Low Flight

Flying over the wartime skies of occupied Europe was a hazardous business, as the losses suffered by the Allied air forces will testify. Flight through the friendly skies of the UK wasn’t without risk either, a great many aircraft and in many cases more importantly their crew were lost to a variety of causes. Weather, pilot error, mechanical failure and collisions in crowded skies could all be factors. However with the cessation of hostilities in Europe the amount of flying decreased and with it losses, especially collisions. A few still occurred; one in particular according to local legend between a P51 and a haystack interested us.

The war with Japan still raging in the East meant that many of the American fighter units continued training, expecting reassignment. The 361^st Fighter Group had been based at Bottisham for  nine months before a stay at Little Walden preceded four months of operations out of Belgium & France. The group were back at Little Walden in April 1945, the final days of the air-war were fairly fruitless in terms of action as the Luftwaffe were hemmed into ever decreasing territory and grounded by losses and lack of fuel. A new pilot joining the group in February1945, Flight Officer Wade C Ross went to the continent with the group, but by the time he had completed his operational training, the opportunity to experience combat had passed.

'Eva!' (photo via Steve Gotts)

On the 22^nd June 1945 he was up in one of the groups’ oldest aircraft, ‘Eva!’ a P51B on a low level training flight over the Fens. John Hales was at that time just starting his first job as a 14 year old farm boy, from the top of a stack, he and the older farm workers watched as a fighter – ‘one of those with the big scoop underneath’ – arced overhead, smoke trailing behind as it plunged into the ground about ¾ of a mile away.  One of his workmates commented that ‘he’s had his lot’ as the impact threw up a shower of earth, flame and smoke. Crashing on a neighbouring farm, it meant that their work continued as the authorities attended to the crash, and as John put it if he had gone over to it ‘ he would have got wrong from the boss’

Returning home from work that evening John learnt that F/O Ross hadn’t ‘had his lot’ after all, although burnt he had taken to his parachute out of view of the men. Landing at the front of Willow Tree Farm, he was taken inside to await the ambulance from nearby RAF Downham Market. John’s sister worked at this farm and it was from her that he learnt of the pilot’s survival.

In 2002 whilst we were excavating the Miles Master which crashed at Hilgay Station (N8043 of 56OTU which crashed on 16^th February 1941) John Hales offered to show us where a couple of other aircraft came down. The crash of the P51 was known to us, but not the exact area that it came down in. Standing in the old farmyard, John pointed out a large field running away from the railway, ‘that’s the one you should be digging up’. With both a Typhoon and a P51 lost at Hilgay, the description of a fighter with a scoop underneath could apply to either. However his sister remembered that the young pilot was an American and in any case the pilot of the Typhoon, W/O Williams, had been killed in the crash of his aircraft.

With landowners permission granted the search began a few weeks later once the potatoes were lifted, or as they were being lifted to be precise. The field indicated is about 300yds wide but a mile in length, a long hot day passed as we scoured one end of the field, each time walking up the field until level with a pile of irrigation pipes before turning back to the end. Late in the afternoon we decided to go a little further and almost at the same moment David and I both got signals with our detectors – both were the telltale fragments of alloy. More turned up, one with a part number – this was indeed the Mustang. The impact point was located and carefully paced out – we didn’t want to lose it.

The licence from the Ministry of Defence was more troublesome to obtain though, having refused to grant a licence previously there was a reluctance to do so this time. However with several letters to and fro our case was politely made that there was no good reason to refuse us a licence and a year later in Nov 2003 licence number 1453 was granted, over a year after we had originally located the site. We had a short window of opportunity for an excavation between crops, although as the field had been ploughed it could only be done by hand.

Armoured windscreen

This was to prove very worthwhile though; one of the first recognisable pieces to come to light was the complete armoured windscreen, closely followed by the canopy cover and the dinghy. The latter would normally leave the aircraft attached to the pilots parachute harness, but presumably because this flight was solely over land it hadn’t been snapped on. Once home the dinghy was carefully unpacked, it appeared to be virtually undamaged, very cautious application of compressed air proved this to be the case – after nearly sixty years in the ground it  held air.

The dinghy pack shortly after recovery

The inflated dinghy 

The CO₂ inflator bottle, bungs and sea anchor

Further digging released a large section from the top of the fuselage from above the radio compartment, under this could seen one side to the cockpit wall with the canopy rail attached. At the front of this the mount for the K14 gunsight, and a few inches away the K14 itself was laying. Again an incredible find considering their fragility. The complete instrument panel made for an unforgettable day – it no longer mattered how cold the Fens are in November. Now we had to wait until the sugar-beet harvest in 2004.  

K14 gunsight

'Impatient Virgin' in flight (photo via Steve Gotts)

Complete instrument panel

P51B 42-106638 had been with the 361^st for over a year, clocking up very nearly 700 hours flying time, she can be seen in the background of a colour shot of the group taxing out for take-off on D-Day. Assigned to Lt John Bricker she carried the official squadron code E9-R and the unofficial name ‘Impatient Virgin’. Later in her life the original hood was changed from the factory birdcage to the British ‘Malcolm Hood’ a one piece sliding blown Perspex canopy that afforded far better visibility and improved head-room for tall pilots. Because of the bulged hood, a standard ‘B’ model waxed canvas canopy cover wouldn’t fit and a ‘D’ model item had to be used. This habit was proved with the discovery of the canopy cover; it had P51D stencilled upon it. The Impatient Virgin was assigned to another pilot and she became ‘Eva!’ carrying E9-B.

The local ‘knowledge’ put the reason for the crash down to having hit a haystack on the Welney Washes, an area between the Old Bedford River and the Hundred Foot Drain, grassland in the summer and allowed to flood in the winter to save the surrounding farmland and properties. Sent out from RAF Downham Market, Flying Officer S R Wood, the Sqn Engineering Officer briefly spoke to Wade Ross as they waited for the ambulance. He related that he had been flying very low when he saw a slight rise in the ground, which he clipped with his radiator scoop and presumed that it had filled with hay. The resultant lack over airflow quickly allowed the Packard Merlin to overheat. The Coolant ‘popped’ filling the cockpit with steam and severely scalding Ross on his hands and right leg. Climbing to around 1000ft he baled out. Once F/O Ross was safely on his way to the RAF Hospital at nearby Ely, F/O Wood continued his investigation. Unable to find anyone who witnessed the aircraft other than immediately prior to the crash he toured the area but couldn’t find anywhere that the aircraft may have struck and with the bulk of the wreckage buried out of sight, he was unable to reach any definitive conclusion.

A view of the crash scene

Four days later in his statement for the Accident Investigation Board Wade Ross concluded that he was mistaken about clipping the ground and had been understandably confused as a result of suffering the effects of shock and his burns when he spoke to F/O Wood. It is unfortunate that Wade C Ross died at the age of 39, it would be nice to know his thoughts now after all these years. His son, Wade Jr remembers that his fathers hands never really recovered from the burns he received so maybe it is something that had he lived longer he would rather not have been reminded of. Due to there being no technical evidence available from the wreckage, that there were no witnesses to the aircraft striking anything, and that F/O Ross’s injuries were consistent with steam entering the cockpit the Board found that the cause of the accident was 100% materiel failure.

The delayed beet harvest meant that the next recovery attempt would have be at very short notice and the MoD licence would have lapsed, this time however the granting of another was a mere formality. As we worked the farm work continued around us, the beet were being lifted on one side of the field, the other was going under the plough ready to be drilled again.

Work continued alongside the recovery

The cockpit side that we had seen a year earlier was uncovered and freed, the canopy jettison handle that Ross would have reached for and pulled back with his tender hands to escape the overheated sauna that his cockpit had turned into, was still in place next to the canopy winder. The I section beams that form the structural frame of a P51 were carefully examined, here the makers identification plate and the USAAF acceptance plate should be attached. Further proof of the aircraft that this was indeed ‘Eva!’. When found the acceptance plate could be seen to have been hacked about. Possibly these plates had to be moved during the Malcolm Hood conversion as they are normally found on the rail that the canopy attaches to.  The coaming from above the instrument panel with the gunsight attachment was more difficult to release as it was still attached to part of the bulkhead armour plating, but once out another section of cockpit side came out along with further panels. One carried one of the star tips from ‘Star-and-Bar’ national marking, another a portion of the bar. The outlet door from the radiator housing was found but disappointingly no sign of the actual radiator or scoop.

Warning plate from the canopy release lever

More cockpit items emerged from the oily mess at the bottom of hole, the main switch box, circuit breaker box, rudder pedals, pieces of the stick top and the drop tank jettison control along several instruments. The oil tank and the rest of the bulkhead armour led to where the engine should be, however despite finding ancillaries such as the generator and starter it could not be reached with our machine.  With the plough getting ever closer we decided that the hole would have to be backfilled, the Packard Merlin would have to stay out of reach until another day. Maybe our annual pilgrimage to Hilgay will continue.

Control column top

The RAF issued dinghy was printed with instructions in several languages, reflecting the diversity of pilots flying in the Royal Air Force

 Panel with instruments laid back in position

Aircraft identity confirmed by the call-sign plate

The address of North American Aviation stencilled on to the bulkhead armour, presumably by a sub-contractor

Engine primer, used for starting

After being buried for 59 years it still works.

Cockpit side screen

The fuselage top panel from above the radio compartment

© copyright Jeff Carless