At 03:25 on 14 January 1944 a de Havilland Mosquito of 109 squadron, number DZ440, with the identification markings ‘HS-F’, took off from RAF Marham.
The pilot was Flying Officer Peter Stead, DFC, and his navigator was Warrant Officer Adam Flett, DFM. Their objective was the Krupp factories at Essen. The Mosquito carried its own bomb load, but the crew’s principal task was to target-mark for the heavier bombers which would follow them, and for this they were using ‘Oboe’, a radar bombing aid. (FOR FULL OBOE DETAILS SEE: MOSQUITO SQUADRONS & OBOE)
Above: Peter Stead
When the aircraft became overdue for its return to Marham, a WAAF officer, Peggie Willetts, who had just started a relationship with Peter, went to the control tower to ask what had become of ‘F’ for Freddie. She was told there had been no communication. Within hours, 109 Squadron’s ORB recorded: ‘The aircraft is missing. Last heard of at 05:21 in the target area.’
At midday, a telegram marked ‘Priority’ arrived at Peter Stead’s family home ‘The Cobbles’ in Brompton, near Northallerton. Unusually, the text of the telegram was handwritten. The text read: “Deeply regret to inform you that your son Flying Officer Peter Yeoman Stead DFC is missing as result of air operations on Friday 14th Jan 1944. Letter follows. Any further information received will be immediately communicated to you.”
The letter which followed was from the commanding officer of 109 Squadron, Group Captain Hugh Bufton, a highly decorated pilot who had been one of the pioneers in the use of Oboe.
What Happened to the Aircraft – From the British Viewpoint
Account by Peter Stead, probably written in the 1980s
This afternoon we were briefed for an attack on [the] Krupp works at Essen. Take-off was to be at about 5.30 p.m. The weather was dreadful, low cloud and pouring rain, and some time before take-off the start time was moved to 22.30.
I decided to go to bed and have my batman wake me when, once more, the take-off time was postponed, this time until 02.30 the next morning. From the start nothing seemed right. For one thing I had lost my talisman, a cigarette lighter made from a round of .303 ammunition, and [I had] also seen the moon through glass! Though not naturally superstitious, in those days these little things seemed to matter, at least a little.
We took off on time, the weather was better but not good, did our usual climb to height towards the Severn Estuary, and set course over the aerodrome on time. So far as I remember, we had no snags in the flight out and reached our turning point for the radius of action without incident. We used up our excess time and left the departure point for the target on the Oboe beam without problems.
However, the problems then began. There was trouble with the Oboe bomb sight, perhaps mechanical, perhaps due to German jamming, at any rate on the run down the beam failed due to defective signal and we bombed on dead reckoning.
There was nothing unusual about the flak; it continued throughout the run in but we sustained no damage so far as I knew.
After bombing, which we did from 32,000 feet, we turned gladly for home; out went the searchlights and at once the flak stopped. Once clear of the target, Mosquito Oboe crews felt safe: our height, speed and evasive ability made us a very difficult target for flak. Furthermore, because of the wooden construction and low quantity of metal in the aircraft, the Mosquito gave a weak radar image which, with the speed and manoeuvrability, made us hard to find and hit. Once off the beam, we did not consider we had much risk from night-fighters; for one thing our track was variable, as was our height and speed. On the beam we did feel at some risk from Me 190’s which we thought had the speed to catch us. Especially as the course and time for each aircraft could be predicted from the activity of the first one as we went into the target, one aircraft every three minutes.
So, we left the target expecting a safe return to Marham. I descended steadily, relaxed and at peace when suddenly at about 26,000 feet there were several large bangs in the left engine and it burst into flames. I at once told the navigator, Alec Flett, to bale out and while he was sorting himself out, feathered the engine. The flames spread very quickly indeed and Alec appeared to be unable to jettison the lower half of the escape hatch. Meanwhile, the wing steadily disintegrated, the plywood stripping away in the slipstream. I then jettisoned the top hatch and indicated to Alec to go out there. We seemed to have no intercom and I turned the aircraft upside down in the hope we could get out safely.
For myself, as soon as I had the aircraft on its back, I found I was caught half in and half out, held by my equipment and with the aircraft falling to earth I pulled off my mask, kicked forward the control column and fell into the night.
After pulling the rip cord and reaching an upright position I looked about me for the aircraft and all I could see was a small blue flame spinning towards the ground.
I could not understand why there was no large fire to see. The answer came nearly forty years later when I learnt that I had been shot down by a night fighter and that the aircraft had exploded almost straight away. Up to the time I received a letter from Holland in February 1982 I had believed that we had caught fire spontaneously or that we had suffered sabotage so as to leave an Oboe set on German territory.
As I floated down, I could see in the bright moonlight the fields and woods coming towards me. Then I saw a river and I seemed to be heading that way – there seemed nothing I could do about it and eventually I crashed to ground on the wooded banks of a little river in the town of Goch near Kleve, a few miles from Arnhem and just inside Holland.
I sustained a fracture to my right leg on landing (known as a “Potts” fracture to the small leg bone on the ankle) and this made walking difficult and painful. I hid my parachute under some bushes, went through my pockets to be certain I had nothing on me that should not have been with me, and once satisfied I limped my way into the wood seeking a hiding place.
Peter was captured by the Germans and became a prisoner of war. He was eventually repatriated in May 1945. He and Peggie Willetts married three months later, on 16 August 1945. In the photograph, he is in civvies because his uniform was at the cleaners and the shop had been shut the previous day because of the VJ Day celebrations.
Adam Flett
Very sadly, Peter’s navigator, Adam Flett, whom Peter called Alec, had been killed in the shooting-down.
Photo from “Mast High Over Rotterdam” – RAFWatton.uk
Adam Herd Flett, 29 years old at date of death, was the husband of Elizabeth Bartie Flett, of East Croydon, Surrey, and son of George Smith Flett and Nancy Flett. Originally buried in Mehr Civil Cemetery, close to where his aircraft came down, he was moved to REICHSWALD FOREST WAR CEMETERY in April 1947. The text on his gravestone is an extract from Thessalonians:
‘Them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.’
What Happened to the Aircraft – From the German Viewpoint
Account by German pilot, Dietrich Schmidt-Barbo, seemingly based upon a contemporary diary. Translator unknown, possibly Schmidt-Barbo who spoke excellent English.
Left: Dietrich Schmidt-Barbo, Right: Kurt Schonfeld
We had a BF 110 G-4 specially rebuilt for Mosquito hunting. For this purpose, all armour and all weapons (except for two guns with only a few rounds of ammunition} were removed. Also removed were fire extinguishers and reserve fuel tanks. The crew was limited to two […]
It was obvious that in order to have any chance at all against the Mosquito bomber we would have to be at a height of approximately 10,000 metres at the right time and have exact guidance to the target by ground control.
14th January 1944
At 4.35 we are called out. Above the front line – weather conditions very good, 4 days after full moon.
We start quickly and soon after see several vapour trails above us. 8600, 9000, 9100 metres, and it begins. Return flights from the Ruhr area. I advance well, distance between 2 and 1 kilometres,, running on full power and awaiting radio operator’s instructions.
Then I see him on my right, 8,500 metres. I turn at once, am close underneath, Mosquito wings and tail flaps clearly identifiable. Each motor twice shows dark red exhaust flames. I am as fast as he. Now pull up, I am behind, aim left-hand motor, my first burst of fire finds its target, not one shell wasted. The motor catches fire immediately, great blue flames, falls downwards, evenly at first, then steeply. He explodes at about 5000 metres in thick, dark smoke, small pieces drop down, one part continues quickly downwards engulfed in flames, but reaches the ground. No explosion on impact, probably nothing left to ignite.
Shot down 5.35, we are highly delighted, at least the Mosquito scare proved worth while.
Plane identification G9+FS, Leading Flight Officer Lt. Rauer. We phoned at once. Impact near Mehr, N.W. from Kleve. One man escaped, the other man dead on recovery. As far as I know this is the fourth Mosquito shot down by fighters at night.
The Two Stories Come Together
L-R: Kurt Schonfeld, Peter Stead, Dietrich Schmidt-Barbo
In 1982 the Luchtvaart Museum at Twenthe in the Netherlands brought together the British survivor and the German crew who had shot him down. Peter Stead had responded to a request for information about the Essen raid of 13/14 January 1944. The museum already held the Schmidt-Barbo account. A meeting was arranged and the story from both sides became known.
Photographs and information from the account: “14th January 1944 – ‘F’ for Freddie is Missing” by Christopher Stead.
109 Squadron Mosquito at head of page from Squadron Leader Cresswell’s album, Pathfinder Collection, Wyton. This would have been Cresswell’s Mosquito rather than Stead’s, but the photograph gives a very good idea of the size of these tiny nimble aircraft.
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