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bombers with impunity, the Wellingtons’ turrets traversed to their impotent maximum of 80 degrees. Glancing out of the cockpit, Grant was dismayed to see fuel spuming out of his holed tanks. He began urgently pumping what remained into those that seemed unhit: ‘There was absolutely nothing that we could do except sit there being picked off one by one . . .’ 3 On Grant’s port side Sergeant Ramshaw, his aircraft hit repeatedly by attacks which came almost certainly from the Messerschmitt of Gordon Gollob – later to become a famous ace with 150 alleged victories – was appalled to find all his turrets jammed and his rear gunner mortally wounded. Defenceless, he dropped his Wellington under the rest of the section and flew on homewards, clinging beneath the shelter of their guns, fuel pouring from his tanks. In Harris’s aircraft in front of them, fire cut into the front turret, one round smashing through the sole of the gunner’s boot, another burst damaging sections of the geodetic frame and an elevator. Behind Harris, Briden was staggering onwards in an aircraft heavily damaged and losing fuel fast.
    It was the performance of this starboard section and that of Kellett in the lead which later caused one of the German fighter squadron commanders to note in his report the ‘tight formation and excellent rear gunners of the Wellington bombers’. One Me110 had already been compelled to pull out of action and make an emergency landing with its crew wounded by turret fire from a Wellington. The German squadron CO himself forced-landed with a badly damaged aircraft, and most of his fighters had been hit by the British guns. But the fact remained that none of the 110s was totally destroyed, and as the German also stated in his report: ‘TheWellingtons’ maintenance of formation and rigid adherence to course made them easy targets to find.’
    While the leading sections of the British force fought a savage battle for survival, it was at the rear, among the aircraft of 37 Squadron, that disaster became almost absolute. Even before Kellett’s formation closed Wilhelmshaven, the second pilot of ‘Cheese’ Lemon’s aircraft reached down to open the bomb doors. On a Wellington, the appropriate control was set beside the flap lever. He accidentally put on full flap. The results were dramatic. The Wellington soared abruptly upwards, causing chaos among the crew and uproar on the intercom. The aircraft then stalled and began to dive steeply towards the earth, as Lemon and his second pilot struggled to regain control.
    By the time they had done so, they were alone, very low, over the sea. ‘Christ, we’ve lost everything now. We’re on our own,’ thought Greaves. It was at this moment that the rear gunner, Kidd, shouted: ‘109s!’ Lemon clung desperately to the waves as the gunner called out the attacks: ‘They’re coming in . . . now . . . left! Now, right, right! He’s overshooting!’ They were hit repeatedly in the fuselage, the aircraft still streaking along with spray breaking on the perspex of the front turret, where Greaves tried in vain to bring his gun to bear. ‘If we go down now, we’ve had it,’ he thought, struck by the ghastly vision of the aircraft plunging unhesitating to the sea bottom if Lemon lost control for a moment. The observer in the astrodome was commentating on the German attacks. Suddenly, as one of the fighters closed again, there was a cry of choked astonishment from the rear turret: ‘Christ! He’s gone straight in!’ The German’s wingtip seemed to have touched the water, and in an instant vanished. The other fighter broke away. They were alone. There was an outburst of nervous hilarity on the intercom about the German’s sudden collision with the North Sea. Then Lemon cut in: ‘Come on, cut the chatter, we’ve got to get home.’ Silent, exhausted by fear, they settled for the long run back to Feltwell, flying all the way almost at sea level. Greaves swore that he could