The loneliness of the rear gunner
15/05/2007
If you want to experience the loneliest place in the world, don't try Siberia or Antarctica. Just fly in a Lancaster in the 'Tail-end Charlie' [Rear Gunner] position.
You climb into a not very comfortable seat, hand wind the whole 'pod' (turret) until you are cut off from your colleagues and face the world backwards.
You are on your own, with no control over where you go.
Suddenly, you see another aircraft coming towards you. You wait, check it is not friendly and judge the point at which you fire, assuming you have not already been blown to bits and that you are accurate, as there will be no second chance. Your intercom may work, but only to scream out that you are about to leave this world and wish you had gone down the mines instead.
The only One you can communicate with is Almighty God and plead with Him that you hope you have not left it too late to be reconciled to Him, in spite of your previous life. If He says 'O.K.', then you can die in peace and cease being lonely. Otherwise you think: 'The average number of sorties by rear gunners is three; I've done two, so I can't have long to go.'
Do we ever really think of the incredible bravery of such lonely men? They rarely were decorated -- that usually fell to the pilots. But how many crew owe their lives to the good judgment and accurate fire of Charlie in his so-lonely place, really back stage?
Of course, if you do survive again, you sweat -- even when it is freezing in the turret, which it usually is, with no air conditioning there, just a constant cold or freezing draught -- and thank God if you are sensible, or your lucky stars if not, and wait for the next "Action Stations" with fear all over your face and indeed in your whole lonely body.
Yours
Alan Orme
You climb into a not very comfortable seat, hand wind the whole 'pod' (turret) until you are cut off from your colleagues and face the world backwards.
You are on your own, with no control over where you go.
Suddenly, you see another aircraft coming towards you. You wait, check it is not friendly and judge the point at which you fire, assuming you have not already been blown to bits and that you are accurate, as there will be no second chance. Your intercom may work, but only to scream out that you are about to leave this world and wish you had gone down the mines instead.
The only One you can communicate with is Almighty God and plead with Him that you hope you have not left it too late to be reconciled to Him, in spite of your previous life. If He says 'O.K.', then you can die in peace and cease being lonely. Otherwise you think: 'The average number of sorties by rear gunners is three; I've done two, so I can't have long to go.'
Do we ever really think of the incredible bravery of such lonely men? They rarely were decorated -- that usually fell to the pilots. But how many crew owe their lives to the good judgment and accurate fire of Charlie in his so-lonely place, really back stage?
Of course, if you do survive again, you sweat -- even when it is freezing in the turret, which it usually is, with no air conditioning there, just a constant cold or freezing draught - and thank God if you are sensible, or your lucky stars if not, and wait for the next "Action Stations" with fear all over your face and indeed in your whole lonely body.
Alan Orme