O.T.U. - Debert, Nova Scotia - The First Plane Crash
After Gunnery School I was posted to the R.A.F. Operational Training Unit at Debert, Nova Scotia, where I was crewed up with two R.A.F. types and another Canadian. Warren Schofield Clark was our pilot. He came from Wales and was known to one and all as "Nobby" Our observer, Bob Seddon, was from the Manchester area in Lancashire. Barcy Strickland, who came from Manitoba, and I were the two wireless air-gunners.
My training, and the few operational trips in Canada, was rather uneventful but I was involved in a serious plane crash at Debert, N.S.. Aircrew were a superstitious lot. One of the superstitions firmly believed in, decreed bad luck for any crew flying with a substitute in any position, to take any one else aboard during an operational flight was even more taboo. For this particular flight we were to have someone aboard our plane to evaluate how we functioned as a crew. We were apprehensive when we learned that a stranger would be flying with us. Not that we worried about our capability, but due to the superstition.
After Gunnery School I was posted to the R.A.F. Operational Training Unit at Debert, Nova Scotia, where I was crewed up with two R.A.F. types and another Canadian. Warren Schofield Clark was our pilot. He came from Wales and was known to one and all as "Nobby" Our observer, Bob Seddon, was from the Manchester area in Lancashire. Barcy Strickland, who came from Manitoba, and I were the two wireless air-gunners.
My training, and the few operational trips in Canada, was rather uneventful but I was involved in a serious plane crash at Debert, N.S.. Aircrew were a superstitious lot. One of the superstitions firmly believed in, decreed bad luck for any crew flying with a substitute in any position, to take any one else aboard during an operational flight was even more taboo. For this particular flight we were to have someone aboard our plane to evaluate how we functioned as a crew. We were apprehensive when we learned that a stranger would be flying with us. Not that we worried about our capability, but due to the superstition.
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Number 2 Squadron, Debert, Nova Scotia: (l to r) Sgt Harvey Firestone (Red), Wireless Air Gunner; Sgt Warren Schofield Clark (Nobby), pilot; Sgt Barry Strickland; Rbert Seddon (B0b)
O.T.U. - Debert, Nova Scotia - The First Plane Crash
After Gunnery School I was posted to the R.A.F. Operational Training Unit at Debert, Nova Scotia, where I was crewed up with two R.A.F. types and another Canadian. Warren Schofield Clark was our pilot. He came from Wales and was known to one and all as "Nobby" Our observer, Bob Seddon, was from the Manchester area in Lancashire. Barcy Strickland, who came from Manitoba, and I were the two wireless air-gunners.
My training, and the few operational trips in Canada, was rather uneventful but I was involved in a serious plane crash at Debert, N.S.. Aircrew were a superstitious lot. One of the superstitions firmly believed in, decreed bad luck for any crew flying with a substitute in any position, to take any one else aboard during an operational flight was even more taboo. For this particular flight we were to have someone aboard our plane to evaluate how we functioned as a crew. We were apprehensive when we learned that a stranger would be flying with us. Not that we worried about our capability, but due to the superstition.
We were hardly airborne after take-off and had reached a height of approximately sixty to seventy feet when the airplane shuddered violently. I glanced out of the window facing my position at the radio to see the port wing vibrating very badly. The port engine tore out of its mountings and fell off. The plane flipped on to its side and fell. We hit the ground port wing tip first and tumbled tail over nose for a few hundred feet. When we first touched the ground the plane burst into flames. I was in my seat at the radio position and fortunately was only bruised by the pounding as we hit and tumbled about. Barcy Strickland and the Flight Lieutenant, who had been in the back of the plane, were able to run from the wreckage but the pilot, navigator and myself were trapped in the forward part of the plane as the bulkhead door had been jammed by the crash.
We tried desperately to force the door but to no avail. Tue flames were all over the plane and the heat was very intense. We had been fully fuelled and carried depth charges and ammunition aboard as we were to fly out over the Atlantic on an anti-submarine patrol. The ammunition started to go off, due to the flames and heat, and several tracer bullets flew past our faces adding to our fears and desperation to break down the bulkhead door. We could not go out the escape hatch as it meant going through the wall of flames that had surrounded the forward part of the aircraft. We had little room to manoeuvre, throwing ourselves against the door had no effect at all. We put our arms around each other for support and simultaneously kicked with all the strength we could muster. At the third kick the door collapsed and we hurried out of the plane. We ran to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the aircraft as an explosion was imminent.
We hurried toward an ambulance that had pulled up about a hundred yards away. Tue fire trucks did not even venture as close, as they knew we had depth charges aboard and they feared explosion from them as well as the gasoline. We were almost at the ambulance when we were blown forward by a blast from the crash as the depth charges exploded.
We scrambled to our feet and turned and looked back at the plane which was still a mass of flames, thankful that we were out of harm's way and that we were not seriously hurt. The ambulance driver called to us and holding the rear door open, asked us to embark so that we could be taken to the hospital to have our injuries looked at. To this day I do not know who the individual was that was with us. He and Barry Strickland had put a lot of distance between themselves and the airplane and we waited for them to join us at the ambulance. It had been a very warm day in July and the stranger had removed his battledress jacket and shirt just before take-off.
Apparently when we first hit the ground, he had been thrown forward and had hit the wire mesh covers over the oxygen bottles that were affixed just back of the bulkhead on the starboard side of the plane. His chest was a mass of welts and bruises and he was bleeding profusely but in such a state of shock that he was completely oblivious to the fact.
We climbed into the ambulance and in short order we were at the station hospital. The Flight-Lieutenant was immediately taken to the operating room for attention. We were a burned, bruised and battered lot but our injuries were minor. I had minor burns on my left arm and hand. My right knee gave me some difficulty but all in all I felt fortunate. My knee however seemed to worsen, and by the following day I had difficulty in walking. I hobbled around for about ten days and slowly the knee healed.
The others had much the same injuries with the exception of the stranger. They used over seventy stitches to close his wounds; he was in hospital for some time and was sent home to England on discharge from the hospital. On completion of training at Debert I was posted overseas.
Editor's Note:
A short history of the early days of Debert 31 OTU can be found here.
After Gunnery School I was posted to the R.A.F. Operational Training Unit at Debert, Nova Scotia, where I was crewed up with two R.A.F. types and another Canadian. Warren Schofield Clark was our pilot. He came from Wales and was known to one and all as "Nobby" Our observer, Bob Seddon, was from the Manchester area in Lancashire. Barcy Strickland, who came from Manitoba, and I were the two wireless air-gunners.
My training, and the few operational trips in Canada, was rather uneventful but I was involved in a serious plane crash at Debert, N.S.. Aircrew were a superstitious lot. One of the superstitions firmly believed in, decreed bad luck for any crew flying with a substitute in any position, to take any one else aboard during an operational flight was even more taboo. For this particular flight we were to have someone aboard our plane to evaluate how we functioned as a crew. We were apprehensive when we learned that a stranger would be flying with us. Not that we worried about our capability, but due to the superstition.
We were hardly airborne after take-off and had reached a height of approximately sixty to seventy feet when the airplane shuddered violently. I glanced out of the window facing my position at the radio to see the port wing vibrating very badly. The port engine tore out of its mountings and fell off. The plane flipped on to its side and fell. We hit the ground port wing tip first and tumbled tail over nose for a few hundred feet. When we first touched the ground the plane burst into flames. I was in my seat at the radio position and fortunately was only bruised by the pounding as we hit and tumbled about. Barcy Strickland and the Flight Lieutenant, who had been in the back of the plane, were able to run from the wreckage but the pilot, navigator and myself were trapped in the forward part of the plane as the bulkhead door had been jammed by the crash.
We tried desperately to force the door but to no avail. Tue flames were all over the plane and the heat was very intense. We had been fully fuelled and carried depth charges and ammunition aboard as we were to fly out over the Atlantic on an anti-submarine patrol. The ammunition started to go off, due to the flames and heat, and several tracer bullets flew past our faces adding to our fears and desperation to break down the bulkhead door. We could not go out the escape hatch as it meant going through the wall of flames that had surrounded the forward part of the aircraft. We had little room to manoeuvre, throwing ourselves against the door had no effect at all. We put our arms around each other for support and simultaneously kicked with all the strength we could muster. At the third kick the door collapsed and we hurried out of the plane. We ran to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the aircraft as an explosion was imminent.
We hurried toward an ambulance that had pulled up about a hundred yards away. Tue fire trucks did not even venture as close, as they knew we had depth charges aboard and they feared explosion from them as well as the gasoline. We were almost at the ambulance when we were blown forward by a blast from the crash as the depth charges exploded.
We scrambled to our feet and turned and looked back at the plane which was still a mass of flames, thankful that we were out of harm's way and that we were not seriously hurt. The ambulance driver called to us and holding the rear door open, asked us to embark so that we could be taken to the hospital to have our injuries looked at. To this day I do not know who the individual was that was with us. He and Barry Strickland had put a lot of distance between themselves and the airplane and we waited for them to join us at the ambulance. It had been a very warm day in July and the stranger had removed his battledress jacket and shirt just before take-off.
Apparently when we first hit the ground, he had been thrown forward and had hit the wire mesh covers over the oxygen bottles that were affixed just back of the bulkhead on the starboard side of the plane. His chest was a mass of welts and bruises and he was bleeding profusely but in such a state of shock that he was completely oblivious to the fact.
We climbed into the ambulance and in short order we were at the station hospital. The Flight-Lieutenant was immediately taken to the operating room for attention. We were a burned, bruised and battered lot but our injuries were minor. I had minor burns on my left arm and hand. My right knee gave me some difficulty but all in all I felt fortunate. My knee however seemed to worsen, and by the following day I had difficulty in walking. I hobbled around for about ten days and slowly the knee healed.
The others had much the same injuries with the exception of the stranger. They used over seventy stitches to close his wounds; he was in hospital for some time and was sent home to England on discharge from the hospital. On completion of training at Debert I was posted overseas.
Editor's Note:
A short history of the early days of Debert 31 OTU can be found here.