It was a shock for Murga to learn that his skipper was now in hospital too. He made his way at once to the surgical ward and was even more shocked to see David lying comatose, heavily drugged for his injuries. Head in a skullcap, and swathed in bandages. Right hand heavily bandaged. And a frame under the bedclothes to protect his right leg from their weight.
Overcome with grief, Murga looked down on the still, young face, pale and etched with pain, the observant eyes now closed. His Skipper. Their Skipper.
The ward sister came by. ‘Someone you know?’ she asked.
‘He was my skipper,’ he replied huskily. ‘One of the best. How is he?’
‘He has multiple gunshot wounds. Pretty nasty. Fractured skull. Tendons and artery severed in his right
Official Air Force Telegram to David’s father, advising of David’s wounding
Hand. Damage to his right leg and shoulder. And he’s lost a lot of blood. But he’ll make it,’ she reassured him.
What had happened yesterday? Murga could hardly wait for the rest of the crew to come, so that he could find out.
When they arrived later in the day, they all stood around the bed, numb with the trauma.
‘You’ve got to pull through, Davy Boy,’ Drew murmured. ‘You can’t leave us.’
‘You’re a bang-on pilot, old chap,’ Pop muttered. ‘We won’t get another one like you.’
‘Just wish we could hear one of your isms now,’ Boz said wistfully, and the others nodded in agreement.
Birdy spoke last. ‘It’s not fair, Dave. You shouldn’t be here. Everyone knows that the bloke in the back end is the bunny who usually cops it. It shouldn’t have been you,’ he blurted.
Murga put his hand on the young gunner’s shoulder. ‘I haven’t heard anything yet about how it happened. Come and let’s find a cuppa and you can tell me all about it.’
They stood silently looking down on their Skip for another moment. ‘Keep saying your prayers, boys,’ Drew urged as they turned away.
Down in the canteen they sat bunched close round the table, clasping their mugs of tea tightly, as if warming their hands might somehow help to warm their hearts again.
‘We were going to the infernal Happy Valley. Again,’ Drew hissed.
‘In Dog,’ Boz put in.
‘Dortmund in daylight,’ Pop groaned. ‘In a wave of just over 300, mostly Lancs with a few Mossies,’ he added.
‘The flak was ferocious,’ Boz said.
‘Worst I’ve ever seen,’ Birdy declared.
‘It was the devil’s shooting gallery. Nightmare stuff,’ Pop muttered.
‘We’d laid our eggs and the bomb doors had just closed,’ Drew went on. ‘Then WHAM! Dog lurched and shuddered and we knew we’d been hit.’
‘We went into a dive. We all thought our number was up,’ Boz exclaimed.
‘But then she was on the level again and the unflappable old Dave’s voice comes over the intercom. Can’t you just hear him, all cool, calm and collected?’ Pop asked.
The others nodded.
‘Pilot to rear gunner. Are you OK?’ Birdy quoted.
‘We felt better then,’ Boz declared. ‘Until he gives the order, “Put on parachutes and stand by!’’’
‘This is it, I thought,’ Birdy admitted, ‘and felt sick. It’s a long scramble to the escape hatch from my perch.’
‘Then more hot stuff from hell,’ Drew continued. ‘The action wasn’t over yet. We were hit a second time. It threw us about and Dave had to drop below the stream.’
‘Talk about a sitting duck!’ Birdy’s face was tense with the memory.
‘Over the Rhine we cop it for the third time,’ Pop shuddered.
‘But it was third time unlucky for Jerry,’ Boz exulted.
‘Skip told me to fire a Very light with the colours of the day,’ Pop went on. ‘A couple of our fighters checked us out, but stooged off when they saw we still had four engines. Even though one of the petrol tanks was holed.’ He laughed ironically.
‘It wasn’t for nothing that Main Force’s code word was Press On,’ Drew said. ‘It was tailor made for our
Dave. He puts on speed and heads for Juvincourt. But then, trust him, he thinks he can do better.’
‘And there we are, crossing the Channel!’ Boz announced. ‘And I’m remembering all that ditching practice we’d done.’
‘But we’re heading for Woodbridge. Then Dave and Cyril thought we had enough juice to get home,’ Pop added.
‘But he did ask us if we wanted to bale out,’ Birdy said. ‘“Pilot to rear gunner. Do you want to bale out or stay with the aircraft?” Jeez, I hoped I’d never hear him say that.’
The others nodded sombrely. Murga munched his lip and swallowed hard. If only he had been there doing his bit to help.
‘Of course none of us wants to leave him to it,’ Drew said. ‘So there he is again on the intercom. “Take up crash positions!” I tell you, Murga, we were all saying our prayers.’
‘It was a pukka landing,’ Pop said proudly.
‘And then the blood wagon comes racing up,’ Boz chipped in.
‘We thought they’d come to the wrong kite,’ Birdy said. ‘But it was for our Skip, and he hadn’t told us,’ he concluded, his voice breaking.
‘I’d seen blood dripping from his hand,’ Drew said. ‘But Skip never let on he’d been wounded. And Cyril copped some too in the second burst.’
‘We miss you, old chap, but you were well out of this lot.’ Pop shook Murga’s hand as they prepared to leave.
‘Look after him for us, won’t you, and let us know if he needs anything,’ Drew said, gruff with emotion.
Murga nodded. This would be his bit now.
Jolting back in the bus to Kelstern, everyone was silent until Birdy suddenly burst out, ‘You know how after every op Skip would always ask each one of us, “What was it like for you?’’’ They nodded in agreement.
‘It was a sort of ritual almost, wasn’t it?’ Boz said.
‘It was his way of showing he cared,’ Pop reflected.
‘And he did care,’ Drew affirmed. ‘He gave us the chance to tell how we felt, before we went to interrogation to tell what we had seen. He understood that feelings are important, just as much as facts.’
‘Though he never let on about his own,’ Boz observed.
‘Somehow he was there today, giving us the chance we didn’t have last night.’ Birdy was struggling to express what he meant. But the others knew. They fell silent again for the rest of the journey, each immersed in his own memories of yesterday.
Back at the hospital, Murga sat by David’s bed, imagining all that had happened in D Dog on its fateful sortie to Dortmund.
Next day David, drifting in and out of consciousness, was comforted to find Murga at his side.
‘You’ve had a lot of visitors while you were out to it,’ his old navigator told him, ‘and a lot of messages. I reckon we ought to start a logbook. Your brother came. So did the crew. Not Cyril. He’s still in Louth hospital. And Charles had business on the station. But Drew and Pop and the kids were here. It was a real mothers’ meeting for a time.’
He was pleased to see his remark raise a grin on
David’s face. ‘I thought you might like me to write some letters for you. Brian said he’d write to your parents, but they’ll be keen to hear from you too.’
‘,’ said David. He knew how anxious his parents would be. ‘Let’s send a cable first. In hospital. Nothing serious. Please don’t worry. Cheerio. David. Can you see to that, Murga?’
Murga nodded. ‘Now what about a bit more detail in the letter?’ He produced a pen and an airgraph form and with the meticulous precision which had made him such a good navigator, he wrote to David’s dictation:
3.12.44
Dear Dad and Mum,
This should wish you and the family all the best for Xmas. I am sorry I can’t write myself as I have hurt my hand - nothing serious. I am dictating this letter to Reg Murr, who is writing it for me, and who hopes to be home early in the new year himself. I have had several visitors so am quite fortunate. Brian came to see me the other day so he has probably given you all the latest news.
The weather here is definitely chilly now - I would not mind being on the beach at Bridport this year again. Best wishes to all, and don’t worry.
David.
David was glad of Murga’s company and grateful for his assistance. But as soon as he could sit up, he started trying to write with his left hand. It was not easy. He persevered, however, determined to be independent. All the shrapnel had been removed from his wounds except for one piece in his right hand. The doctors had expressed doubt as to
Airgraph written left-handed by David f-rom Rauceby Hospital 10 days after his wounding
Whether he would regain full use of it. David was worried. If his right hand was not fully functional, it could put an end to his flying. And that was unthinkable.
He was concerned about his crew, too. Without a pilot they were likely to be split up, especially as he was
Obviously not going to be fit to return to active service in the near future. After receiving a letter from Drew confirming his fears, David summoned all his strength and wrote shakily with his left hand to his Wingco, asking that his crew be kept together. Charles, with his senior status, also campaigned with the various section leaders on the squadron to try to circumvent the move to separate them.
But it was all to no avail. Only days after the Dortmund raid they learned that Birdy was to stay at Kelstern as a spare bod, although he was not required to fly with any crew who had done fewer ops than he had. Cyril would also return to 625 Squadron when discharged from Louth Infirmary. Charles was ‘looking miserable and still wondering what would happen to him’. But Drew, Pop and Boz were to be posted to another squadron.
Drew was furious. Unfolding a tale of woe into your little pink ear, he wrote to David. It is with the deepest regret that we say farewell to Kelstern-in-the-Mud, and to one of the best skippers we have known or are likely to know. Reporting that he and Pop and Boz had been posted to 576 Squadron as members of a Squadron Leader’s crew, he wrote with disgust, He has some double-barrelled name and I bet a pinch of shit to a gum leaf he speaks with an Oxford accent. I nearly had a howl when I got your letter. I can’t find your things. They have been stored away in a neat pile and though I searched through it I can’t find them to send to you.’
He closed, saying, We are pleased to hear you are improving and would most earnestly like to thank you for what you did and express our sincere admiration of you. Dave, old boy, you are the hero of the place. Rightly so too, say I.
David was cheered up by his steady trickle of visitors, including his Wingco, the padre, the Adjutant and others from the station. Several Air Vice Marshals and an Air Chief Marshal also visited the hospital and David enjoyed a long chat with Air Vice Marshal Wrigley, Commander of the RAAF overseas.
On his second visit, Brian brought a bunch of grapes, an almost unheard-of luxury in winter in wartime England. David and Murga speculated afterwards on how much each grape had cost.
Des Hadden and Alan Scott made the long journey from their bases to see their friend. Since Rauceby had formerly been a mental hospital, few of David’s visitors could refrain from teasing him about his confinement in a lunatic asylum, especially as he occupied a padded cell! He took it all in good part, and joked himself about being certified. He was grateful for the modicum of privacy and quiet which his cell afforded, being off the main ward.
Drew, Pop and Boz described their new station, Fiskerton, in a joint letter. It was written not on the usual flimsy buff Comforts Fund paper, but as an indication of their special regard for their first skipper, on some beautiful heavy cream prewar sheets which Drew had managed somehow to procure. He lamented, It’s not the same, Dave, and we aren’t our old selves. Pop was more explicit. Not that I have anything against his lordship. But I steadfastly refuse to call his nibs Skipper. He was irked at the slack intercom procedure, so different from what David had expected of his crew. Cyril complained about it too. He had joined a Canadian crew and was disgusted that they addressed each other over the intercom by first name instead of by function. After more chiacking Pop concluded in a serious vein, Let me say that your true worth as a pilot and a man has been brought home to us even more forcibly since we have been separated from you, and I am in deadly earnest.
For his part, David, wrote to his parents making light of his situation, My chief annoyance is that I have lost my crew, who cannot wait for me. One could never have better friends. Please do not worry about me at all as there is nothing seriously wrong. You will have to excuse my left-hand writing, but it will continue for some time, as some of my right tendons are damaged.
Homesick and in pain, David felt the loss of his crew deeply. Lying in his hospital bed, he pondered the torment of others who had occupied this cell before him, and the anguish he was now suffering. Remembering the pain of the past 21 months since Point Cook. Fellow trainees dying in accidents. Friends blown to smithereens. Burnt to ashes. Drowned in the killer sea. Or missing. Hideously. Anonymously. Missing presumed dead. Now it was his own crew he was losing. Alive, alert, aware, loyal as blood brothers, bonded forever through the experiences they had shared. Going on without him. Leaving him alone. And desolate.
Once more he resolved he would never let himself become so attached again. It hurt too much. His heart was also a casualty of war.
Air Vice Marshal Wrigley’s letter of congratulation to David on the immediate award of the Distinguished Flying Cross
Outstanding Devotion to Duty
The Wingco, deeply impressed with David’s courage and superb airmanship in bringing home his crew and his aircraft, recommended David for an Immediate Award of the Distinguished Flying Cross. Writing to David to send the squadron’s love and congratulations, he said, ‘Never was there one more gallantly earned.’
The official citation reads:
As pilot and captain of an aircraft, Flying Officer MATTINGLEY took part in an attack against DORTMUND in November, 1944.
Whilst over the target, the aircraft was badly hit and Flying Officer MATTINGLEY was wounded about the head, arm and thigh. In
Spite of the hits he carried on and afterwards flew the damaged aircraft back to the United Kingdom.
His indomitable spirit, superb captaincy and outstanding devotion to duty set an example of high order.
World History
