The Night of 23rd March, 1943
Cpl 'Dingle' Foote, a fitter/armourer based at Moreton recollects the night two Lancasters diverted to the Station after a raid on St. Nazaire.
"New course only, flying tonight, circuits and bumps" was all that appeared on the flight programme boards, so I was looking forward to a quiet night in the Station armoury. As duty armourer, I felt pleased that I would be able to spend most of the night asleep, followed by 24 hours off duty.
After hauling blankets and various other comforts to the armoury, with a diversion to the NAFFI, I settled down to letter writing, reading and, best of all 36 hours away from the hurly-burly of the flight armoury.
At about 23.30 hours I made a final check with the control tower to make sure that no Flight Commander had had a fit of pique and decided at the last minute to order 'A' Flight out on a bombing or air firing exercise. My luck was in, so into bed, lights out, and dream of things not RAF!
At 02.00 hours my dream world erupted. The telephone was making weird and not so wonderful noises. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, and finally finding the offending instrument, I enquired who had the audacity to wake me up, to be told by a cheery WAAF "There's a diversion due to land, ETA fifteen minutes, so get down here sharpish there are bombs on board.". After a few futile questions like what type of aircraft and what bomb load, but getting no coherent reply, I decided that the best thing to do was, as requested, to get down there sharpish!
So, out of bed, on with the night clobber (including leather jacket as Spring in the Cotswolds was not renowned for warmth), and I jumped on my worthy steed, the armoury bike. As I headed for the control tower, I was just in time to see a strange shape thundering down the runway. It had two more engines than usual, and a weird tail assembly, not a bit like our 'Wimpeys'. After what seemed like an eternity this shape appeared at out parking area, three engines idling and the fourth stationary. It was a Lancaster with a difference! The underside of the fuselage was not faired smooth as most of the breed; this one had strange shapes from fore to aft.
Eventually the crew disembarked. I enquired who was the bomb aimer or flight engineer, and having found him asked what his bomb load was.
He replied "One ten thousand pounder".
Looking up, I realised that the strange configuration was a bomb! I nearly had kittens on the spot! My experience of bombs up to that moment had ranged from 4lb incendiaries, 11lb flash or smoke, to a dustbin sized 4000lb'er, the Wellingtons maximum load. An example of this now stand outside the Wellington Aviation Museum at Moreton.
After very rapid thinking and decision-making (after all, I was only a fitter/armourer:guns - good excuse, that was!), Sgt Fletcher was duly summoned to the scene. After listening to his opinion of corporals in general and your truly in particular, I introduced him to our latest acquisition.
The rest of that night was taken up with meetings of various trades personnel and phone calls galore. Finally it was decided that the engine that wasn't turning was clapped out and needed replacing, which was the original reason for the diversion. More urgent , however was the removal of that bomb, as the undercarriage could not take the weight much longer. So, it was decided it had to come off.
Having no equipment at hand to perform such a job, and realising that it would take too long to get the necessary parts to Moreton, the only answer was to drop it off!
First of all it had to be disarmed, and once again Sgt Fletcher came into his own. With the aid of a pair of steps and much cursing, the access panel was finally unbolted from the bombs tail assembly, revealing three firing pistols. After making them safe, they were unscrewed, detonators were finally removed and the access panel replaced. Now came the moment of truth! Having made sure that all was clear under the 'Kite' - no stray personnel still around - the electrics were switched on, the firing button was pressed, and the bomb came down with an almighty thump.
The poor old Lancaster gave a huge shudder as the hydraulics returned to normal. It was then hitched to a David Brown tractor and finally towed away from its late tormentor, leaving the most aerodynamic harbinger of death and destruction I had ever seen, lying on the grass with its teeth temporarily withdrawn.
Your truly and all concerned were now able to make their way to a late breakfast. Eventually, I collected my blankets and odds and ends from the armoury and returned to hut 78 to catch up on lost sleep, with no more thoughts of a crafty day out in Oxford in mind.
The final episode of the bomb was to get it safely stored in the bomb dump. to this end the tail unit was once more removed, transported to the dump and stored. When it came to the bomb itself , that was a different kettle of fish! The Stations Coles crane failed to lift it; all it managed was to lift one pair of its own wheels off the ground at each attempt. In the end, a civilian crane was hired to do the job, with great success until it came to the entrance to the dump, which was covered in camouflage netting. Each time the jib was lowered - you guessed it - the wheels lifted off the ground. So up with the jib and the bomb was left at the dump entrance. As yours truly's Flight armoury was the nearest to the dump I was told to "get it under cover!". This very delicate operation was achieved by reversing the armoury Fordson tractor up to the bomb and unceremoniously bumping it with the rear wheels until we finally got it between the blast balls and under cover.
The bomb was eventually removed from Moreton while I was on leave. I was told on my return that it had gone on a truck and the tail fin on a trailer.
It must have been quite a sight! Personally, give me 11lb practice bombs any day, or an uninterrupted night of "circuits and bumps!".