An ANZAC Day Rescue

It was ANZAC Day, a day very special to Australians and New Zealanders. Our squadron had moved to Gravesend on 17 April 1944 and we were living under canvas in preparation for the invasion of Europe. ANZAC Day was something special. New Zealanders on an Australian squadron - another ANZAC mission; a London newspaper photographer came down and took photos of a group of us. On the 26th, the photo appeared in (I think) the Daily Sketch and Fittock and Haugh were both in the picture.

Image: FGOFF L.J. ‘Snow’ Fittock (left) and his navigator W/O J.W. Haugh (3rd from left) of No.464 Squadron. ‘Kiwi’ Saunders rescued Haugh on ANZAC Day 25 April 1944. Unfortunately ‘Snow’ Fittock died in the crash and his body was left in the sea.

Preparation and take-off were routine and I recall that we left England at Littlehampton. I recall seeing evidence of invasion preparations; all sorts of military naval and air equipment parked in appropriate places, but not very well concealed.

We flew low over the Channel, came up to 1,000 feet to cross the coast and dived down again to low level to approach our target - a flying bomb site. We dropped our bombs and from observation I thought we had had a strike. Bombs were on 11-second delay so it was difficult to tell. We had the camera on our aircraft to record the result, but that is still at the bottom of the Channel.

We returned to the coast at low level and again climbed to 1,000 feet TO cross the coast, and dived down to low level on tack back to England. Time was about 3 p.m., flying into a sun low on the horizon. The sea was calm but with a three - to four - foot swell and with a glossy smoothness reflecting the sun’s rays. We had been fired at, of course, but I don’t think we had been hit. As we headed out to sea, I was looking back to make sure that no German aircraft were following. Then it happened.

A short time after crossing the coast, the propellers hit the sea. Both props had the tips bent back about six to 12 inches which started the aircraft vibrating. We discussed what to do and ‘Snow’ Fittock decided we’d have to go into the water. We had only seconds before we ditched and in those moments I thought about all sorts of things about the drill we had often practised; but also recalled having been told that no one had survived a Mosquito ditching up to that time. However, I had no thoughts that we would not survive.

The actual ditching was a tremendous thump. The aircraft must have been travelling at over 300 m.p.h. and the deceleration pressed me against my Sutton harness with tremendous force. The aircraft immediately sank and water poured in. I remember swallowing water but do not recollect being thrown against any part of the aircraft and being injured. At the time, to release my harness I had great difficulty in pulling the pin because it had been bent in the deceleration process. As I struggled, I felt the pressure of water getting greater and greater as I went down with the aircraft. Eventually I got free and shot to the surface. I recall that I virtually came completely out of the water! The partly inflated Mae West probably caused this.

On the surface, I found the aircraft had completely disappeared apart from some wood chips, just the aircraft dinghy, fully inflated, and my pilot floating some distance away. I asked him if he was OK and he replied ‘Yes’.

I said that because as I was closest to the dinghy I would get in, and he indicated he would follow. At this stage I think I fully inflated my Mae West with the oxygen bottle. I also noted our lead aircraft was circling overhead. When it disappeared, I was overwhelmed by the silence and the utter loneliness. I got into the dinghy - a difficult job with my parachute harness still on - with my personal dinghy trailing in the water. A swift inspection showed that the aircraft dinghy was fully inflated and the contents were in accordance with specifications.

Fittock got to the dinghy quickly and asked me to help him in. I attempted to do this, but as he was a big man, and with all his gear on, I did not succeed. He fell back into the water several times, and on the final occasion the toggle on his Mae West oxygen bottle punctured the dinghy and we were both in the water without an inflated dinghy.

I then had difficulty in inflating my personal dinghy until I recalled that just a few days earlier; a new safety gadget had been put on the inflation system. When the dinghy was inflated I tried to get in, but by this time I was getting exhausted and very cold. Finally I had no strength to try further and I put my head and shoulders in the dinghy and wound my hands in the side ropes. I then lost consciousness.

I went into the sea at about 3 p.m. and woke up in Friston Air Force hospital at about 8 p.m. I was told that the staff had had much difficulty in keeping me alive and bringing me to consciousness. The hospital, I guess, had been a country residence, and the room I woke up in was large with black ceiling beams with painted white panels. The windows were leaded.

The English Channel had been very cold and to revive me and keep me warm I had been given hot coffee with lots of sugar, whisky and strychnine and the bed was full of hot water bottles. I was shaking all over and felt uncomfortable, and after three days I was transferred to Eastbourne Public Hospital where I remained for two weeks.

I suffered bruising where the Sutton harness had dug in when we hit the water, I had a broken eardrum and developed pneumonia. I was very grateful to be alive but was very upset that my pilot, ‘Snow’ Fittock, was missing. We had crewed up together in Canada in July 1943 and had joined 464 Squadron in January 1944. I felt that if I had been able to get him into the dinghy he would have been saved. That still haunts me. The pilot’s seat was very close to the windscreen and ‘Snow’ was a big man, so his head was always close to perspex canopy. I will never know if he had been injured in the ditching but I think it was likely.

When eventually I returned to the squadron, what most people wanted to know was not how it happened, but how we had managed to ditch in a Mosquito and get out of it. I imagine I was a very rare specimen to have survived a Mosquito ditching.

Warrant Officer J. W Haugh, No 464 (RAAF) Squadron.

The article was submitted by SQNLDR Pete Reid. His uncle FGOFF ‘Snow’ Fittock lost his life in the crash.