Part 46.
October, 1940
HOW A V.C. WAS WON
BY A BOMBER PILOT
IN order that you may get a clear picture of what happened that night, when my aircraft caught fire and when Sergeant Hannah performed that very fine act of bravery which earned for him the Victoria Cross, it would, I think, help matters if I described to you the interior of our Hampden bomber. In the nose of the machine sits the navigator. He is the most comfortably placed member of the crew. He can almost stand up and has plenty of leg room. I, as pilot, sit in another cockpit behind and above him and from the moment the aircraft takes off until it returns I do not leave my position. The other two members of the crew, who are the rear gunner and the wireless operator, occupy the top and bottom gun positions. They can however, if they wish, crawl through the aeroplane from one end to the other.
I have gone into these details so that you may, the more easily, realise that Sergeant Hannah had not only to contend with the raging flames but was called upon to extinguish them without at any time being able to pull himself up to his full height. It must be remembered too that he was wearing full flying kit which saved him from serious bodily burns but at the same time restricted his movements. Before I say anything more about Sergeant Hannah I want to describe, as best I can, what happened that night. If anybody had told me that only half the crew and three-quarters of the aeroplane would return to England I should have been inclined to laugh at them—but that's what happened.
We left in fine weather in high clouds and in due course we were over Antwerp. We started to make our bombing run but found that we were not in line to make a good attack, so we turned, circled round and got into better position. As soon as we arrived we noticed that the anti-aircraft gunfire was fairly heavy, but during that first run none of it came very close to us. It wasn't long, however, before they got our range and as we came round for the second attack we met a terrific barrage. We were hit in the wing on the way down several times, and the aircraft shook so much that it was not an easy matter to keep control of it. However, we released our bombs and it was then that I saw flames reflected in my perspex windscreen, but I was so busy taking violent evasive action against the anti-aircraft guns that I didn't at first give it any serious thought. Whilst I was avoiding the shells—as best I could—the wireless operator called me on the intercommunication system and announced, very quietly, in his marked Scots accent, "The aircraft is on fire". I asked him "Is it very bad?" He replied, "Bad, but not too bad". I gathered from this conversation and from the fact that the reflection of the flames was getting brighter and brighter, that the position was fairly serious. Sergeant Hannah, cool as he was, did not want to alarm me. I immediately warned the crew to prepare to abandon the aircraft, at the same time I was still throwing the machine all over the place in an effort to dodge the shells some of which were ripping right through the fuselage and others seemed to be bouncing off. Besides this heavy stuff there was a lot of tracer shooting all round us, and I was not very keen on my crew jumping through that. Their chance of landing unharmed would have been small.
In the meantime the fire was getting an even firmer hold and I imagine that the blazing aircraft must have presented the enemy gunners with a pretty good target. After three or four minutes of more shells whizzing through us and past us I was relieved to find that we were at last out of range, and I think it must have been about this time that my navigator and rear-gunner jumped for it. There is no doubt that the navigator was quite convinced that there was no chance of the aircraft surviving, whilst the rear-gunner apparently had no option. He was literally burned out of his bottom cockpit in circumstances which must have made it impossible for him to stay there.
The fact that the rear gunner did jump gave Sergeant Hannah more freedom of movement. Whilst he was fighting the flames with his log book and with his hands I could feel the heat getting nearer and nearer to the back of my neck, but at the same time I noticed, when I turned round, that the flames were still some four or five feet away from me. At first Hannah was wearing his oxygen mask, but the fumes were evidently too strong and he found himself beginning to suffocate. So, without any hesitation, he ripped the mask off and dashed through the fire heedless of the burns which he could not possibly avoid. After about ten minutes, which seemed like hours, I noticed the reflection in the windscreen had died down and that in place of the heat at the back of my neck there was a welcome and refreshingly cool breeze. I asked the sergeant on the intercommunication system, which miraculously escaped damage, how things were going. He said, in his cheery manner, "The fire is out, sir". I then asked him how the other members of the crew were getting on. He said, "I'll find out, sir". He then went into the rear-gunner's cockpit and said, "Nobody here, sir". He then climbed forward to the navigator's position and reported "Navigator not present. We are all alone, sir". He then scrambled into my cockpit and brought me the navigator's maps so that I could steer a course for home. In turning round to take the maps from Sergeant Hannah I realised what he had gone through. His face was badly burnt, his flying suit was scorched all over, and altogether he looked a sorry sight. Through it all he was grinning and I then knew that although his injuries were severe they were not as bad as they looked. On the way back home Hannah sat in the navi¬gator's position away from the smell of the fire, and when we landed he jumped out of the aeroplane as though what he had done had been an everyday occurrence. When I looked at the machine I got some idea of what he had gone through. The rear-gunner's cockpit and half the interior of the fuselage were charred ruins. There was a hole in the fuselage large enough for a man to crawl through. There were holes in the wings, but far more serious were the holes in the petrol tanks, and how the petrol didn't catch alight and undo all Sergeant Hannah's good work will remain a mystery. I believed that Hannah was fully conscious of that danger and concentrated on the flames nearest the tanks before he dealt with the other fires which broke out. To make matters even worse, while he was beating out the flames, thou¬sands of rounds of ammunition were going off in all directions and he had to fight his way through this fierce internal barrage to save the aircraft. He didn't give his own safety a thought. He could have jumped, but preferred to stay behind.
“Sergeant J. Hannah, V.C.,” a reproduction from the painting by Eric Kennington.
Sergeant Hannah’s recommendation for the V.C.
Damage to the Hampden.
Damage to the Hampden.
The remains of the Hampden’s pigeons.
Finally, and most sadly, a short biography of John Hannah V.C.
John Hannah VC (November 27, 1921 – June 9, 1947) was a Scottish recipient of the Victoria Cross, the highest and most prestigious award for gallantry in the face of the enemy that can be awarded to British and Commonwealth forces.
Born in Paisley and educated at Bankhead Primary School and Victoria Drive Secondary School, Glasgow, Hannah joined the Royal Air Force in 1939. After training as a wireless operator was promoted sergeant in 1940. He was attached to No. 83 Squadron , flying Handley Page Hampden bombers as a wireless operator/gunner. He was 18 years old, and a sergeant in No. 83 Squadron, Royal Air Force during the Second World War when the following deed took place for which he was awarded the VC.
On 15 September 1940 over Antwerp, Belgium, after a successful attack on German barges, the Handley Page Hampden bomber (serial P1355) in which Sergeant Hannah was wireless operator/air gunner, was subjected to intense anti-aircraft fire, starting a fire which spread quickly. The rear gunner and navigator had to bale out and Sergeant Hannah could have acted likewise, but instead he remained to fight the fire, first with two extinguishers and then with his bare hands. He sustained terrible injuries, but succeeded in putting out the fire and the pilot was able to bring the almost wrecked aircraft back safely.
He is the youngest recipient of the VC for aerial operations.
He contracted tuberculosis only a year later in mid-late 1941, brought on no doubt by his weakened condition following the severe burns he sustained during his VC action. This necessitated his eventual discharge, with full disability pension, from the RAF in December 1942. However, unable thereafter to take up a full-time job, he initially took a job as a taxi driver (using a car his aunt had lent him) but due to increasing ill health he returned the car in 1943. He then found it increasingly difficult to support his wife and three small daughters, and his health ultimately gave out. He died on 9 June 1947 at Markfield Sanatorium in Leicester, where he had been lying for four months. He is buried in the churchyard of St James the Great Church, Church Hill, Birstall, north Leicester. His wife, Janet Hannah, is also interred there with her husband. An inscription to her reads 'Loved and remembered always Janet Hannah Aged 83 years'.
His headstone is inscribed:-
652918 Flight Sergeant J Hannah. VC. Royal Air Force 7th June 1947 Age 25 Courageous Duty Done In Love He Serves His Pilot Now Above.
His Victoria Cross is displayed at the Royal Air Force Museum, Hendon, London.
