MY LINCOLN IMP

Air Classics, Jul 2005 by Haworth, Gilbert

HOWA GOOD LUCK SYMBOL HELPED SAVE THE CREW OF A ROYAL AIR FORCE LANCASTER

Almost as old and famous as Britain's Lincoln Cathedral itself is the dear old Lincoln Imp - a medieval stone carving of a grotesque legendary demon which shelters within those hallowed walls. Reproductions of this grinning monster have always been on sale in the Lincoln area, there is a steady trade among tourists and local inhabitants alike with replicas in plaster, plastic and brass, not to mention suitably embroidered ties and scarves.

One moonlit night at a spot not far from the Cathedral, Mary of the golden hair pressed one such tiny brass emblem into my hand. "Keep him for luck," she whispered. She knew that I was back on my second tour of bombing operations with Avro Lancasters, but for many weeks the golden bauble just languished in my flying locker, quite unheeded. Something that I had expected then came to pass, Geoff Woodward - my regular pilot and buddy - became tour expired and departed from our bomber squadron. That meant that I was once more what was loosely referred to as a "spare body." The thought struck me that perhaps some symbol of good luck was a requisite and necessary item and I suddenly determined to take it along with me in the future. A Lincoln Imp would surely be a change from ordinary tokens such as rabbit feet, locks of hair or silk stockings, the like of which were currently much in favor as good luck charms. I rejected the thought of suspending him around my neck with ordinary string and persuaded a young lady in the parachute section to part with a length of strong silk cord. In a very short space of time that little figure became my closest companion and within a moment or two the Flight Commander showed his face around the crew room door. "Ah - there you are," he said to me. "I'm putting you on with Wing Cmdr. Parselle tonight - briefing is at 1400 hours."

After the briefing we all knew our target for that night - the night of 23 May 1943 - was Dortmund in the Ruhr Valley area of Germany, a total of 826 aircraft were to go to the region so sarcastically nicknamed "Happy Valley," this would be the largest raid so far in the Battle of the Ruhr. There would be no element of surprise in our favor, a hot reception from countless radar controlled 88mm cannons was an absolute certainty, strong forces of experienced night fighters would be out hunting for unwary bombers.

Feeling less like a hero than ever before, I collected and checked my numerous items of equipment: Escape and evasion pack, flying suit, boots, helmets and headphones, microphone, goggles, parachute harness and pack. I remembered with displeasure that my very efficient clasp knife was still nowhere to be found, it had been missing for some days and the mystery vexed me considerably. After all, one never knew when a good knife would be urgently required and I couldn't borrow one, in those days nobody would ever lend anything to the short-lived aircrew personnel. My questions to other flying crew members brought ribald responses and suggestions of a quite unhelpful nature.

Carrying all my weighty gear I started off on my way out to our aircraft and as I passed an open window the Squadron Signals Leader shouted, "Have a good trip!" I peered in, saw that the blighter was using my knife to sharpen a pencil and promptly claimed it. "Sorry old boy - honestly didn't know it was yours, it was kicking around the crew room floor you know." It was a relief to get it back as I already had a nasty foreboding about the forthcoming flight. The feeling was strengthened when our flight engineer overtook me and said, "We're having to change aircraft, the Wing Commander has found that his own Lancaster has a dud starboard outer engine and he's quite peeved about it because we know have to take 'J' Jig instead." I groaned at this news for "J" Jig was the oldest kite on the unit, what actually made her "old" was the fact that she was the only aircraft not yet fitted out with any of the latest electronic equipment which had cunningly been developed to foil the enemy radar and had proved effective in reducing casualty rates.

"J" Jig still possessed amidships a certain antique item called a rest bed, originally provided for the comfort of incapacitated men but now universally regarded as a criminal waste of a space that could be far more profitably employed in the housing of electronic wizardry. And so it came to pass that at the appointed hour I was airborne in "J" Jig as she took up her allotted station in the midst of nearly a thousand bombers heading for Nazi Germany.

We had strict instructions to fly a set route at a specified height as part of a system designed to swamp the enemy's defenses as efficiently as possible. Airplanes which failed to comply usually met with disaster, a fact we never lost sight of for a moment. Eventually we were dutifully attacking Dortmund and experiencing the familiar welcome from anti-aircraft fire.

I directed the Wing Commander's approach to the aiming point where we had first to drop our 4000-lb high explosive "Cookie" and then follow with hundreds of small incendiary bombs. To obtain our target photograph it was necessary to hold a straight and steady course for a short interval but once that was done we turned away on the course that was to take us home.