A Pilots Story of the British bombing of Germany

Sergeant Pilot Rupert Cooling of No 9 Squadron was involved in operations in various campaigns, from bases in Britain and abroad. His impressions of the British bombing of Germany are poignant.

A pilot in his 'office' Rupert Cooling in the cockpit of his Wellington bomber.

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“May 12, 1940 was the beginning of the bomber offensive, the first attack east of the Rhine, 37 aircraft of Bomber Command struck at Mönchengladbach. Three were lost. Ironically, of the four people killed, one was an Englishwoman living in the town.

Wellingtons of 9 Squadron went to Bottrop on 15 May. The weather outbound was rough though the target was clear and, to our surprise, there was no opposition. Homeward bound was a different story. Electric storms rendered the wireless useless, St Elmo's Fire circled the spinning tips of the propellers in a garland of lilac blue flame, whilst an arc seemed to span between the gun barrels of the front turret. The compass needle swung from side to side as we stood or sat within the geodetic and fabric cocoon which was our immediate world 8,000 feet up in the dark, we were well and truly lost.

Rupert Cooling At Honington In 1940.

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Who it was that suggested we might be back over England is irrelevant. We descended to some 3,000 feet and switched on the navigation lights. The blackness below was total. Tap out the aircraft's letter on the downward signal lamp there was no response. Then suddenly a pool of light spread fanwise until the darkness soaked up the last grey glimmer. It was an airfield-but where? We touched down, rolled to a halt, and then moved towards some dimly beckoning torches. The second pilot stood by with the signal pistol to set the Wellington afire, should we be in enemy territory. Happily it was Shoreham on the Sussex coast.

The insignia of No.9 Squadron, with its bat emblem and motto, 'We fly through the night'. The squadron flew its night missions from Honington.

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Three days later, we were one of six Wellingtons to attack Cologne and, with other crews, reported searchlights apparently flying above broken cloud. We never saw them again. On August 25th, about 50 aircraft went for the first time to Berlin. Six Hamdens were lost. The only bombs to fall within the city limits destroyed a summer house and injured two people. These were puny efforts returning puny results. Costs too were small, but costs then were. On 19 June a distress signal alerted 9 Squadron to the plight of one of its aircraft. We took off to search the North Sea, almost to the coast of Holland. To and fro along the sides of a steadily expanding square we flew, peering at the relentless sage-green sea. A shout, a sighting, something on the waves. Elated, we flew towards it to find a barrel, a baulk of timber and a snarl of rope. We turned away, deflated, and resumed our search. The crew were never found. Each year, at the Runnymede Memorial, I look at the name of the navigator, whose room was next to mine, and remember that he was 20, and so was I.

A Wellington Mark Ic of No.9 Squadron, who were the first to fly Vickers brand new bomber.

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