Voices from the War Years

In the Welsh family, one of the saddest stories has to do with cousin Vernon, Aunty May's only son, who died in a plane crash in 1943. It was almost 50 years later-1983- that a letter arrived in Port Talbot addressed to Uncle John. This is the letter:

Dear Mr. Thompson,
I realise this is somewhat belated- a lot of water has gone under the bridge-so to speak since October 7th, 1943.

As the tail-gunner on Wellington R-1028- and the only survivor that night when we crashed at the Lamb Inn-Great Rissington, Gloucestershire. I have always felt down through the years that it would be my duty to try and contact the crew's relatives, brothers, sisters etc,

After having been in hospital that time with burns, lacerated knees and a bad gash in the scalp (22 stitches)- 14 weeks later, I was given a new crew and went back flying in operations over Europe-also being posted out to Italy,- I completely lost track of my former crew's home addresses-time  went on, and we moved around a lot in the RAF-also of course, being war time, things were pretty hectic.

Recently though, I have been in touch with the Severnside Research group (probably the best in England) They have supplied me with all the addresses, including your one.

I have now sent some photos of the pilot's grave marker-Flight Sgt Jack Hazeldine, Australian (who is buried at St. Peter's Churchyard, Little Rissington-Row E-grave 12) to all the relatives, including a 8 by 10 ins. photo of the memorial plaque I recently had made (as you see). I  had this plaque 11 by 15 sent by air-express to the Lamb Inn owner, Mr. Cleverly, who I understand has it up on the wall near the fireplace in the dining pub area of the Lamb Inn.

A Mr. Rennison of the "Severnside group" recently presented a Wellington bomber propeller blade to the Lamb Inn- and I believe Mr. Cleverly(owner) now has this on the wall with the plaque in their memory.

I thought this was a lovely gesture by Mr. Rennison and the group. I rather felt that this was the least I could do in honour of my crew who lost their lives at the Lamb Inn in their duty for their country.

I got to know them all quite well and we had some good times together. We usually called the Bomb Aimer Taffy- Taffy Rees- your cousin. He was a pleasant chap. I got along well with him. He was also good at his job, and was extremely accurate. 

Not only that, but he could fly the Wellington almost as good as the pilot (Jack) He was like a second pilot to Jack.

Sometimes Jack would come back aft to the tail turret to see how things were from a tail gunner's aspect- I would climb out, he would climb in for a while. I would go up forward and sit with Taffy who was flying the aircraft. He was pretty good and could have been a pilot in his own right.

Once or twice he let me take over (every crew member had to know a little about flying) and every other job on the aircraft also.

One day Taffy left me for a few minutes and went back aft to the Elsan (chemical toilet) the loo. Jack was back there and saw him. He shouted "who the hell is flying the plane?" Taffy nonchalantly said," Oh Scotty has it." I don't think Jack appreciated the fact that the tail gunner was flying the aircraft. However everything was fine. ( I had flown before and understood all the controls and instruments) When we got back to our airfield, we all got a good laugh out of Taffy sitting on the Elsan and the gunner flying the plane.

Jack was a first rate pilot, quiet, clean spoken, never get excited and I never saw him get mad, always cool headed.

That night we crashed at the 'Lamb" his last words were, "We're going boys, we're going." No one else uttered a word.

We had been on a 6 hours, 5 minute trip ( in my log book) when the port (left) engine started flashing the red light indicator-lack of oil. Taffy and the wireless operator Sgt Johnson went aft to where the emergency oil tank was situated with a pump handle. ( manual)

However after pumping oil-this was to no avail- the engine suddenly seized up and stopped. We were now on one engine-on reaching Little Rissington, after flying on one engine for some time- we started our final approach to the runway-suddenly our starboard(right) engine decided to pack it in and stopped.

We were now without power, the aircraft stalled out, went straight over and dove in to the ground.

Luckily for me, I had put my turret on the beam-that is 90 degrees to the flight of the aircraft. Most tail gunners did this on take-off or landing. (This probably saved my life)

On impact I was thrown clear through the sliding doors at my back and landed amongst some trees and bushes in the back garden of the Lamb.

I was knocked unconscious-when I came to the aircraft was a crumpled mass and was a burning inferno-exploding gasoline (petrol) all round was flowing in to my eyes. I could barely crawl-and the heat was intense.

An air raid warden saw me and got me clear-put me in to his van and took me to Rissington hospital. Later he was awarded the Order of Merit  for his part in this. (probably saved my life)

I am certain the lads never felt a thing. I'm sure they never suffered-they would have been killed instantly. If they had to go, I certainly hope it was instant.

I have often wondered why I was left? Maybe to tell the tale-who knows? Only God in his wisdom knows. I will never know.

I will never forget them-rarely a day goes by-they do not pass through my thoughts. They will never grow old.

The Official Investigative Report  reads:

"port engine seized up due to lack of oil caused by broken piston rings badly scoring cylinder walls causing severe loss of oil." AOC concurs (Air Officer Commanding)

I sincerely hope that I have done the right thing in contacting all you folks-and that you will all be pleased with the photos. This is the address of Jack's brother in Australia- Mr. E.R. Hazeldine, Box 47, Kangaroo Flats, 3555 Victoria, Australia. All the other crew members are buried in England. If you have the other relatives addresses, I am happy to forward them to you at any time.

I was born up there in Aberdeen Scotland I came out to Canada in 1947. If you wish any further information, I will be pleased to relate anything I may remember from that time.

Most

John Smith. Ex RAF Rear Gunner R-1028 Only Survivor Bomber Command. Per Ardua as Astra-that they be not forgotten.

Mr. John Smith
4556 Cariboo St,
Vancouver BC Canada VSR 5P1.

PS-I might say Sgt H. Cox was not a normal part of the crew, but was a trainee navigator that night under our navigator, Sgt ALf Jones. It was Sgt Cox's first flight-Sad!

The Lamb Inn is at Great Rissington.

From the trenches of Singapore December 1941

Qx17697
Sgt SP Costello
A Coy,2/26 Bn,
AIF.,
Malaya,
Dec 1941

Dear Monica,

I received your letter quite a while ago. Since I came down here, I have got into quite a letter-writing mood. As a matter of fact, since I came down here I have got ahead of my correspondence instead of being behind as I was in the other camps. The reason for this is that all there is to do here is to write letters, read or sleep. I have managed to do quite a lot of all of them.

How is the job going these days? I hope no ill-mannered boys have been throwing over-ripe fruit at you, or as far as that goes, fruit that is not over-ripe.

I'm pleased to know that Stibs (the dog)  is growing up and he is attached to Jim. If Jim treats him properly, he will grow into a very good dog. We have a dog here as a company mascot. his name is Tiger and he is good cobbers with everyone in the company.

How did you do in the Junior? I suppose it is over by now. Have any of you seen Gilbert Kirby lately? I suppose he is working hard since his class III examination is not far off.

I recall the girl that we used to call "Shark Bait" but have never met her nor knew her name. Tell her that if she goes to Maroochydore this Christmas, she'd better reduce her distance somewhat as the ( Maroochydore Surf Club) must now be very small, because 18 members including Arthur Scott have so far enlisted.

I hope that by this time you have had some rain there. There is no lack of it over here at present and if you do not watch, your equipment is turned green in a day from mildew.

As far as the girls from the group are concerned, I think its even betting as to whether the needles get worn out first. Personally I think the needles will run a bad second.

Well, no more news. I will close now. Give my regards to all the Quinn family and tell Mair's to have a giggle on my behalf.

Love to all at home,

Steve.

A.Griffin

Two months later, Stephen was facing the full brunt of the Japanese attack on Singapore and the waiting was over. On the second day of the attack, he was shot and killed near Kranji, the place that now is set aside as a war memorial. Like hundreds of others, Steve's body was never identified to be buried. His memorial is on the wall of memory at Kranji today. In the early 1980's, I was privileged to visit Kranji and celebrate a requiem for my lost and much loved Uncle not far from where he fell.

To read the letter is to imagine that nothing is happening. Yet, aware of strict censorship and the hope even as late as December of 1941 that Singapore was impregnable, one knows that Uncle Steve could have told a lot more than he did. The rain and the mildew give us hints of the oppressive conditions, but the nervous waiting, knowing that an attack was expected-that was why they were rushed onto the front lines- but from where and in what force- of all that, we can only guess.