was four and I was  six in 1944..  So young that we did

not even know  there  was a war going on in Europe, Russia, the Middle East, China, Japan, the island  strings

in the Pacific Ocean, To Eric and  I any mention of war must mean Dufferin Park where  the Beanery and  Junction

gangs squared of regularly.   Now  that was  a war.

“Eric, come quick the Junction gang has arrived. There’s going to  be a big fight for  sure.”

“Guns?”

“don’t see any…pieces of pipe and baseball  bats.”

“Look a  Beanery  guy just slugged a kid with a piece of pipe…kid dropped down.”

“Dead?”

“No…moving … crawling”

“Police are there now…got one guy  on the hood of the police car…punching him.”

“Watch where they hide their weapons…we can get them with the wagon.”

“Leave those balloons…don’t pick them up…Mom says they are  dirty old things.”

“Make  good  balloons though.”

 Our rented flat at 18 SylvanAvenue,  was a huge  old Victorian pile of bricks  that sat smack dab  in

the south central core of the park.  Gone now. Demolished when Dufferin Park was expanded. The  reasons why  these two gangs of

teen-agers fought made no sense to us.  Made  no sense to mom and dad either.They fought over girls.  They fought over territory.  I

think  they just liked  to fight.  A gang rumble was a kind  of rite of passage.

“What happened Alan?”

“The bad boys got  me  in the ravine…took off my clothes.”

“How many times have I told you not to take that short cut through the  park?”

“I know mom…but they didn’t get the  cucumber.”

“Cucumber?”

“Put it in my shoe…hid it…here it is.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Teacher gave one to all  of us.”

“Why put it  in your shoe?”

“Because the bad boys  check my pockets when  they catch  me.”

Fear made  Eric and I cautious.  The acquisitive instinct made us take risks.  So we spotted  where the gangs hid

their weapons as the police rounded  them.   In 1944, Dufferin Park had  a real wilderness feel to it.  Hills that seemed

high to us and a deep totally wooded ravine cut right through the  park.  The slash of that ravine had to be crossed to get

home from Kent Public School.  And that ravine was where the weapons could be stashed under bushes so thick that people

could even hide beneath them.  Eric and I  hid there sometimes.   Other  things happened  in that ravine that were

quite bewildering.  Boys and girls on top of each other. That’s  where the  balloons could be found.

Today, year 2017, the ravine has been levelled…bushes gone. Hiding places gone.  Just a slight dip in the grassy park.

It was different in 1944 when the  Parkie, Mr. Hayward, tended  all his plantings from his little brick garden shed near Gladstone  Avenue.

Mr. Hayward was one  of our heroes.  He kept an eye   on us when trouble was brewing.  Our small adventures were JUST CHILD’S PLAY.

Our cousin George was in the fight of his life, a fight he  would lose on May 24,1944.

BOMBER COMMAND WAS NOT CHILD’S PLAY

George Freeman was killed in May 1944….the last flight of HX313, a Halifax bomber assigned to 424 squadron of No. 6 Bomber Command  stationed in Skipton on Swale, Yorkshire.  The target that night was Bourg Leopold  where it  was believed a  German regiment was billeted.   The story of  HX 313 is forgotten.  Who among us even know the difference between a Halifax bomber and a Lancaster?  Few Canadians living today know that many Canadians lived and  died  in Halifax Bombers.

When word came back to aunt Kitty and  Uncle Chris that George was  Missing in  Action, they hope for  the best…a slim hope…and  feared the worst.  By 1944

most Canadians  knew the fearful losses of Bomber Command.  They did  not know  the  specifics.  They just knew that their son or a neighbours son or the majority of a high school class were not coming back.

Today the numbers are known.  For  every 100 men and boys in Bomber Command, 45 were killed, 6 were grievously wounded and 8 became prisoners of war.  Only 41

of those 100 airmen  came back unscathed.  Some of those survivors could  never  shake the nightmares that seemed unending.  10,000 Canadian airmen were killed.

The statistic is even more horrific for those who flew in bombers from the beginning of the war until the ned.  Only one out of very ten survived.

We have a tendency to regard the slaughter of Canadians in the trenches of  World  War One as the worst any war could ever offer.  Offer?  Wrong  word but let it stand.

The death rate in Bomber Command  was only exceeded by the death rate in German submarines.  Simps;y and starkly put the majority of the young Canadians  who joined bomber Command did  not survive.

George Freeman was one of these.  Aunt Kitty and Uncle Chris put his kit bag in his room  when it was returned to them.  They left the room the same as it had always been.

Did  George know these fearful statistics?  Maybe not when he first signed  up as and RCAF airman.  But by the time his  squadron, 424 Tiger Squadron of Hamilton,..by the

time George reached Skipton on  Swale in Yorkshire he knew the odds were  stacked  against him. More Bombers were lost in one single night raid than were

lost by Fighter Command in the whole Battle of Britain.  The average loss are of those flying  Halifax Bombers with the RCAF was 6.05% per raid.Over 1 out of every 20 raiding Bombers did  not return to base each raid.Bomber Crews were mandated to make 30 raids each…called tours of operations.  Statistically that meant that only 16% of air crews reached thematic retirement figure of 30 ‘tours of operations’.  Little wonder that some considered these Halifax bombers flying coffins.

How many heavy bombers  in the total  picture of Bomber Command were lost?  12,330 bombers were  either shot down by Germans  Fighters or fell apart when hit by German Flak or, like one of 424 squadrons  Halifax Bombers that failed  to get airborn with its load of bombs that had been chalked with greetings to Adolph Hitler.

Imagine that.  12,330 Bombers  destroyed along with most of their crews.

I have researched and  put together The story of George Freeman’s Halifax bomber,… affectionately emblazoned with a nose art image of a seductive woman and named the Blonde Bomber….but really known as HX 313.

How George died  is not really known.  He was likely killed at his gun position by German intercepte, George was the mid upper gunner, but it is also possible he  was killed on the ground by irate German civilians

who suffered  many civilian casualties in what  became  thousand bomber raids  on German cities by the end of the war. A thousand bombers?  Hard to believe but fact.

PUT IN DIALOGUE FORM:

“George didn’t have a chance?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean most of the boys in RCAF Bomber Command were doomed.   10,000 of them died. For every 100 active Bomber crew, 45 were killed, 6 were horribly wounded
and 8 became prisoners of war.
“Get serious…I never heard that before.”
“Statisitcs  came once the war was over…and not widely published.”
“How many died?”
“10,000”
“Mostly young kids full of piss and vinegar”
“Chances  of an RCAF kid who volunteered  at the beginning of the war and living  to the end was 10%..1 in 10.
“How many bombers were lost…shot down or exploded and fell apart?
“12,330 Bombers in all … no wonder wrecks  are still being discovered …”
“Didn’t I read that a German town was evacuated last moth, Oct. 2017 when a blockbuster bomb was discovered unexploded, buried unnoticed for 60 years.”
“We were hated.”

“So were they.  Hated Germans.  That’s the nature of war…hate justifies nasty things.”
“George may have  been killed by a  night fighter…or killed on the ground by an iriate civilian.”
“Why would a civilian do that?”

“A  lot of the bombs hit civilian targets.”

“Accidentally?”

“No, the bomber raids were planned to destroy German Industry…to spread terror…to break German will to resist….to win the war..”

“How many civilians killed?”

“Over 300,000 and nearly  800,000 wounded by the bombing.”

“Some say 600,000 civilians killed by bombers like HX313.”

“Estimates…who really coined?”

(Note:  I like the dialogue form better than narrative…going to convert my narrative.)

CONCLUSION:  SO  MUCH  HAS NOT BEEN EXPLAINED

There is so  much that needs saying about HX 313, especially the larger picture of the RCAF and 424 Squadron.  To

do so , however, needs a lot of space and a lot of time