Fwd: THE LAST FLIGHT OF HX313 by ALAN SKEOCH Page 3

Begin forwarded message:

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

Subject: Fwd: THE LAST FLIGHT OF HX313 by ALAN SKEOCH Page 2

Date: October 4, 2019 at 12:26:49 PM EDT

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

Pages 1,  2, and 3

NOTE:   I have begun to transcribe this story which was originally
written in  an attempt to discover how RCAF sergeant George Freeman
died on May 27,1944…as time permits I will transcribe the story…and look for the pictures.
There will be typos.


THE LAST FLIGHT OF  HX 313  

(Original written in 1984, Current rewrite Oct. 2019)

alan skeoch

Death doesn’t impact on a six year old as much as it does on an adult.  When George Freeman was declared missing on May 28, 1944, I barely noticed.
My parents were a little different that day I imagine. Quieter. Distracted.  My brother Eric  and I may have slipped out to Dufferin  Park as usual.  We  didn’t
really know there was a war being fought in Western Europe, the Middle East, Burma, China  and  islands chains of the Pacific Ocean. Not real to us at all
To us the world war was fantasy as we spent a lot of time playing  ‘guns’ with wooden weapons made from cast offs from the local piano factory. We  spent
more time  playing cowboys and indians than replicating the confusing  combatants of World War II.

The only real war we knew about were the gang wars between the Beanery  and  Junction gangs which seemed to rage regularly when waves teen age hoodlums
attacked each other with lead pipes and baseball bats or fists and hand held broken  beer bottles.  Time has magnified these fights in my memory.  There are
only a few news clippings that even mention these battles.   Eric  and I did see  some battles that’s for sure.   As to how  often  I cannot be  sure.  But they did
happen.  I know  this  because we watched  them from the safety of our rented  flat at 18 Sylvan Avenue, a large Victorian house right inside Dufferin Park.
We saw the police  arrive in force to break up the combat and  when the field was  clear we tried to pick up what was left behind by the gangs. This included
what mother called “dirty things” left earlier under the forsythia bushes which bisected the park in those days. “Good balloons, Mum.”

So the  disappearance of George Freeman passed unnoticed. I never met him even though he  was a cousin.  I do remember, however, Mom taking  us by
street car to the Hunt Club Golf Course just before Christmas  in 1944.  Uncle Chris Freeman  was the head greenskeeper and  as such lived  in a nice
little house in the  centre of the place.  I remember aunt Kitty crying cause someone had  died.  Uncle  Chris who had a crooked eye was stoic but
serious.  Normally he liked to tease us.  Good humoured kind of man.  But not that year.  Mom  explained  that their son, George, has been declared
missing in acton.  He was likely dead they knew but they clung to the hope he  would turn up in a German POW camp when the war ended.

His bags were sent home from his 427 squadron headquarters at Skipton on Swale in Yorkshire.  Seems I remember mom saying that aunt Kitty took
the suitcase up to George’s room and left it there.  Unopened.  She clung to the  hope  he would be found and return to them at war’s end.  That hope
was held through 1945 and even into 1946 because newspaper  reports  of  long lost soldiers and airmen continued to crop up.  That room was waiting.
George Freeman became  a kind of  ghostly mystery figure to us.   His room…his bag…were a kind of mysterious presence that entered the long term
storage of  my brain.  Even  now, over 70 years later,  I can visualize that greenskeepers house with aunt Kitty misty eyed  and  uncle Chris stoic.

A strange thing happened to me forty years after George Freeman died in that Halifax Bomber labelled  HX 313.  Something made  me  want to try and
find out what happened to George Freeman.  I began  to try to put the fragments of his life together in 1984.   What really happened in the skies over
Belgium on May 27, 1944?  As a history teacher  at Parkdale Collegiate  Institute I wanted my students to understand what it was like to be  young, patriotic
and idealistic in the1940’s.   Wanted the students of 1984 to see  themselves wearing George’s fleece  lined RCAF boots rather than  just reading  aging
historical facts.   I had no idea just how  startling the story would become.

Where to begin?  Records existed, I knew  that but I wanted to put flesh and blood on those  records.  So asked George’s sister Lillian, we called her Mickey
for some reason, if she had any letters sent by George from  Yorkshire.   She had a few letters and small pictures but she had no idea what happened
on that last day when HX 323 fell flaming  from the skies over Bourg  Leopold.   Most moving was a picture of George  in this RCAF  uniform.  He  looked
so much like  our own sons.  Young.  But also serious and perhaps idealistic.

INSERT PHOTO

to be  continued
…the story is longer than  I ever expected

These first few fragments became parts of what became  a giant jig  saw puzzle with many pieces  missing and others in a jumble for me to sort.  One  piece  dated  January 4, 1944

was a starting point. 

 “Please  accept my sincere sympathies in this period  of  great anxiety. I trust that favourable word will be forthcoming of  your son.  The enclosed letter (and snapshots) 

addressed to you was found amongst your son’s personal effects. We  regret the necessity of having to censor the letter for security reasons, and  to ascertain  if  it contained  

anything of  a testamentary nature.”  signed  by Squadron leader  Pennington of #6 Bomber Group

The snapshots  turned  out to be wonderful clues. The letter, George’s  last letter, revealed  that he knew his chances of survival were slim.  He  was taking extra flights to try and get

his 20 flights  over with.  Air crews who survived 20  bomber raids were relieved of future  raids  unless they volunteered to continue these risky flights which many  did even with

the horrific death rates.  George was  planning to stop it seemed  although that was  not certain.  He was  committed to the war effort.  But would  he continue with HX 313?

Maybe  not for he had fallen in love with an English girl ands  preparing to surprise aunt Kitty with an engagement announcement.  “The girl works in our mess and is a  good girl.

In fact, mom, she is a  Cockney, so  you have an  idea  from  that what she is like. Her parents made me  very welcome and  I had two eggs there.”  Included with the letter was a

snapshot of George and his girlfriend in each others arms.  Smiling.  We would never know her name.  Tragic romances  were all too common among  members of #6 Bomber Group.

INSERT PHOTO

George also told  his  mom that he  had bought her a  Victory Bond.  But he said  nothing about the  war or HX 313.  One  tiny photograph wa dated February 10, 1944, taken in front

of a flimsy  looking  barrack on which was printed  “Moe, Pop, Bob, Wilf, Eric, Casey and Me”.  No last names but enough hints to  lead me deeper.  As things turned out “Pop” became

the linchpin I needed to get all the  pieces in place.  Sorry for the mixed  metaphor.

INSERT PHOTO

INSERT PHOTO

The final  snapshot, taken after the war, showed  wooden cross labelled ‘P.O. Freeman,  G.F., RCAF, KS 28,5, 44, #J 88397”.  George would not be returning To aunt Kitty and  Uncle Chris.

INSERT PHOTO

Then I  found a crumpled news clipping with the title “Nazi rockets Failed to stop Canadians” referring  to George Freeman’s first flight in HX 313.  A strong hint that the skies over

Germany were filled  with rockets and flak and  night fighters…and terror.

But I still knew nothing about the last flight of  HX 313.  George was the mid upper gunner in that lumbering Halifax bomber belonging to Tiger Squadron,  RCAF.  Efforts to get information from otters  

failed because  the Privacy Act forbade the release of  crew members that survived  the war.  Strange.  Must be some  reason for this but I failed  to know what reason.   Lillian   

Peers, George Freeman’s  sister, told me that the pilot of HX 33 visited  their golf club home after the war. “His name was Mallet and  the meeting was very emotional for all of them.”

The story could have ended there were it not for the  offer of a CBC Classified appeal. “At the sound of the beep, give your message…be sharp and specific”

“Eric Mallet, are  you listening?  You were the pilot of a Halifax bomber that was shot down over Belgium on the  night of  May  27, 1944.  Your upper middle gunner was George Freeman,

my cousin, who was killed. I am trying to  put together the details of his death.”  Then  I innocently mentioned the little snapshot of the pet Scotch Terrier sitting in George’s Air Force hat.

“I  have a  few  fragments that belonged  to George.  One is  an RCAF hat sitting upside down with a  little black dog below which is written “Nooky, Squadron Leader”, perhaps that clue

might help.”   Does the word  have any meaning?”

Well the word certainly had meaning. Many listeners responded to let me know that Nooky referred to sexual activity of a  casual  nature. Mention  of  Skipton  on Swale and  #6 Bomber 

Group and  HX 313 along with Nooky resulted  in a  shower of puzzle pieces.  Many clarified he meaning of  Nooky.  “Refers to sexual activity, Alan.”   I should have  known  that and

had I known I would never have included  it in a CBC radio broadcast that went clear across Canada  from  seas to sea to sea.

Several phone calls came  immediately.  Most were irrelevant.  Veteran airmen just making contact…wanting  to help.  Mothers  who  had lost sons.  Sisters who had  lost brothers.  One

man living in a dirt encrusted  room on Toronto’s River Street was  insistent I visit him.  Doing so I realized  he  had   lost the battle with alcohol long ago.  He had  been a gunner  with

#6 Bomer Group but had never met George Freeman.  He just wanted someone to talk to.

There was no call or letter from any of the four surviving crew members of  HX313.  But there was one unusual call.  “Alan, my name is Joyce Inkster, a listener told me to call you and

offer my help.  For the  past few years my husband and I have been tracing and reassembling RCAF flight crews.  Perhaps we can help you.”

The  Inkster were part of the Allied Air Forces Reunion.  Joyce Inkster was a  female version of Sherlock Hollmes.  Within  a day  she  had  found the casualty report for the night

of May 27/28, 1944.  It listed when names of the crew and 1944 addresses.  Pilot Eric Mallet was from Vancouver.  Mrs. Inkster consulted  her collection of telephone books from

around  the world,  No Mallet listed in Vancouver.  “Let’s try Victoria”  There was an E.  Mallett.  Was it worth a call…budget  over run possible was in my mind.  I could not afford to

call every Mallett in Canada. “Don’t worry, I have  a system. I make the call when rates  are low, say the  message  fast…of wrong person end the call in less than a minute.  But first

I need a clue that will guarantee I’ve  reached the right person.”

The Scotch  Terrier picture…Nooky….almost barked at us.

“Are  you Eric  Mallett the pilot of HX 313 in 1944?”

“Yes,” My heart skipped a beat.

“Did you have  a  mascot?”

“Yes,  we had a scotch  terrier.”

The pilot of HX 313 had been found and the story began to unfold. I was asked  to return  the CBC  Joe Cote show snd tell the audience the  story as  it stood.

We found the  pilot of HX323 living in Victoria, British  Columbia, talked with him…he confirmed that they had a mascot… Scotch Terrier  Nooky.

“We had a seven man crew normally but on our last doomed flight we had an eight member. New pilots joining the squadron were assigned to a veteran pilot for

one live operations  flight so we  had co-pilot W.F. Elliott  aboard.  Of our eight man crew, 3 were killed but 5 managed to bail out.”

THE LAST FLIGHT OF HX 313 –  LETTER FROM PILOT OFFICER ERIC  MALLETT,  1984

Many Bombers featured ‘Blonde Bomber’ nose art.  This photo of a Handly Page  Halifax bomber

is likely not HX 313. 

Picture of personal standing  on wings of a Halifax Bomber at Skipton on Swale

Yorkshire, where  George Freeman was stationed as a mid upper gunner on

HX 313, Number 427 Tiger Squadron, Number Six Bomber Group, RCAF.

“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

Note from 2019:  Wow!  What a letter.  More to come. Eric  Mallett included the addresses of two other survivors.   The story was growing and growing.   It could  so  easily have  been  

lost.  What followed was almost a  year of contacts back  and forth and even  a visit with Victor Poppa in Cslifornia topped  off by him travelling to Toronto in a ramshackle truck

and trailer filled with spare used tires.  Victor’s  story eventually took  over.  Hank’s best friend.   Could  I put their life experiences  back together?   Pictures  are a bit of

a problem  for me  in 2019.  They are here among my books and records but it will take time to find them.   My  priority is  to get the written account transcribed to digital.

Note from 2019:  This is the  living quarters at airbase Skipton on Swale in 1944, a series of  Quonset buildings with rounded roofs.  The ruined  brick  building

was the  operations centre, picture taken about 1984 when the airbase had  been converted to a chicken farm after  the tarmac landing strip had  been

ripped up.

TO BE CONTINUED … TRANSCRIBING MY 1984 STORY NOW IN 2019…HOPE YOU ENJOY IT