Signature: Irons, Harry

Joining the RAF at the age of 16 in 1940, he did 2 full tours as a Rear Gunner with 9 Squadron and took part in nearly all the famous raids of Bomber Command. He finished in 1945 at 158 Squadron flying Halifaxes. 'I had just turned 18 when we went on a gunnery school course. After that six-week training, we usually went for a further three months training to an Operational Training Unit. It so happened that 9 Squadron had just converted from Wellingtons to Lancasters and they were 14 air gunners short on the squadron, so they posted us from gunnery school after six weeks' training straight to the squadron. 'When I got there, I was approached by a Flt Lt Stubbs, who said to me: 'You're my new gunner. We've got a gunner already but he's been flying Wellingtons and he doesn't want to be a rear gunner. He wants to go in the mid-upper turret. You'll be the rear gunner.' But, he said, on my first raid, the best thing for me to do would be to go on the mid-upper turret. 'That way you can see exactly what's going on,' he said. 'My first raid in Lancasters with 9 Squadron was to Dusseldorf on September 10th, 1942. Every time we went on a bombing raid, we had to do an air test first. We would test our guns, test the bomb sight, test the hydraulics, test the engines, and when you landed, if everything was OK, you told the engineers that everything was fine for the raid. As we landed, the armourers arrived with the bomb load. I still remember now, it was one 4,000 pounder - one huge, fat bomb - and 1,200 incendiaries. 'Our bomb aimer was an 'old sweat'. We used to call him 'The Old Boy'. He was 26. He said that with that bomb load we had, we were definitely going to the Happy Valley. When we returned to the mess, we got ready to go to the briefing. We were briefed and the curtain came down off the target and there it was - Dusseldorf. 'That's right,' said the bomb aimer to me, 'that's where we are going, Dusseldorf.' Most of our raids were on the Ruhr Valley and the reason why I am alive now is because - I don't know why - but I never went to Berlin. I wouldn't be talking to you now if I had been to Berlin. I can assure you. 'We put all our gear on. It took about half an hour for the air gunner to get dressed with all the clothing. I clambered into the mid-upper turret and off we went. As we crossed the Dutch coast, I could see we were about 1,400 or 1,500 feet over the coast. I could see a huge number of lights coming up. Far below us there was light flak, in beautiful colours, but it never touched us because we were a little too high. 'We crossed over Holland and the bomb aimer said: 'We are approaching the target, Skipper,' so I decided to swing my turret around and have a look. I was absolutely shocked by what I saw. I could not believe my eyes seeing what was in front of me. The flak, the guns, the lights, the search lights. It was incredible and I was really, really, really frightened. The plane was bouncing about. Then the bomb aimer said: 'Bomb doors open' and in we go straight and level. 'On my left I could see an aircraft on fire going down, and one below us I could see exploding. And I thought to myself: 'We're in for something here!'. I could not believe that we were going to fly through this huge explosion. But we went through it. Then the pilot was talking to the bomb aimer, and the bomb aimer said: 'We have missed the target, Skipper. We're going to have to go round again.' And I thought: 'Dear, oh dear, we've got to go all the way round, come back and go through all that again.' Which we did. And on the second run, we dropped our bombs. 'Bomb doors closed. On the way home. Flying back, there were problems with the oxygen, so the skipper – he was 21 and on his second tour, and old hand – took us down lower. We had to drop below 10,000 feet, and as we crossed the Dutch coast, the light flak opened up. It was absolutely hair-raising. There were hundreds and hundreds of these lights flashing past us but, strangely enough, not one of them hit us. 'When we got back, we landed and had a look at our aircraft. There were about 10 or 15 holes, two or three inches wide, across the fuselage, flak holes caused by shrapnel from the shells. We must have caught them on the Dutch coast. We were lucky but I've seen much worse. We went in for a briefing, had a coffee and went to bed. That was my first raid. Later, I found out, that our skipper, who had finished his tour, unfortunately got killed during training a couple of weeks later.'