was 7 hours.
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.
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
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 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
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)
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.
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.
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,”
“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
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