When the veterans of 109 and 582 Squadrons were asked after the war what they thought of ‘Heavy Oboe’ operations, the answer was typically blunt.

Intended to bring pinpoint accuracy on even the smallest of targets, they were considered the ideal method of hitting the V1 launching sites. That was the theory.

But the weakness of Oboe as a blind bombing device was that it obliged the pilot to fly straight and level over the target area to maintain the Oboe signal from the transmission station to the receiver in the aircraft. This was dangerous enough at night, but in daylight it could prove suicidal.

On 20 July 1944, a daylight ‘Heavy Oboe’ was ordered for an attack on the V1 constructional works at Forêt du Croc. Oboe is most usually associated with the Mosquito, but in a ‘Heavy Oboe’ the equipment was installed in a Lancaster. A Mosquito crew joined the Lancaster crew, and literally swapped seats for the bombing run. In a typical Heavy Oboe formation, at least one Oboe-equipped Mosquito was also usually in attendance, sometimes as the ‘lead’ but more often in reserve should the equipment on the Lancaster fail.

The official report in the 8 Group ORB for 20 July is functional:

‘Three Mosquitoes and 17 Lancasters took off but all were abortive

and one Lancaster [is] missing.’

The actual events were far more dramatic.

Two waves of Lancasters and Mosquitos in a daylight attack

The attack was initially planned in two waves: the first wave was to comprise eight Lancasters from 156 Squadron in the company of two Mosquitoes from 105 Squadron; the second wave to follow a minute behind was to comprise nine Lancasters from 582 Squadron (including one that was Oboe-equipped) with a Mosquito from 105 Squadron in reserve. Later this was amended to be a 109 Squadron Mosquito.

The 109 Squadron crew chosen to share the 582 Squadron Lancaster comprised Squadron Leader James Foulsham AFC and Flight Lieutenant John Swarbrick. The crew they joined was led by a pilot and Master Bomber of considerable operational experience, Squadron Leader John ‘Ben’ Weightman, DFC.

Squadron Leader John ‘Ben’ Weightman, DFC

All went well on the flight out until it was time for the Oboe run of the lead Mosquito in the first wave, flown by Flight Lieutenant Ken Wolstenholme DFC (later of World Cup fame). Wolstenholme was unable to acquire the signal satisfactorily, and was obliged to abandon the attack, which he signified by firing off a red Very cartridge and leading the first wave of 156 Squadron Lancasters away from the target to allow the second wave a clear run. Now it was Foulsham and Swarbrick’s turn, having assumed command of Weightman’s aircraft and crew.

The best description of what happened next is told by Flying Officer Jeff Chapman, wireless operator in the crew of Flight Lieutenant Gerry O’Donovan who was flying just behind the leader in the second wave. They had been practicing close formation flying in daylight for some weeks, and now it was time to try it for real:

We were going in to attack in a twin line-astern formation with slight variation in height to avoid the slipstream of the aircraft in front. We were in the second aircraft and flying about 15 to 20 feet above the leader with our port wing just over and slightly behind his starboard wing.

The leader opened his bomb doors; we opened ours, and so on down the line. It would be about 30 seconds to the drop. I was standing up next to my seat with my head in the astrodome and could see it all: the leader (Foulsham/Swarbrick) just slightly below us and others staggered at different heights behind, each swaying slightly as in some slow, macabre elephantine dance in the sky – sinister yet fascinating to watch.

And then it happened. One did not usually hear the bursts of flak above the roar of the engines. If one did, then it was very close indeed. We heard this one. A ‘whoof’ and a ball of flame, instantly gone as we flew through it. Our aircraft was spattered with small bits of exploding shell, some of which went clean through us and out the other side, filling the fuselage for the moment with a cloud of pulverized aluminium dust. One piece on its way through tore the sleeve of my flying jacket.

A direct hit caused the Lancaster to burst into flames

Jeff could see that the port wing of the leading aircraft was a mass of flame which streamed back as far as the tailplane in the slipstream. It looked as though the Lanc had received a direct hit on or near the port inner engine or one of the fuel tanks. It was obvious they would have to bale out, and quickly, if they were to survive:

I saw a face in the astrodome, no doubt the wireless op, and the rear and mid upper gunners looking from their turrets and the blazing wing. The leader kept on, straight and level, waiting for the electronic signal to drop his bombs, still with some 20 seconds to go.

After what seemed like another very long 10 seconds the whole of the port wing folded upwards at a right angle and completely broke off, the aircraft turning on its back and went into a crazy downward gyration. I watched it for some time. I saw no parachutes open and did not expect to; centrifugal forces would see to that.

When the shell burst our flight engineer, who was stretched out horizontally in the nose with his eyes glued to the open bomb bay of the leader, was temporarily blinded and because his thumb was hovering over the bomb release ‘tit’, inadvertently pressed it. The rest of the gaggle behind us saw our bombs fall away and let go their own. Down went the whole lot, missing the target by at least a mile.

None of us spoke and it was the skipper’s somewhat measured ‘course for home please, navigator’ that broke the silence.

Another eyewitness was John Torrans, flight engineer in the 582 Squadron crew of Squadron Leader Bob Wareing DFC & Bar:

We were flying on his [Weightman’s] starboard at about 16,000ft over France when his aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft fire. Fuel and smoke started to emit from the port wing trailing edge. We immediately called him on R/T to inform his of this damage. There was a large flash and an explosion, and the aircraft just disintegrated and all that was left was a large black cloud.

Tommy MacLachlan, a decorated air gunner flying with 582 Pilot Officer Joe Street also witnessed the drama unfold:

The leading aircraft was only a hundred yards ahead from our port side. As the mid upper gunner (Reg MacArthur) waved to me the Lancaster’s port wing broke off and the aircraft went straight down and I saw it crash in a wood.

Foulsham’s aircraft had been fatally hit, and the formation behind all dropped their bombs short in the mistaken belief that the signal had been given. There were no survivors from the crash that resulted. DFCs for Foulsham and Swarbrick were gazetted soon after their deaths. Both men arguably deserved more.

James Foulsham kept a diary during his time in the RAF. The last entry at the end of a short period of leave in July 1944 was to express satisfaction with his painting of a pram awaiting the birth of his daughter, Shirley, a daughter he was never to see.

Squadron Leader James Foulsham, AFC

In the summer of 2014, 70 years after the tragedy, families gathered to see Shirley unveil a memorial to the men killed that day at Freulleville, where the crew had originally been buried before being re-interred at the Dieppe Canadian War Cemetery at Hautot-sur-Mer.

SEAN FEAST

NOTES: For source material/background about 109/582 Squadron’s Heavy Oboe operations, and the reminiscences of Jeff Chapman, John Torrans and Tommy MacLachlan, I refer the reader to Master Bombers (Grub Street 2008) and The Pathfinder Companion (Grub Street 2012).