SERVICE GRAVE
EDGAR JOHN SMITH (grave 85)
SERGEANT (AIR GUNNER)
230 OPERATIONAL CONVERSION UNIT
MY STORY
Died: 1st December 1951
The Korean War was at its height. After very nearly being driven from the Korean Peninsula Allied forces had fought back, but had reached a stalemate at the 38th parallel. The war would go on for more than a year with the ever-present threat of another push by the Chinese using their human wave theory of warfare. The tactic was simple, overwhelm your enemy with shear weight of numbers and defeat their technological advantage.
It was now clear to the British Government that the post World War 2 Peace Dividend was over. Conscription was reintroduced and a massive programme of re-armament was developed. Those training new pilots and crews for the Avro Lincoln on 230 Operational Conversion Unit would no doubt have been under considerable pressure to provide more crews for duty on the frontline.
Although RAF Lincolns did not fight in Korea, they were still at the forefront in the fight against communism, flying against the Mau Mau in Kenya and for a while carrying the British nuclear deterrent.
The pilot of Lincoln B2 RF567 was Sergeant George Watson from Harrogate. Although he had been flying for two and a half years, his first flight in a Lincoln had only taken place a day before the accident. On the day of the accident, he had flown with his instructor, Flight Lieutenant Clarringbull, who later stated that he had done very well and seemed fully competent to fly solo.
At 11:40 am Watson and his crew took-off on a solo flight for the first time. Very quickly things started to go wrong when the Flight Engineer reported that the number one engine oil temperature was too high. Watson ordered the engine to be shut down and the propeller feathered. Being so inexperienced on the Lincoln, it’s hardly surprising that Watson misjudged his approach and landed just short of the runway.
The aircraft initially bounced but quickly veered off the runway centre line and headed towards Number 1 Hangar. At this time, Watson’s instructor Flight Lieutenant Clarringbull came out of his office. He was later to give the following statement to the Coroner:
“I came out of my office and saw a Lincoln aircraft coming across the runway. Its Number one engine was feathered and the aircraft was very low. I saw it actually touchdown on the grass diagonally to the runway almost facing Number 1 hanger before it crashed”
The inquest was in fact held in Station Sick Quarters at Scampton, whilst the three survivors of the crash were still patients there. Due to the fact that the pilot was amongst those who survived the crash, the inquest was able to establish all the factors that led to the crash. In his summing up, the Coroner, Mr H J J Griffith said:
“This is part of the price to be paid. You all know that rearmament has to be carried through and with a constantly expanding Air Force, accidents are bound to happen. These men died in the service of their country, just as much as if they were on active service”
The crash claimed the lives of two Air Gunners airborne on this mission. Sergeant Smith who is buried at Scampton and Sergeant Gerald Leslie Laver of Wimbledon. The Coroner noted that both had either died instantly or were rendered unconscious by the crash and he recorded a verdict of accidental death. Sergeant Smith was originally from Ashley Down, Bristol and was only 19 when he died.
An eye witness account by Peter Richmond
Some experiences make such an impact on a young mind that they never seem to fade; what happened on Saturday 1st December 1951 is one such memory and, despite being almost fifty seven years ago, I still recall it clearly and certain smells bring it rushing to my mind.
It was an ordinary Saturday; I’d been to ‘Saturday Cinema’ at the Scampton picture house with two of my friends and returned home for lunch. My mother was busy and irritated that I hadn’t picked up the spent fireworks in the garden despite it being three weeks since Bonfire Night and I was told: ‘Do it or stay in all day!’ So, rather than face a day of boredom I went into the garden.
As I was collecting the by then soggy remains, there was a loud noise accompanied by a rush of hot air which made me leap to my feet and look to the direction of the noise. What I saw froze me to the spot. Across the grass plot, beyond our married quarter garden, and almost directly in front of me, were the tangled remains of a Lincoln Bomber. The aircraft was laying nose towards me at an angle with flames and smoke bursting out of it.
The tail must have broken away as I could also see the rear turret. My brain seemed to be taking the sight in at speeds which put everything into slow motion and only the sight of a burning figure running from the front of the aircraft broke the shock which rooted me to the ground.
Peter with his friends Edward and Michael Hunn.
I rushed into the kitchen to be met by my mother who seemed to think I had caused the noise by knocking over a bag of coke in the shed and before I had a chance to speak, a quick clip round the ear was dispensed at the mere thought of the mess I might have created. My mouth was open but no words would come out, so I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the window jabbing my finger in the direction of the crash. All that was now visible of the aircraft was a deep orangey – red glow shrouded by dense black smoke.
Within seconds Mum had dragged me to the front door to escape the danger. Once outside we could hear the reports as the ammunition of the aircraft’s guns were set off by the heat of the fire. The usually quiet street was filled by adults all trying to find out what had happened. A black pall of oily smoke began to drift over the street and the acrid stink made it impossible to stay. We, and the other residents, made our way to other houses which were not so badly affected.
The day continued in an atmosphere of great concern, not simply because of the tragedy, but also because my friend Michael was missing for some hours.
It turned out that he had spent the day watching the Firemen put out the fire and hose down the surrounding buildings to stop the fire from spreading. His mother was furious with him whereas I, like most other little boys, felt piqued that I had not been with him.
My father had gone off to work that morning and didn’t return home again until the following day because he, as the Warrant Officer i/c MT (Motor Transport), had spent the afternoon and night assisting with the clean up operation.