33. Alf, Don, Tony, Jacko, Henry, Brian and Ted.

FO Alfred Victor Donkin 182009 RAFVR and crew. LM626 DX-M. 57 Sqn RAF. d.17.12.44. Buried at CWG St Sever, Le Grand Quevilly, Rouen, France.

Before we go on to post a series of essays by Rob about the structure and timeline of the raid I’d like to dwell once more upon the loss of Alfred Donkin and his crew in LM626. As anyone who has followed us this far will remember, his aircraft was one of two lost by 57 Squadron that night, and it crashed in northern France killing all eight aircrew on board. For this raid Donkin was joined by a second pilot, Noel Culpan, a New Zealander on his first operational sortie. Because the RNZAF kindly permitted me access to Noel’s personal diary, and because his story has been so compelling – and moving – as yet I have not had chance to look at the other crew members in any detail, however we have recently been given more information, and so I thought you might find this interesting.

Up until a few months ago all we knew was that the Donkin crew took off from RAF East Kirkby at 16:17. This was five minutes ahead of LM582, and as a fully laden Lancaster climbed at about 135 knots, we concluded initially at least, they were about 11½ miles ahead of Campbell and Johns in the stream. Pete, Rob and I are still working on how the loss of this aircraft ties in with the loss of the Bennett aircraft from 463 Squadron RAAF – what seemed a simple thesis a year ago has become much more complex. But in any case the RAF investigation found that Donkin’s aircraft crashed around 6 hours and 45 minutes later at a point 4 miles south of Boutherold, France. There isn’t a Boutherold in France, but as you know by now there is a Bourgtheroulde-Infreville near Rouen. Much of what happened in between remains uncertain. 

So what can we say about the crew: 

Firstly they are recorded in the 57 Squadron ORB as follows:

Pilot. F/O Alfred Victor Donkin 182009 RAFVR

2^nd  Pilot F/O Noel Sumervieil Culpan 427019 RNZAF 

FE F/S Donald Maurice Pearce 1603564 RAFVR

Nav F/O Henry Trevor Medrington 158446 RAFVR

BA F/O Brian Wright 153625 RAFVR

WOp W/O Thomas Jackson 1072879 RAFVR

MUG F/S Edward George Rowley 1285510 RAFVR

RG F/S John G Beardshaw 1578410 RAFVR

Initially they were just names. If you recall Pete mentioned back in podcast three that the Donkin crew had been lost during December, and that they had been an experienced crew. I made the connection that Campbell (we now know from a recent visit to Kew that he was an Australian and his name is/was Anthony) had flown as second pilot with Donkin on the 4th of November for a raid on the Dortmund-Elms canal, and that he may have been upset by the loss, but that was pretty much it. 

A visit to East Kirkby revealed a little about Henry Medrington the Navigator. I found a photograph of him in his No1 uniform, and after much deliberation I posted one of his last letters home on the blog.

Then some months ago Pete was contacted firstly by relatives of the Flight Engineer, Don Pearce, and then some days later by relatives of the Wireless Op, Tom Jackson, and bit by bit we have found out more. As a result of those contacts we are now leaning heavily upon work done by Hugh Chamberlain, a relation of Tom Jackson, and we must mention again how grateful we are for his help.

I think we can consider this crew to be totemic of heavy bomber crews in general. Each crew was unique, however the background, education, experience and outlook of this crew are fairly typical of any crew of the period … thus they were entirely normal, and by the same token, really rather astonishing. 

The crew.

Firstly Rob’s work in the National Archives has brought to light the fact that the Donkin crew did not fly all of their trips with 57 Squadron. They had started ops on 106 at Metheringham. This is interesting, 106 Sqn, like perhaps 9 Sqn and 7 Sqn (although as 7 Sqn were our Chinook equipped rivals during the 1990s it pains me to say it) were one of the big names in Bomber Command. 106 Squadron had been commanded by Guy Gibson prior to him forming 617 and provided three crews including a Flight Commander for the dams raid. Although the war had changed in the following 18 months, perhaps correctly, the squadron still considered itself to be at the forefront of the bomber offensive.

The ORB tells us that from the 15th of September 106 Squadron’s role would change from a main force unit to one preparing crews for pathfinder duties. Those existing crews who wished to continue flying in the main force would be posted elsewhere. 

All aircrew were volunteers, but the pathfinder crews were made up of volunteers of the volunteers. They operated under enormous pressure, frequently the success of a raid would entirely depend upon their ability to illuminate and mark an obscure target in marginal weather hundreds of miles from base. To achieve this they received additional training and some advanced equipment, and sometimes crews flew with a pair of Navigators operating side by side – but in order to amortise the extra training costs  pathfinder crews were required to fly 45 trips in their first tour rather than 30. Furthermore, as they would be positioned towards the leading edge of the stream high levels of technical ability and a ‘press on’ attitude were required.

The chances of surviving 30 trips during this period was slim, the chances of surviving 45, physically or mentally, almost incalculable. As you might expect given Bomber Command’s stoicism, the reward crews gained from taking on these additional dangers and responsibilities was not extra pay, extra leave or faster promotion (often on pathfinder squadrons they experienced the opposite) rather it was a small, cheap, mass produced brass badge pressed in the shape of an eagle, the same as worn by all airman on their sleeve, but in their case pinned under the brevet. It wasn’t for medals and baubles that these aircrews did such extraordinary things.

Donkin and crew (with the exception of their flight engineer, Sgt A E Whitty) elected not to change roles, and after nine trips on 106 they were posted to 57 Sqn at East Kirkby. There was no shame in this, and I think it’s not in any way indicative of either their lack of ability or poor attitude – rather just that they wanted to carry on taking their chances in the mix of it. Who could blame them.

The Donkin crew arrived on 57 Squadron shortly after the 15th of September. They had picked up a replacement flight engineer during their last days on 106, Don Pearce, and flew their first operation on the 23rd, a raid on the Luftwaffe airfield at Handorf. The trip to Munich on the 17th/18th of December was their 26th sortie, they had been to Munich with 57 before, and were a very experienced crew – quite possibly the most experienced crew on the squadron. Although, as Henry Medrington says, the stress had become immense, they were also at the top of their game. 

As far as we can tell Henry didn’t leave a diary, however he did leave a series of pen pictures of his crew mates. He didn’t include the Flight Engineer, or himself, sadly, but they make for fascinating reading.  

The Skipper.

Flight Sergeant Alf Donkin, Pilot. Possession of 43 Star. Was in the army for two years and transferred. An instructor for two years. Has 1400 hours as pilot. Took crew over when Flight Lieutenant Bill Baker was posted. Commission expected shortly. Modest, quick, great enthusiasm for the theatre. Age 28, unmarried, lives in London.

I found that Donkin’s Commission was dated the 7th July 1944. Therefore I suspect that these descriptions were written whilst the crew were in training, perhaps on the Wellington (as these aircraft did not carry flight engineers), and the leaflet raid mentioned below was often a task given to crews towards the end of the flying syllabus.

Two other things to note. Firstly that Donkin’s total of 1400 flying hours was very unusual during this period. If you have listened to our Podcast 14, then you may remember the RAF was struggling to get heavy bomber pilots to the 250 hour mark before they started operations; and secondly, to have been given instructor duties straight from elementary training would mean that Donkin had been graded as above average or more likely exceptional. In aircrew language, then as now, it was known as having being creamed off, and those few given this compliment were known as Creamies for the rest of their career. 

Tony.

Sergeant Tony Beardshaw, Rear Gunner. Has one complete tour of Ops on Coastal Command and three years service to his credit. Educated at Rossall (the sister school to Marlborough). Tall, blonde, fair moustache, athletic, excellent at rugger. Severe critic of England, firm supporter of Canada, having married Canadian girl during training. She is now in this country. Our wit over intercom is cynical but always amusing. Has violent fits of depression which usually take form of eloquent grumbling. Aged 23, wealthy, vast capacity for beer. By contrast, very well read, fond of literature, poetry et cetera, although claims to know nothing about it. He and I have a reputation of knowing how to talk so that nobody else understands us. Is officially a Jew owing to his marriage.

Jacko.

Flight Sergeant Jackson. Wireless Operator. A great deal of experience makes him quite the best wireless operator on the Heyford course, and certainly the keenest. He is the old faithful of the crew, never stops working even on routine test flights and so forth. Never ‘sees out’, always prefers to get cracking. Hands out hot coffee and feeds the skipper if he’s busy. Has a simple but profound outlook on life and very few teeth. Married to a gorgeous girl who, much to his anxiety, is expecting a baby. Has broad, homely North Country accent, unswerving loyalty to the skipper and crew and the distaste for not flying. He is 23 and looks 31. Expects Warrant Officer rank shortly.

Brian.

Flying Officer Brian Wright. Bomb Aimer extraordinaire. Holds record for Group, we believe, for high-level bombing but has had no more experience than I have as Navigator. Tried for pilot in first place but was ploughed without knowing why. Very quiet. You would imagine his silence indicated deep thought. It doesn’t. Very good hearted type with capacity for beer equal to Tony’s. Thickset, 5ft 10in, ruddy complexion, Public-School accent. Has a reputation, during leg pulling, of being asleep standing up or walking along snoring. A Londoner with few notable hobbies. Reads amazingly quickly and in bursts but doesn’t seem to be interested in the content. Magnificent value when repleat but never gets tight. Age 21, worked in a bank but never regrets it.

Ted.

Sergeant Ted Rowley. Mid Upper Gunner. Newest member of the crew. Keen gunner, excellent results on trials. Very good looking and consequently something of a Don Juan. Unmarried, of course, aged 22. Lives in Richmond. Grumbles beautifully but without the epigrammatic distinction of Tony. They usually operate at cross purposes. Ted originated the singing of La Marseillaise as we dropped the leaflets on St Quentin. Very bored with gunnery.

To some extent we will have to write our own pen pictures of Don and Henry.

Don.

Flight Sergeant Donald Pearce, the flight engineer is something of a mystery. We have a picture of him standing stiffly in front of the camera during basic training, and another taken perhaps a year later as a smiling scruffy young Sergeant with a FE brevet sitting in front of an unmarked Lancaster. The aircraft has its engines running and bomb doors open – but it’s not captioned and we know almost nothing else. Unlike Culpan’s flight engineer, an experienced tradesman who, like Brian Wardell, was accepted for flying duties after a career on the ground, Don’s age leads me to think that, more like Simon Covell, he was a direct entry Air Eng and came through the full course at St Athan. I believe that Don’s relatives are in touch with Pete, and we hope to find out more. 

Don Pearce’s 44 Sqn crew in September 1943. (See comment below. Thank you Ivan).

Henry.

If you haven’t yet read Henry’s letter home, written we think on or around the 5th of December then it can be found here.  It gives the impression of a thoughtful young man, like Culpan, trying to do his best under impossible circumstances. The mental strain of flying on ops – or not flying on ops – must have been horrendous: as an experienced crew they surely would have wanted to get to thirty trips and have the tour over and done with, yet they were being reserved for the most difficult and dangerous jobs. One can imagine being both desperate to fly and dreading it in equal measure.

I found his obituary from the Radley school magazine.

“From his earliest days at Radley, Henry Medrington showed promise of a vivid personality, and after Smale’s Social was broken up, he was one of a group who in Southam’s became School Prefects and were outstanding in several spheres. He was lighthearted and vigorous in all his School activities, keenly enjoying his games; but his time interests lay in drama and literature and he became Wilson Librarian and Hon. Sec. of both the Dramatic and the Literary Societies. He already wrote with distinction, and his One Act Plays, some of them written for the Dramatic Festival, showed not only a vein of satirical humour and acute powers of observation, but also a deep sense of spiritual values. Here was an indication of what his career might have been. Immensely tall, he feared that his long legs would exclude him from the RAF, and was delighted when he was Commissioned after a period of flying training in Canada. He became a navigator and with more than twenty operational flights to his credit was almost due to be grounded when his plane was lost. In a letter written shortly before his last flight he says: “My own existence is being eked out with something of a jerk; periods of calm follow periods of violent activity. It isn’t good for the nerves, I find, but on the whole I confess to a kind of happiness which is as original as it is inexplicable”. 

I don’t think there is anything to add.