Lenny’s Story

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Bernie Hawkins and has been added to the website on behalf of Vera Scott-Jackson with her permission and she fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Not so long ago a cousin of mine died. He died suddenly and peacefully at his home, a contented, loving husband and grandfather. Some sixty years ago he might have died as suddenly but not as peacefully when he was a rear gunner in a Lancaster bomber — a “Tail-end Charlie”. This is Lenny’s story as he wrote it.

“It was November 1941, a friend and I, slightly inebriated, decided to enlist in the armed forces. Being under age, we added on a couple of years and said we would send on our birth certificates later. The Recruiting Office was in Romford, Essex, situated on three floors. The bottom floor was the Royal Navy, the next was the Army and the top was the Royal Air Force. I don’t know how it happened but I ended up on the top floor, my friend on the first. A week later I received a letter to report to London for an interview for Air Crew.

Eventually I arrived at a place called Stormy Downs in South Wales to do my basic training. My first flight was in a Defiant aircraft and after that in Whitleys. We trained for a month and I passed out as Sergeant Air Gunner. Then I went on to Wellington bombers before I picked up my crew. What a great lot of lads they were. My skipper was Sgt. Norton and what a fine pilot he was. Len Russell was the wireless operator, Al Delasturer was the navigator. Our first operation was over France, it was a “nickel raid”. This involved dropping propaganda leaflets. After a lengthy further training period we were sent to a regular RAF station at Lindholme in Lincolnshire where we were then converted to Lancaster bombers. After another period of training in all aspects of flying and the planes we started operations in earnest. We were then transferred to No. 12 Squadron at Wikenby, Lincolnshire. My first operation proper was over Hamburg. It frightened me, yet somehow had a fascination of its own — like a huge fireworks display with searchlights, fires and explosions everywhere, shells from the anti-aircraft guns exploding all around us. The bomb aimer was saying, “Steady, steady, left, left, right, steady”. We were all shouting “For God’s sake drop ‘em” (referring to the bombs of course!). We did three operations over Hamburg on three consecutive nights — it was called the “City of Tears”. I cried myself, we all did. Then the following night it was Mannheim, next night Nuremburg. They certainly started us off at the deep end.

Three nights rest after that, so we all went into Lincoln and got heartily drunk. It helped a bit. We frequented a pub called The Saracen’s Head so often that the landlord gave us the freedom of the pub at any time. Many operations followed — Milan, Munchen-Gladbach, Berlin, Munich, Stuttgart, Hanover, Düsseldorf and many others. Some cities were bombed several times — Berlin was six times. We were attacked by fighters and crashed a few times but somehow we survived. My first tour was thirty-three operations, but it was not all doom and gloom. We had a lot of laughs and hilarious fun; I wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world. After two months rest at Biggin Hill, I was made up to Flying Officer and the second tour was daylight operations as the war was coming to an end. Will write more later …”

Alas, before he could write more he had died, but I am happy to have this record. I was very proud of him.

Vera Scott-Jackson's account of a wartime wedding in London can be read at A7540409, and her school's intructions for evacuees at A7540940.

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