Library Reference Number: 095
Ditching in the Atlantic
The following is a further extract from the book “White Crows” by Ian S. Currie. It describes the perpetual struggle during World War 2 to keep open the Atlantic shipping lanes, crucial for the survival of wartime Britain. Ian Currie, a navigator on 502 Squadron flying Armstrong Whitley, among other rigours of operational flying over the vast expanse of the Atlantic, recalls the occasion when engine trouble brought him down into the ocean. Never before had a crew been picked up so far from land, well out of range of the Air Sea Rescue launches.
A few hours after midnight on 24th October 1941, Navigator Ian Currie along with Pilot Keith Southan and crew were briefed to begin the escort of a single ship, the 'Port Wyndham,' which was proceeding independently to Liverpool from New Zealand. She was faster than any U-Boat, but the squadron had orders to provide cover during daylight hours. As the crew struggled to overcome the oppressive weight of interrupted sleep, ground crews prepared their regular aircraft, 'D' for Donald which was a rather ageing Armstrong Whitley of No.502 Squadron, RAF Coastal Command.
"When we entered the Ops Room, sleepy-eyed Controllers were folding their blankets away... The great map of the Atlantic on the wall was blank except for the thin streak of red ribbon which indicated the route of our charge. . . A few scattered symbols marked the suspected positions of marauding U-Boats. Off the Outer Hebrides cruised the destroyer HMS Westcott. Briefing was formal and short. The Met man promised us clear skies and light winds and soon we were speeding along the perimeter to dispersal. A few ground crew as morose and taciturn as ourselves waited to see us off. We made for our usual starting point, the little island of Inistrahull and soon picked up the friendly gleam from its lighthouse. Learning the characteristics of the lighthouses on the western coasts of Scotland and Ireland was a necessary part of the education of a navigator on Coastal Command. All the lighthouses had distinctive patterns; flashing lights emitted .. at regular intervals."
"We set course for the rendezvous and the rugged peaks of the Donegal Mountains, etched darkly, against the sky, slowly faded astern and we were alone in the darkness in our little world between the stars and the sea. As dawn broke there was no sign of our merchant vessel and we began a search when suddenly the engines went out of synchronisation and I looked up to see a tell-tale streak of white vapour pouring from the port engine. It had developed a glycol leak and the precious cooling fluid was evaporating. At the same moment I saw Keith snatch at the jettison handle and our load of depth charges and bombs plummeted into the sea."
"Our plight was an unhappy one. We were over 300 miles from land with one good engine and, since we had been flying at 1500 feet with no height to spare, we knew from squadron's experience that there was little chance of reaching the coast on the starboard engine. There was nothing for it but to turn for home and see how far we could get. The wireless operator had already sent out a distress signal and I passed our position back to base."
The crew of stricken `D' for Donald then proceeded to carry out pre-ditching procedures. Every piece of non-essential equipment was tossed overboard including cameras, ammunition, even the radar screen, the rear door was hacked away and dinghies placed in position. D/F stations would send a fix, and this was sent back to base. Although the drill was to attach estimated ditching position to a pigeon's leg after ditching, it was decided to launch one of the pigeons out of the rear turret. Disappearing into the slipstream scattering feathers liberally, the crew realised that this had not been such a good idea. The order 'ditching stations' was eventually given, and the wireless operator clamped down his key sending out a continuous note before taking up his ditching position. The crew were aware that a plane may slide along for some distance when belly-landing on land; but on water an aircraft stops abruptly as if hitting a brick wall. Ian Currie continues .....
"Suddenly there was a resounding crash, an intense silence and a rush of water up to my waist. I scrambled to my feet to see the skipper's legs disappearing through the escape hatch above his head and I clambered after him, noticing in passing that the front gun was protruding through the windscreen. The aircraft had buried its nose in the crest of a swell and the front compartment had crumpled like a concertina. We climbed along the top of the fuselage to the rear to find the dinghies already inflated and the rest of the crew ready to climb aboard. The smaller one, which held two, had inflated upside down and one of the Wireless/Ops jumped into the water to turn it right side up... both dinghies were still secured by a rope to the fuselage of the aircraft which was slowly sinking and threatening to take our dinghies with it. We had become attached to the old kite for all her imperfections and were sorry to see her go but when the attachment was only too literal we severed the link between us without a qualm. Quietly `D' for Donald sank between the waves to the bottom of the Atlantic where she still lies, leaving only a tiny patch of oil to mark where she had gone down."
"The immensity of the Atlantic struck me forcibly for the first time and I knew that we must be merely a speck on the ocean to searching aircraft. I began to feel the weight of the responsibility that lay on my shoulders. The lives of all six of us depended on the accuracy of the position I had sent."
Having emerged relatively unscathed, the crew now had time to reflect on their situation. They knew it would be at least two hours before any form or attempt of rescue would appear. Dinghy equipment in 1941 was fairly sparse, and consisted only of a stock of distress signals and a canvas paddle. They reckoned the Irish coast was some 120 miles distant, well out of reach of Air Sea Rescue launches. They were visited by curious sea-birds, but more alarming visitors were dark, sinister fins. Sharks they knew were quite common off the Scottish coast, and they scared them off, scared they might puncture their live-saving dinghies.
The crew also realised the importance of being alert to listen for the sound of aircraft engines, and arranged a system of `watches' to pick up sights or sounds. Suddenly, someone gave a shout, they spotted the familiar sight of a Whitley a few miles away. Their hearts sank however, when after sending up several distress signals, the plane disappeared from view.
Ian Currie now describes what followed their initial disappointment at not being spotted.
"Not long afterwards the aircraft reappeared, heading straight for us. It was clearly doing a line ahead search with legs five miles apart which had brought it directly over us. Before leaving the stricken `D' for Donald I had emptied my nav bag and placed in it the Very pistol and cartridges which we carried for recognition purposes. We held our fire until the aircraft was nearly overhead then fired a red Very light. Instantly she began to lose height and was soon circling 50 feet above us. The Aldis lamp flashed from the front cockpit, `Ship 30 miles. Will bring help.' We waved and cheered to indicate that we had got the message and also to show that we were all uninjured. `F' for Freddie had been the aircraft due to relieve us on the escort of the Port Wyndham, had found it and had then been ordered to break off the patrol and look for us. She flew off to guide the ship to our rescue."
A short time later, a Hudson aircraft appeared in the same position as `F' for Freddie had initially appeared. This time the crew disappointed with the ineffective Marine Distress Signals, they flashed a silver cigarette case in the sun which had the immediate effect of the Hudson banking towards the dinghies and circling overhead. Now able to home other search aircraft to their position, they were joined by two Whitleys from their squadron and another Hudson. One of the Whitleys dropped a Thornaby bag (a parachute bag attached to a Mae West) containing brandy, biscuits, chocolate, cigarettes, matches, all in waterproof containers. Ian Currie records his reaction to being spotted with the strong likelihood of being rescued .....
"From then on we had quite a merry party beneath our air umbrella. Periodically, `F' returned to report to us on the progress of the ship which it was guiding towards us by dropping a series of smoke floats. Both Keith and I were sick as soon as we swallowed a shot of brandy. The weather was good although there was a heavy Atlantic swell but Keith had had the stress of flying a crippled aircraft for two and half hours and I had had the anxiety about our position. The rest of the crew were only too happy to use our share."
"Eventually we noticed that `F' remained within sight and soon the masts of the ship were visible from the top of each swell. Soon the Port Wyndham hove to, lowered a boat and willing hands helped us on board. I remember Keith saying, in conformance with nautical tradition, he would be the last to leave the dinghy since he was still skipper."
It was a twist of wartime fate, that the aircraft that had set out to protect shipping, had now been plucked from the Atlantic by the very ship they had been detailed to protect. It was even more significant, that the Port Wyndham was a refrigerated fruit ship returning to UK for the first time since outbreak of war, and carrying New Zealand Air Force Pilots coming to join squadrons in the UK. Ian Currie brings this aircrew experience to a conclusion .....
"We were carrying that night the new Mark IXa sextant which had been developed from the old Mark IX. One of the few existing instruments had been lent to the squadron for trials and we had received permission to use it for the first time. The only sour note (after our return) during our visit to Headquarters was when they asked me if I had brought back the Mark IXa sextant! Whether it was a the prototype or not, it was a very heavy instrument and was the last thing I would have thought of putting in my nav bag and carrying around in a dinghy."
Footnote: Group HQ stated "never before had a crew been picked up so far from land, well out of reach of Air Sea Rescue launches." A terse Air Ministry Statement reported later:- "So accurate was the navigation of the observer (Ian Currie) that aircraft sent to the rescue found the Whitley five miles only from the position it had last indicated." (Even then, dinghies could have drifted five miles from reported position).The above aircrew experience is contained in `White Crows' by Ian S. Currie (1996), Published by Minerva Press. £7-99.