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Dambusters: A Personal View a
Stephanie Nield a
Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre, Netherseal, UK Published online: 21 Oct 2013.
To cite this article: Stephanie Nield (2013) Dambusters: A Personal View, Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 29:4, 270-277, DOI: 10.1080/13623699.2013.848602 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.848602
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Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 2013 Vol. 29, No. 4, 270–277, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.848602
COMMENTARY Dambusters: A Personal View Stephanie Nield* Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre, Netherseal, UK
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(Accepted 21 September 2013)
May 2013 was the 70th anniversary of one of the most memorable operations of the Second World War, Operation Chastise. The squadron involved, No. 617 based at RAF Lossiemouth, is still extant in an attack role and has also reached its 70th anniversary. 617 Squadron and the RAF are carrying out a programme throughout the year to commemorate these events and raise money for charity. One of the charities involved is Leonard Cheshire Disability, founded by the most decorated bomber pilot of the Second World War, Leonard Cheshire. Those without a personal interest may not at first understand the link between 617, ‘The Dam Busters’, and the man known for his charities, Cheshire Homes and humanitarian work. But it was his experience as a bomber pilot during the war, and his immediate life thereafter, that motivated Leonard Cheshire to make the world a better place. In his own words: The totality of the war, which had cost fifty-five million lives, had impressed upon me the urgency of ensuring that such a catastrophe never happens again. But, how to do it? (Cheshire 1998, 14)
To understand this, as Cheshire himself said, we need to return to his experience of war (Cheshire 1998). Leonard Cheshire’s war career was with Bomber Command; 125,000 men from all over the world passed through Bomber Command and found themselves involved in a new type of warfare using emerging technology. Often they were the only people capable of attacking Germany on its own territory. Odds of surviving were low; fifty-five thousand members of Bomber Command were killed alone. From Cheshire’s first flying training course, he was one of the only survivors (Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre 1990). In the early years of the war as Britain suffered defeat, the battle in the air provided hope of victory and peace. Slowly, the tables began to turn at great cost to those crews flying the bomber planes. Perhaps Cheshire’s most famous role in Bomber Command was as the Wing Commander of 617 squadron, after which he was awarded the Victoria *Email: [email protected] © 2013 Taylor & Francis
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Cross. The squadron was set-up in 1943 to attack difficult to reach targets and gained a reputation as being both special and a suicide squadron. Under the aegis of Barnes-Wallis, 617 squadron tested new technological developments in armaments and planes, but not all missions were successful. In the two years of the Second World War that remained after their establishment, 617 attacked 95 targets, the first the Ruhr Dams and the last Hitler’s Berchtesgaden. Their first mission immediately made 617 famous and coined their name ‘The Dam Busters’. In preparation for the first mission, Wing Commander Guy Gibson (who was already a famous pilot) hand-selected the crew in great secrecy. Despite training in specially adapted Lancaster bombers and testing equipment for operations at low flying levels, the squadron did not really know what was expected of them until the night of the 16/17 May 1943, when they set flight towards the Möhne, Eder and Sorpe dams. From a force of 19 Avro Lancaster planes, specially adapted for the purpose, eleven returned. The Möhne and Eder dams were smashed and the Sorpe damaged. Two hydroelectric power plants were destroyed, alongside factories, mines and 1600 people were killed. However, the effect of this raid on Germany’s industry was not as devastating as first hoped, and it began to recover after only a few weeks. The bouncing bomb, tested and developed by the squadron and Barnes-Wallis, was never used again. Perhaps Operation Chastise’s only lasting effect was in boosting the allies’ morale. Upon his return from Operation Chastise, Guy Gibson was awarded the Victoria Cross and retired from operations. Their new Wing Commander George Holden was killed in action on his fourth sortie with 617 in September that same year and the position was vacant. Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane was seeking a successor and invited Leonard Cheshire for an interview. Cheshire by this point was already a hero in Bomber Command, 26 years old and highly decorated and experienced. He had previously been overlooked in favour of Holden, but the second time around he was offered and accepted the job. By this point in his RAF career, Cheshire had already written of his exploits in his bestselling book Bomber Pilot and was the Deputy Base Commander of Base HQ Marston Moor. As a member of the Oxford University Air Squadron, he had obtained a commission to the RAF in early 1939 whilst still an undergraduate at Merton College, Oxford. After gaining a second class degree, his pilot training began at RAF Hullavington and he was awarded his pilot’s wings by December. In April 1940, he was sent to Abingdon for Whitley bomber training and for armament training in Jurby in May. In June 1940, he set off on his first operation from RAF Driffield with 102 squadron, already with a strong sense of the role luck would play in his future, Yes. Lofty, he is the captain of my crew. I only met him yesterday, but yesterday was a fateful day: I was put down to fly with Masham, but at half past four in the afternoon it was changed, and now Masham is dead, with all his crew. I was lucky. (Cheshire 1943, 9)
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Under his captain Pilot officer Frank Long (‘Lofty’), Cheshire blossomed. He was schooled in operations and taught the importance of building a personal relationship with his crew, a lesson he never forgot. His aptitude for leadership saw him make Captain by September 1940, with his own crew. A serious brush with fate came in the November of that year whilst on a sortie to bomb the oil plant at Wesseling, Germany. Flying through heavy cloud on their way over, conditions were suspiciously quiet as they descended to begin the attack; no searchlights or gunfire began. But when the first bomb dropped from the first aircraft, a huge barrage burst into life. The Germans were expecting them. A shell smashed through the turret of Cheshire’s plane and a second ignited a flare in the port wing, ripping open the side of the fuselage. His crew extinguished a fire in the fuel tank but not before the wireless operator had his entire face burned, blinding him. With most of one side of the plane’s fuselage gone, Cheshire and his crew held it together amongst the smoke, flak, wind and slipstream. Even with his horrific burns, the wireless operator kept sending out his morse code. On the return to base the entire crew were squashed into the cabin, plotting their course home between them without maps and tending to their colleague’s wounds. The first Whitley plane to return from that operation landed at 06.35, and over an hour and a half later Cheshire’s plane skimmed a boundary hedge and landed. Less than a year since he got his pilot’s wings, Cheshire was awarded the Distinguished Service Order. In 1941, Cheshire was transferred to 35 squadron at RAF Linton, where he trained on Halifax planes and continued operations on targets in occupied Europe. As time progressed esteemed colleagues and friends perished in war, including his mentor Lofty. It is here that Cheshire’s biographer, Morris (2000), pinpoints the start of Cheshire’s search for the meaning of life, the start of the path that would lead him to his devout Christian faith and humanitarian work. Cheshire himself was to admit that wartime was where he did his growing up (1998, 17). Cheshire’s important role in building crews, along with his devotion to duty whilst flying operations, saw him awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross in March 1941. In April, he was posted to the US ferrying aircraft, and came back with a wife called Constance Binney, a retired film actress. As the war progressed so did his career: he was posted to RAF Marston Moor in 1942 and then promoted to Wing Commander that summer, moving to 76 squadron at RAF Linton and becoming Station Commander. By April 1943, he had carried out 60 operations and his active service was called to a halt. Promoted to Group Captain, one of the youngest in the RAF at the time, he was made Deputy Station Commander at RAF Marston Moor. However, Cheshire bridled at six months enforced inactivity and let it be known he was not happy with a desk job. He had already enquired after the 617 position upon Guy Gibson’s leaving but had been overlooked. Dropping a rank, he returned to operations in October 1943, taking command of the squadron. Only five of the original Dam Busters crew were still with 617 squadron when Cheshire took over, but
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he was still viewed with some suspicion; copies of Bomber Pilot were left around the base. Cheshire himself knew that he had some formidable shoes to fill (1961, 27). The people who worked in 617 squadron considered themselves an elite. Mostly made up of volunteers, Air Marshall Harris had decided to keep the squadron for special duties involving precision bombing and their main job under Cheshire’s management was to destroy sites of industry, transport and the V1, V2 and V3 launch sites in France. As Hitler concentrated on building bunkers from which to command and produce weapons underground, a special type of ‘earthquake’ bomb was being developed by Barnes Wallis to reach these underground targets. The bomb was eventually known as the Tallboy. Efforts increased to improve accuracy; 617 and Cheshire, using a Mosquito plane, and later the Mustang (given to him by the US Air Force), pioneered a method of marking targets by dropping markers whilst flying at low levels, most often in the face of heavy anti-aircraft fire. Efforts were made to minimise impact on civilian life; in February, Cheshire made three low passes over a factory before he marked the target to warn the night shift – a resistance worker later thanked Cheshire personally once the war was over. In March 1944, 617 squadron attacked an aircraft factory at Albert in France. The squadron gave enough time between the marking and the bombing for the factory workers to get to the shelters (Cooper 1983, 54). Cheshire and Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane considered this technique to have been used to its greatest effect at Munich in April 1944. It was known as a difficult target and on their return, the marking Mosquito planes only had 20 min of fuel left in their tanks (Morris 2000, 160). Cheshire was only Wing Commander of 617 squadron for eight months, but during this time operations changed from area bombing to precision targets. Operations were at the mercy of the elements and were not always successful. Letters in the Leonard Cheshire Disability archive show that he was very involved in the work that the squadron and Barnes Wallis at Vickers-Armstrong were doing to improve accuracy at hitting targets. When not on operations, time was spent practising bombing runs and corresponding with armaments manufacturers on ways to make the equipment more accurate. On Thursday 6 July 1944, Cheshire flew his one hundredth and final operation, marking a German V-weapon gun at Mimoyecques, subsequently destroyed by 617 squadron’s Tallboy bombs. The next day Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane told Cheshire his time commanding the squadron was over. In September 1944, Leonard Cheshire was awarded the Victoria Cross, not for one act of bravery but for sustained valour throughout his war career. A staff job in India with Eastern Air Command had to be cut short due to his wife, who has returned to the US, falling ill. He was posted to the British Joint Staff Mission in Washington in December 1944, his job was to help plan Bomber Command’s role in the invasion of Japan. He was in Washington when VE Day was declared on the 8 May and by July, had already been asked by the
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Washington Post to give a moral justification of Bomber Command’s offensive against Germany. This, combined with the repatriation of his brother Christopher, also an RAF pilot and prisoner of war at Stalag Luft III, gave him cause for some quiet reflection. During a throwaway conversation about religion in a London bar on a brief return to the UK, ostensibly to attend a conference but really to celebrate his brother’s return, Cheshire had been struck by a sudden realisation that he both believed in God and that he may be called upon very soon to test his own personal limits. He was unaware of the test detonation of the first atomic bomb in Nevada on 17 July (Cheshire 1985, 6). Cheshire wrote of his subsequent experiences in his book The Light of Many Suns. His description of being one of the two British observers sent, on Churchill’s instruction, to witness the bombing of Nagasaki, conveys the emotions he felt on that day. He was uneasy with the practice sorties the squadron had been making; flying in formation out of the range of defences felt unfair to the Japanese. All along the flight he compared it to his own experiences on bombing raids, the lack of flak, no comparable casualty rate, how those that fought had reasoned that the Germans knew they were coming so could theoretically flee the cities that were targets. Being a passenger on an operation with no other responsibility than to observe made a difference he had never have previously understood, ... this was the mission that was going to cut short the killing by several million, and end the war, perhaps even end all major war. How could one not proceed with it, even though to do so felt like contradicting one’s humanity? (Cheshire 1985, 55)
When the bomb was dropped, the plane and crew of which Cheshire was part were fifty miles away from the detonation point and had no need to wear their protective goggles. Cheshire himself was convinced that the pilot had missed the aiming point by a few miles. He wrote of his reaction to the bomb: I was overcome, not by its size, nor by its speed of ascent but by what appeared to me its perfect and faultless symmetry. In this it was unique, above every explosion that I had ever heard of or seen, the more frightening because it gave the impression of having its immense power under full and deadly control. ‘Against me,’ it seemed to declare, ‘you cannot fight.’ My whole being felt overwhelmed, first by a tidal wave of relief and hope-it’s all over!-then by a revolt against using such a weapon. But, I remembered, I had been sent here for a purpose and as best I could I must get on with my job. (Cheshire 1985, 58)
His RAF training got him through, but the strain and the knowledge that world war was over rendered Cheshire emotionless, even when the surrender of the Japanese was broadcast weeks later. He returned to London to report not to Churchill (who had sent him there), but to the newly elected Clement Atlee. Cheshire’s thoughts had raced ahead in the intervening six weeks and
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he reported his conclusion that if all sides had an atomic arsenal, world peace would be preserved through military stalemate. The key, Cheshire reported, lay in the delivery system of the bomb, especially rockets coming from space. Atlee lost interest as soon as Cheshire urged that the UK start its own space programme (Cheshire 1985, 58). Leonard Cheshire strongly refuted that it was his experience at Nagasaki that finally exhausted his reserve; rather it was the war as a whole that had worn him out (Morris 2000, 68). He left Washington with his wartime marriage over, the war over and having witnessed death and destruction for the past six years. Upon his discharge from the RAF he was sent to St Luke’s psychiatric hospital at Muswell Hill, as Cheshire put it ‘close to a breakdown … it had all been a bit much for me.’ (Morris 2000, 225). But this was not the end. Struck with a desire to do something to make the world a better place, and full of the realisation that, as a survivor of conflict, it was his duty to make the most of the present, world peace dominated his thinking (Cheshire 1961, 54). The war had not made Cheshire a pacifist; whilst his witnessing of the horror of Nagasaki was some source of personal regret, he could also see that the bomb’s power to end a world war decisively had prevented the deaths of millions of people in a way that the efforts of himself and others of Bomber Command could not (Cheshire 1985, 118). Cheshire had believed from the beginning of his war career, as a teenaged boy signing up to fight Hitler, that the desire for peace was universal, a part of what it meant to be human, and worth fighting for. In a later interview for a film called A Home for Life, Cheshire was asked if he found any conflict between the two roles in his life, as a warrior and as a carer. He replied: I can’t see the conflict. I know that many people do … But to me the point is that every generation is longing for peace- that’s the perennial longing of the human heart. But each generation’s got to work for peace in its own historical context. Mine happened to be war. As a boy, I thought war’s not for me … I thought, this is just too dreadful. But with Hitler, we knew there could be no peace until he was stopped. So we had to remove the threat to peace. (Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre 1990)
After the war, the Bombing Research Unit set-up by ‘Bomber’ Harris to measure the effect of the strategic air offensive concluded that in the Battle of the Ruhr 1943–44, 88 percent of Essen’s housing was destroyed, seven thousand people were killed, but the town’s contribution to the war was not affected (Bishop 2007, 371). However, by the final year of the war, Bomber Command and the US Air Force had nearly destroyed all of the oil industry and communication systems the Nazis relied upon (Bishop 2007, 373). As for the moral justification for the bombing of Germany asked of him in the weeks before Nagasaki, Cheshire said that faced with Germany’s military might and the Nazis’ liquidation of over 11 million people, ‘for all its shortcomings, Bomber Command was our only hope, and the trust placed in it was finally justified’(Cheshire 1985, 5). In all his war efforts, the aim to end
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the war as quickly as possible, with as little life lost as possible, was at the forefront of his mind. Post Hiroshima and Nagasaki he considered world war to be relegated to the past, and area bombing rendered obsolete. He said,
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True, we are not protected from smaller wars, nor from the perhaps greater danger of globally organised terrorism … but there is hope that the continuing advance of weapons technology … will gradually compel the world community to find ways of muzzling the freedom of nations to fight each other. (Cheshire 1985, 129)
Filled with an obligation to those that did not survive the war, Cheshire had the aim of making the post-war world a better place, but did not know quite how to achieve it. Based on his successful book Bomber Pilot and other brief journalistic forays, he got a job working as a journalist for the Sunday Graphic. Bemoaning a lack of the war spirit and unity of purpose, he put out a call in his column to set-up a colony for ex-service men and women as a way of easing the transition between life in the service and as civilians, and was overwhelmed by support. A colony for ex-servicemen called VIP (Vade in Pacem) was set-up along cooperative lines at Gumley Hall in Leicestershire and there were plans to set-up others abroad. However, those involved did not share Cheshire’s vision. Even though initially financially sound, collectivism failed and moving to new premises – Le Court in Hampshire, bought from Cheshire’s Aunt – did nothing to revive its fortunes. VIP failed and Cheshire found himself alone in a crumbling country mansion, wondering about his next steps. He had made up his mind to sell Le Court for conversion into flats when he received a phone call from Petersfield hospital in May 1948. A member of VIP who he could barely remember was dying of cancer and had nowhere to go. He was blocking the bed and the matron of the ward needed to move him on – could he come and live with Cheshire? With some trepidation, Cheshire agreed. He was given some rudimentary nursing advice and, along with a few remaining helpers from the VIP days, set-up a room for Arthur Dykes to move into. Debts from VIP meant there was no money to employ a nurse, so Cheshire nursed the man himself, not shirking from the more unpleasant aspects of this duty. Perhaps more importantly, Dykes became his friend and the two men talked about the things they shared, including faith. It was through Dykes’ rediscovery of his Roman Catholic faith that Cheshire became a Catholic himself, and remained devout throughout the remainder of his life. Of this he said, ‘there was no greater gift that Arthur could possibly have given me’ (Cheshire 1998, 26). Unknown to him at the time (he continued to think about what to do with his life after helping Arthur out), Cheshire had identified a gap in the new National Health Service (NHS) and more were to come to him for help, willing to contribute their new National Insurance payments and keen to share a
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home with others where they could make friends and all chip in together. Almost without him having to try, by the summer of 1949 Le Court had twenty-four residents with complex needs, illnesses and impairments, and even had a tuberculosis ward. The local GP and others had misgivings about the project, but as Cheshire pointed out, no matter how basic or unsatisfactory it was from a medical viewpoint, the alternative for most of the people accepted was much worse (Cheshire 1998, 27). As word spread, referrals came from the new NHS hospitals already struggling to cope with waiting lists of people needing urgent care. Disabled people were at the very bottom of the list of priorities, often left to manage on their own, or rely on others to help them get through each day. As Le Court became established, and people from different parts of the UK began to rally in response to local need for a similar home for people in their communities, the charity now known as Leonard Cheshire Disability began. Slowly, Cheshire began to realise that by working with disabled people he could help create a world where everyone was equally valued. Cheshire believed in the human family, and that every person in it had the possibility to contribute towards building peace and unity among us. He defined peace as ‘not just the absence of war or armed confrontation…peace is the effect, or consequence, of justice…we move towards peace proportionately as we succeed in removing injustice, particularly the injustice of mass starvation, and deprivation’ (Cheshire 1998, 158). He saw disabled people in the forefront of this common struggle for justice, just as those with whom he served during the war had been. Note on contributor Stephanie Nield is the Archivist at the Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre. References Bishop, Patrick. 2007. Bomber Boys. London: Harper Press. Cooper, Alan W. 1983. Beyond the Dams to the Tirpitz. London: William Kimber. Cheshire, Leonard. 1943. Bomber Pilot. London: Hutchinson. Cheshire, Leonard. 1961. The Face of Victory. London: Hutchinson. Cheshire, Leonard. 1985. The Light of Many Suns: The Meaning of the Bomb. London: Leonard Cheshire Books. Cheshire, Leonard. 1998. The Hidden World. Hong Kong: The Royal Air Force Benevolent Fund Enterprises. Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre. 1990. Transcript from an interview for “A Home for Life”, December 1990. Morris, Richard. 2000. Cheshire: The Biography of Leonard Cheshire, VC, OM. London: Viking Press.
Medicine, Conflict and Survival Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/fmcs20
Dambusters: A Personal View a
Stephanie Nield a
Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre, Netherseal, UK Published online: 21 Oct 2013.
To cite this article: Stephanie Nield (2013) Dambusters: A Personal View, Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 29:4, 270-277, DOI: 10.1080/13623699.2013.848602 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.848602
PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Taylor & Francis makes every effort to ensure the accuracy of all the information (the “Content”) contained in the publications on our platform. However, Taylor & Francis, our agents, and our licensors make no representations or warranties whatsoever as to the accuracy, completeness, or suitability for any purpose of the Content. Any opinions and views expressed in this publication are the opinions and views of the authors, and are not the views of or endorsed by Taylor & Francis. The accuracy of the Content should not be relied upon and should be independently verified with primary sources of information. Taylor and Francis shall not be liable for any losses, actions, claims, proceedings, demands, costs, expenses, damages, and other liabilities whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with, in relation to or arising out of the use of the Content. This article may be used for research, teaching, and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, redistribution, reselling, loan, sublicensing, systematic supply, or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly
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forbidden. Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http:// www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions
Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 2013 Vol. 29, No. 4, 270–277, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.848602
COMMENTARY Dambusters: A Personal View Stephanie Nield* Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre, Netherseal, UK
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(Accepted 21 September 2013)
May 2013 was the 70th anniversary of one of the most memorable operations of the Second World War, Operation Chastise. The squadron involved, No. 617 based at RAF Lossiemouth, is still extant in an attack role and has also reached its 70th anniversary. 617 Squadron and the RAF are carrying out a programme throughout the year to commemorate these events and raise money for charity. One of the charities involved is Leonard Cheshire Disability, founded by the most decorated bomber pilot of the Second World War, Leonard Cheshire. Those without a personal interest may not at first understand the link between 617, ‘The Dam Busters’, and the man known for his charities, Cheshire Homes and humanitarian work. But it was his experience as a bomber pilot during the war, and his immediate life thereafter, that motivated Leonard Cheshire to make the world a better place. In his own words: The totality of the war, which had cost fifty-five million lives, had impressed upon me the urgency of ensuring that such a catastrophe never happens again. But, how to do it? (Cheshire 1998, 14)
To understand this, as Cheshire himself said, we need to return to his experience of war (Cheshire 1998). Leonard Cheshire’s war career was with Bomber Command; 125,000 men from all over the world passed through Bomber Command and found themselves involved in a new type of warfare using emerging technology. Often they were the only people capable of attacking Germany on its own territory. Odds of surviving were low; fifty-five thousand members of Bomber Command were killed alone. From Cheshire’s first flying training course, he was one of the only survivors (Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre 1990). In the early years of the war as Britain suffered defeat, the battle in the air provided hope of victory and peace. Slowly, the tables began to turn at great cost to those crews flying the bomber planes. Perhaps Cheshire’s most famous role in Bomber Command was as the Wing Commander of 617 squadron, after which he was awarded the Victoria *Email: [email protected] © 2013 Taylor & Francis
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Cross. The squadron was set-up in 1943 to attack difficult to reach targets and gained a reputation as being both special and a suicide squadron. Under the aegis of Barnes-Wallis, 617 squadron tested new technological developments in armaments and planes, but not all missions were successful. In the two years of the Second World War that remained after their establishment, 617 attacked 95 targets, the first the Ruhr Dams and the last Hitler’s Berchtesgaden. Their first mission immediately made 617 famous and coined their name ‘The Dam Busters’. In preparation for the first mission, Wing Commander Guy Gibson (who was already a famous pilot) hand-selected the crew in great secrecy. Despite training in specially adapted Lancaster bombers and testing equipment for operations at low flying levels, the squadron did not really know what was expected of them until the night of the 16/17 May 1943, when they set flight towards the Möhne, Eder and Sorpe dams. From a force of 19 Avro Lancaster planes, specially adapted for the purpose, eleven returned. The Möhne and Eder dams were smashed and the Sorpe damaged. Two hydroelectric power plants were destroyed, alongside factories, mines and 1600 people were killed. However, the effect of this raid on Germany’s industry was not as devastating as first hoped, and it began to recover after only a few weeks. The bouncing bomb, tested and developed by the squadron and Barnes-Wallis, was never used again. Perhaps Operation Chastise’s only lasting effect was in boosting the allies’ morale. Upon his return from Operation Chastise, Guy Gibson was awarded the Victoria Cross and retired from operations. Their new Wing Commander George Holden was killed in action on his fourth sortie with 617 in September that same year and the position was vacant. Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane was seeking a successor and invited Leonard Cheshire for an interview. Cheshire by this point was already a hero in Bomber Command, 26 years old and highly decorated and experienced. He had previously been overlooked in favour of Holden, but the second time around he was offered and accepted the job. By this point in his RAF career, Cheshire had already written of his exploits in his bestselling book Bomber Pilot and was the Deputy Base Commander of Base HQ Marston Moor. As a member of the Oxford University Air Squadron, he had obtained a commission to the RAF in early 1939 whilst still an undergraduate at Merton College, Oxford. After gaining a second class degree, his pilot training began at RAF Hullavington and he was awarded his pilot’s wings by December. In April 1940, he was sent to Abingdon for Whitley bomber training and for armament training in Jurby in May. In June 1940, he set off on his first operation from RAF Driffield with 102 squadron, already with a strong sense of the role luck would play in his future, Yes. Lofty, he is the captain of my crew. I only met him yesterday, but yesterday was a fateful day: I was put down to fly with Masham, but at half past four in the afternoon it was changed, and now Masham is dead, with all his crew. I was lucky. (Cheshire 1943, 9)
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Under his captain Pilot officer Frank Long (‘Lofty’), Cheshire blossomed. He was schooled in operations and taught the importance of building a personal relationship with his crew, a lesson he never forgot. His aptitude for leadership saw him make Captain by September 1940, with his own crew. A serious brush with fate came in the November of that year whilst on a sortie to bomb the oil plant at Wesseling, Germany. Flying through heavy cloud on their way over, conditions were suspiciously quiet as they descended to begin the attack; no searchlights or gunfire began. But when the first bomb dropped from the first aircraft, a huge barrage burst into life. The Germans were expecting them. A shell smashed through the turret of Cheshire’s plane and a second ignited a flare in the port wing, ripping open the side of the fuselage. His crew extinguished a fire in the fuel tank but not before the wireless operator had his entire face burned, blinding him. With most of one side of the plane’s fuselage gone, Cheshire and his crew held it together amongst the smoke, flak, wind and slipstream. Even with his horrific burns, the wireless operator kept sending out his morse code. On the return to base the entire crew were squashed into the cabin, plotting their course home between them without maps and tending to their colleague’s wounds. The first Whitley plane to return from that operation landed at 06.35, and over an hour and a half later Cheshire’s plane skimmed a boundary hedge and landed. Less than a year since he got his pilot’s wings, Cheshire was awarded the Distinguished Service Order. In 1941, Cheshire was transferred to 35 squadron at RAF Linton, where he trained on Halifax planes and continued operations on targets in occupied Europe. As time progressed esteemed colleagues and friends perished in war, including his mentor Lofty. It is here that Cheshire’s biographer, Morris (2000), pinpoints the start of Cheshire’s search for the meaning of life, the start of the path that would lead him to his devout Christian faith and humanitarian work. Cheshire himself was to admit that wartime was where he did his growing up (1998, 17). Cheshire’s important role in building crews, along with his devotion to duty whilst flying operations, saw him awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross in March 1941. In April, he was posted to the US ferrying aircraft, and came back with a wife called Constance Binney, a retired film actress. As the war progressed so did his career: he was posted to RAF Marston Moor in 1942 and then promoted to Wing Commander that summer, moving to 76 squadron at RAF Linton and becoming Station Commander. By April 1943, he had carried out 60 operations and his active service was called to a halt. Promoted to Group Captain, one of the youngest in the RAF at the time, he was made Deputy Station Commander at RAF Marston Moor. However, Cheshire bridled at six months enforced inactivity and let it be known he was not happy with a desk job. He had already enquired after the 617 position upon Guy Gibson’s leaving but had been overlooked. Dropping a rank, he returned to operations in October 1943, taking command of the squadron. Only five of the original Dam Busters crew were still with 617 squadron when Cheshire took over, but
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he was still viewed with some suspicion; copies of Bomber Pilot were left around the base. Cheshire himself knew that he had some formidable shoes to fill (1961, 27). The people who worked in 617 squadron considered themselves an elite. Mostly made up of volunteers, Air Marshall Harris had decided to keep the squadron for special duties involving precision bombing and their main job under Cheshire’s management was to destroy sites of industry, transport and the V1, V2 and V3 launch sites in France. As Hitler concentrated on building bunkers from which to command and produce weapons underground, a special type of ‘earthquake’ bomb was being developed by Barnes Wallis to reach these underground targets. The bomb was eventually known as the Tallboy. Efforts increased to improve accuracy; 617 and Cheshire, using a Mosquito plane, and later the Mustang (given to him by the US Air Force), pioneered a method of marking targets by dropping markers whilst flying at low levels, most often in the face of heavy anti-aircraft fire. Efforts were made to minimise impact on civilian life; in February, Cheshire made three low passes over a factory before he marked the target to warn the night shift – a resistance worker later thanked Cheshire personally once the war was over. In March 1944, 617 squadron attacked an aircraft factory at Albert in France. The squadron gave enough time between the marking and the bombing for the factory workers to get to the shelters (Cooper 1983, 54). Cheshire and Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane considered this technique to have been used to its greatest effect at Munich in April 1944. It was known as a difficult target and on their return, the marking Mosquito planes only had 20 min of fuel left in their tanks (Morris 2000, 160). Cheshire was only Wing Commander of 617 squadron for eight months, but during this time operations changed from area bombing to precision targets. Operations were at the mercy of the elements and were not always successful. Letters in the Leonard Cheshire Disability archive show that he was very involved in the work that the squadron and Barnes Wallis at Vickers-Armstrong were doing to improve accuracy at hitting targets. When not on operations, time was spent practising bombing runs and corresponding with armaments manufacturers on ways to make the equipment more accurate. On Thursday 6 July 1944, Cheshire flew his one hundredth and final operation, marking a German V-weapon gun at Mimoyecques, subsequently destroyed by 617 squadron’s Tallboy bombs. The next day Air Vice-Marshal Cochrane told Cheshire his time commanding the squadron was over. In September 1944, Leonard Cheshire was awarded the Victoria Cross, not for one act of bravery but for sustained valour throughout his war career. A staff job in India with Eastern Air Command had to be cut short due to his wife, who has returned to the US, falling ill. He was posted to the British Joint Staff Mission in Washington in December 1944, his job was to help plan Bomber Command’s role in the invasion of Japan. He was in Washington when VE Day was declared on the 8 May and by July, had already been asked by the
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Washington Post to give a moral justification of Bomber Command’s offensive against Germany. This, combined with the repatriation of his brother Christopher, also an RAF pilot and prisoner of war at Stalag Luft III, gave him cause for some quiet reflection. During a throwaway conversation about religion in a London bar on a brief return to the UK, ostensibly to attend a conference but really to celebrate his brother’s return, Cheshire had been struck by a sudden realisation that he both believed in God and that he may be called upon very soon to test his own personal limits. He was unaware of the test detonation of the first atomic bomb in Nevada on 17 July (Cheshire 1985, 6). Cheshire wrote of his subsequent experiences in his book The Light of Many Suns. His description of being one of the two British observers sent, on Churchill’s instruction, to witness the bombing of Nagasaki, conveys the emotions he felt on that day. He was uneasy with the practice sorties the squadron had been making; flying in formation out of the range of defences felt unfair to the Japanese. All along the flight he compared it to his own experiences on bombing raids, the lack of flak, no comparable casualty rate, how those that fought had reasoned that the Germans knew they were coming so could theoretically flee the cities that were targets. Being a passenger on an operation with no other responsibility than to observe made a difference he had never have previously understood, ... this was the mission that was going to cut short the killing by several million, and end the war, perhaps even end all major war. How could one not proceed with it, even though to do so felt like contradicting one’s humanity? (Cheshire 1985, 55)
When the bomb was dropped, the plane and crew of which Cheshire was part were fifty miles away from the detonation point and had no need to wear their protective goggles. Cheshire himself was convinced that the pilot had missed the aiming point by a few miles. He wrote of his reaction to the bomb: I was overcome, not by its size, nor by its speed of ascent but by what appeared to me its perfect and faultless symmetry. In this it was unique, above every explosion that I had ever heard of or seen, the more frightening because it gave the impression of having its immense power under full and deadly control. ‘Against me,’ it seemed to declare, ‘you cannot fight.’ My whole being felt overwhelmed, first by a tidal wave of relief and hope-it’s all over!-then by a revolt against using such a weapon. But, I remembered, I had been sent here for a purpose and as best I could I must get on with my job. (Cheshire 1985, 58)
His RAF training got him through, but the strain and the knowledge that world war was over rendered Cheshire emotionless, even when the surrender of the Japanese was broadcast weeks later. He returned to London to report not to Churchill (who had sent him there), but to the newly elected Clement Atlee. Cheshire’s thoughts had raced ahead in the intervening six weeks and
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he reported his conclusion that if all sides had an atomic arsenal, world peace would be preserved through military stalemate. The key, Cheshire reported, lay in the delivery system of the bomb, especially rockets coming from space. Atlee lost interest as soon as Cheshire urged that the UK start its own space programme (Cheshire 1985, 58). Leonard Cheshire strongly refuted that it was his experience at Nagasaki that finally exhausted his reserve; rather it was the war as a whole that had worn him out (Morris 2000, 68). He left Washington with his wartime marriage over, the war over and having witnessed death and destruction for the past six years. Upon his discharge from the RAF he was sent to St Luke’s psychiatric hospital at Muswell Hill, as Cheshire put it ‘close to a breakdown … it had all been a bit much for me.’ (Morris 2000, 225). But this was not the end. Struck with a desire to do something to make the world a better place, and full of the realisation that, as a survivor of conflict, it was his duty to make the most of the present, world peace dominated his thinking (Cheshire 1961, 54). The war had not made Cheshire a pacifist; whilst his witnessing of the horror of Nagasaki was some source of personal regret, he could also see that the bomb’s power to end a world war decisively had prevented the deaths of millions of people in a way that the efforts of himself and others of Bomber Command could not (Cheshire 1985, 118). Cheshire had believed from the beginning of his war career, as a teenaged boy signing up to fight Hitler, that the desire for peace was universal, a part of what it meant to be human, and worth fighting for. In a later interview for a film called A Home for Life, Cheshire was asked if he found any conflict between the two roles in his life, as a warrior and as a carer. He replied: I can’t see the conflict. I know that many people do … But to me the point is that every generation is longing for peace- that’s the perennial longing of the human heart. But each generation’s got to work for peace in its own historical context. Mine happened to be war. As a boy, I thought war’s not for me … I thought, this is just too dreadful. But with Hitler, we knew there could be no peace until he was stopped. So we had to remove the threat to peace. (Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre 1990)
After the war, the Bombing Research Unit set-up by ‘Bomber’ Harris to measure the effect of the strategic air offensive concluded that in the Battle of the Ruhr 1943–44, 88 percent of Essen’s housing was destroyed, seven thousand people were killed, but the town’s contribution to the war was not affected (Bishop 2007, 371). However, by the final year of the war, Bomber Command and the US Air Force had nearly destroyed all of the oil industry and communication systems the Nazis relied upon (Bishop 2007, 373). As for the moral justification for the bombing of Germany asked of him in the weeks before Nagasaki, Cheshire said that faced with Germany’s military might and the Nazis’ liquidation of over 11 million people, ‘for all its shortcomings, Bomber Command was our only hope, and the trust placed in it was finally justified’(Cheshire 1985, 5). In all his war efforts, the aim to end
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the war as quickly as possible, with as little life lost as possible, was at the forefront of his mind. Post Hiroshima and Nagasaki he considered world war to be relegated to the past, and area bombing rendered obsolete. He said,
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True, we are not protected from smaller wars, nor from the perhaps greater danger of globally organised terrorism … but there is hope that the continuing advance of weapons technology … will gradually compel the world community to find ways of muzzling the freedom of nations to fight each other. (Cheshire 1985, 129)
Filled with an obligation to those that did not survive the war, Cheshire had the aim of making the post-war world a better place, but did not know quite how to achieve it. Based on his successful book Bomber Pilot and other brief journalistic forays, he got a job working as a journalist for the Sunday Graphic. Bemoaning a lack of the war spirit and unity of purpose, he put out a call in his column to set-up a colony for ex-service men and women as a way of easing the transition between life in the service and as civilians, and was overwhelmed by support. A colony for ex-servicemen called VIP (Vade in Pacem) was set-up along cooperative lines at Gumley Hall in Leicestershire and there were plans to set-up others abroad. However, those involved did not share Cheshire’s vision. Even though initially financially sound, collectivism failed and moving to new premises – Le Court in Hampshire, bought from Cheshire’s Aunt – did nothing to revive its fortunes. VIP failed and Cheshire found himself alone in a crumbling country mansion, wondering about his next steps. He had made up his mind to sell Le Court for conversion into flats when he received a phone call from Petersfield hospital in May 1948. A member of VIP who he could barely remember was dying of cancer and had nowhere to go. He was blocking the bed and the matron of the ward needed to move him on – could he come and live with Cheshire? With some trepidation, Cheshire agreed. He was given some rudimentary nursing advice and, along with a few remaining helpers from the VIP days, set-up a room for Arthur Dykes to move into. Debts from VIP meant there was no money to employ a nurse, so Cheshire nursed the man himself, not shirking from the more unpleasant aspects of this duty. Perhaps more importantly, Dykes became his friend and the two men talked about the things they shared, including faith. It was through Dykes’ rediscovery of his Roman Catholic faith that Cheshire became a Catholic himself, and remained devout throughout the remainder of his life. Of this he said, ‘there was no greater gift that Arthur could possibly have given me’ (Cheshire 1998, 26). Unknown to him at the time (he continued to think about what to do with his life after helping Arthur out), Cheshire had identified a gap in the new National Health Service (NHS) and more were to come to him for help, willing to contribute their new National Insurance payments and keen to share a
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home with others where they could make friends and all chip in together. Almost without him having to try, by the summer of 1949 Le Court had twenty-four residents with complex needs, illnesses and impairments, and even had a tuberculosis ward. The local GP and others had misgivings about the project, but as Cheshire pointed out, no matter how basic or unsatisfactory it was from a medical viewpoint, the alternative for most of the people accepted was much worse (Cheshire 1998, 27). As word spread, referrals came from the new NHS hospitals already struggling to cope with waiting lists of people needing urgent care. Disabled people were at the very bottom of the list of priorities, often left to manage on their own, or rely on others to help them get through each day. As Le Court became established, and people from different parts of the UK began to rally in response to local need for a similar home for people in their communities, the charity now known as Leonard Cheshire Disability began. Slowly, Cheshire began to realise that by working with disabled people he could help create a world where everyone was equally valued. Cheshire believed in the human family, and that every person in it had the possibility to contribute towards building peace and unity among us. He defined peace as ‘not just the absence of war or armed confrontation…peace is the effect, or consequence, of justice…we move towards peace proportionately as we succeed in removing injustice, particularly the injustice of mass starvation, and deprivation’ (Cheshire 1998, 158). He saw disabled people in the forefront of this common struggle for justice, just as those with whom he served during the war had been. Note on contributor Stephanie Nield is the Archivist at the Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre. References Bishop, Patrick. 2007. Bomber Boys. London: Harper Press. Cooper, Alan W. 1983. Beyond the Dams to the Tirpitz. London: William Kimber. Cheshire, Leonard. 1943. Bomber Pilot. London: Hutchinson. Cheshire, Leonard. 1961. The Face of Victory. London: Hutchinson. Cheshire, Leonard. 1985. The Light of Many Suns: The Meaning of the Bomb. London: Leonard Cheshire Books. Cheshire, Leonard. 1998. The Hidden World. Hong Kong: The Royal Air Force Benevolent Fund Enterprises. Leonard Cheshire Disability Archive Centre. 1990. Transcript from an interview for “A Home for Life”, December 1990. Morris, Richard. 2000. Cheshire: The Biography of Leonard Cheshire, VC, OM. London: Viking Press.
