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Auction: 13003 - Orders, Decorations, Campaign Medals and Militaria
Lot: 25

A Good Second War 1942 'Whitley and Halifax' Rear Gunner's D.F.M. Group of Five to Sergeant, Later Squadron Leader, J. Davidson, 78 Squadron, Royal Air Force, Who Shot Down an Enemy Fighter Whilst Returning From a Raid to Brest, 13.9.1941, and Who Flew as a Gunnery Leader in the 'Thousand Bomber Raids' to Cologne, Essen and Bremen, Including Operation Millenium, 30.5.1942, His Part in Which is Related in Great Deatail in Eric Taylor's Book Operation Millenium, 'Bomber' Harris's Raid on Cologne, May 1942. Davidson Later Retrained and Flew Helicopters During the Malayan Conflict
a) Distinguished Flying Medal, G.VI.R. (1113649 Sgt. J. Davidson. R.A.F.), suspension slack
b) 1939-1945 Star
c) Air Crew Europe Star
d) Defence and War Medals
e) General Service 1918-62, E.II.R., one clasp, Malaya (Flt. Lt. J. Davidson. R.A.F.), light contact marks throughout, generally very fine, mounted as originally worn, with the following related items:
- Six Associated Miniature Awards
- Various items of cloth insignia and buttons
- Scrap Book compiled of photographs and newspaper cuttings from various stages of recipient's career, including a telegram sent in error to recipient in the UK from the Officer Commanding R.A.F. Kualalumpur congratulating him on the award of a D.F.C., dated 4.2.1958
- A copy of Operation Millennium, 'Bomber' Harris's Raid on Cologne, May 1942, by E. Taylor, in which the recipient is mentioned numerous times and his Log Book is pictured (lot)

D.F.M. London Gazette 12.1.1943 1113649 Sergeant James Davidson, 78 Squadron, R.A.F.
The Recommendation, dated 16.10.1942, states: 'Sergeant Davidson has completed 29 sorties against the enemy including 6 on Bremen and has proved himself an excellent and most courageous Air Gunner, undeterred by a bad crash early in his operational career. In fact, on his next sorties as a tail gunner of a Whitley, he destroyed a Heinkel 113 in air combat over Brest. He has since completed many to the heavily defended German targets with unshaken determination. Sergeant Davidson is recommended for the Distinguished Flying Medal.'

Squadron Leader James 'Jim' Davidson, D.F.M. served during the Second War as a Rear Gunner and Gunnery Leader with 78 Squadron; he flew in 29 operational sorties with the squadron including Hamm; Frankfurt; Le Havre; 27.8.1941 Bruges, 'Aircraft hit by flak and crashed on landing. A/C burnt our and all crew injured' (Sortie Record refers); 13.9.1941 Brest, 'After bombing target, was attacked by He 113. R/Gunner fired three good bursts and the HE was seen by Captain and T/Gunner to go down in flames' (Ibid); Kiel; Dusseldorf; Boulogne; Hamburg (2); he took part with the squadron in Operation Millennium the attack on Cologne, the first Allied 1,000 bomber raid, 30/31.5.1942; Operation Millennium, 'Bomber' Harris's Raid on Cologne, May 1942 by E. Taylor gives the following insight into Davidson's actions in the hours leading up to the raid and his actual part in Operation Millennium:
'Saturday, 30th May 1942: In the overcrowded RAF messes, 6,000 aircrew waited and the nervous tension rose perceptibly. Men who had never smoked before accepted cigarettes... They were an odd mixture. Some had already been through the 'sausage machine' of the first ten operations. Others were completely raw, not even properly trained, and a few nearing the end of their thirty-op tour... They all knew something big was on but they did not know exactly what. Slowly the rumour started to circulate that they were destined for some suicidal mass daylight raid...

Jim Davidson, a veteran, heard the story at RAF Croft, on the Durham/Yorkshire border, but he was not particularly impressed or worried about the prospect. Two years as a rear gunner had conditioned him to accept the odds against survival. There was nothing to be done about them, except to look well after the efficiency of his guns and turrets.

Jim was a tall, well-built, sandy-haired young Scot, displaying an image more of a ghillie than the glamour air gunner. He did not look the kind who would panic in an emergency: if things got rough, you would expect him to pull out his pipe, pack it methodically and then give his considered judgement - except that in his job there never was time or space for that sort of thing. He was concerned less with the rumour of the raid than with keeping reasonably dry and warm in the primitive living-conditions afforded by RAF Croft, new, muddy 'satellite' airfield to Middleton St. George in County Durham...

Davidson had come to Croft with 78 Squadron to be converted from Whitleys to the four-engined Halifax in time to take part in 'this big raid'... When Davidson had entered the Nissen hut at Croft, with his spaniel dog, Whisky, he found the RAF police and the adjutant going through the personal belongings of aircrew who had been in the beds the previous night. They would not be coming back. They had gone for the 'chop'.

He had sat for a moment on his hard bed remembering when he had gone off to boarding school for the first time and was dumped miles from anywhere. And the same thoughts ran through his mind: "Well, this is it. What have I let myself in for?" He would just have to wait and see...

The education section hut at RAF Croft... was so full men lolled against the walls; the benches were packed and there was hardly room on the tables for maps and papers. Now the time had come for them all to know what was on.

For many of the aircrew of 78 Squadron it was to be their first operation, and anxiety showed on their faces... The 'veterans' of maybe a dozen operations sat poker-faced. They knew what it was all about, whatever the target. Death. And the terror that turned boys into old men.

Suddenly the babble of voices faded. A senior officer stood up and called them all to attention. Then a murmur of surprise rippled through 78 Squadron. What was the group commander doing there? The atmosphere was electric, charged with suspense and expectation. For Air Vice-Marshal Roderick Carr to come down for a briefing it must be something big. He flapped a hand at them as they rose and stood for a moment facing them in silence. Then, in the time-honoured manner the briefing began: "Gentlemen, the target for tonight is COLOGNE!" There was a moment of stunned silence as the message sank in, followed by an audible sigh of relief. They had expected worse.

The Air Marshal held up his hand. "Tonight, gentlemen, though, the raid is no ordinary one. We shall be bombing with one thousand aircraft!"

This time the reaction was instantaneous - the air was filled with incredulous cries of "Bloody Hell!" and whistles of amazement. Now the worst really was behind them. The waiting over. Almost.

The Air Marshal went on to explain the importance of the target... Cologne, the crews were told, was one of the most important cities... with a population of 900,000 people. It was important not just because of its munitions factories and military installations but also because it was a centre of trade and political activity, so that its destruction would be felt all over Germany. It would strike a major blow against German morale- weaken their will to fight!

The intelligence officer then took over the pointer..."One thing we have to make absolutely clear is that Cologne is now one of the most heavily defended of all German cities. So listen carefully... I know many of you have been there before but what you don't know is that during the last month the German High Command has moved an even greater concentration of anti-aircraft defences into the city approaches... You are asking for trouble if you do not stick rigidly to the flight plan. Only in this way can we be sure of saturating the defences enough to cut our losses... I have one special warning for air gunners. Along the route you are following there will be some of our own night fighters with the intruder force attacking the Luftwaffe bases, so for Christ's sake be extra careful about what you fire at!"
Grimly Jim Davidson told himself, "If they fire at you, fire back with all you've got.'

At RAF Croft Jim Davidson crawled into the cramped quarters of the Halifax rear gun turret and had a recurrence of that sinking feeling before taking off, that lonesome foreboding that made him always want to say, "Bloody Hell? Is it really me here again?" Alone isolated from the rest of the crew, listening to the engines slowly revving up and without the support of his friend's backchat, he felt utterly exposed. On his own in a different world.

Now came the most agonizing moment of fear, the dash to the 125mph 'unstick' speed. They seemed like an eternity to Jim, aware that he was sitting on top of 1,300 pounds of high explosive and 2,000 gallons of high-octane fuel. A faltering engine, a burst tyre, faulty flaps, a pilot error amongst any number of factors could, and often did bring a spectacular end to all fear. For ever.

This time they were to make it. Harry Woodly swung the aircraft round in a slow climbing sweep in the direction of Flamborough Head. Soon they were sailing securely over the North Sea in the cold moonlit night. Far, far below a friendly light was winking 'goodbye' from the last dark headland. Somewhere down there, thought Jim, there were warm farmhouses whilst we... He jerked his mind back to the job in hand and blew into the mike. "Skipper? OK to test my guns?" And putting on a strong Yankee accent, "Just to make sure I have lead poisoning at my finger-tips."
"OK, Jim. Go ahead, boy," replied Harry.
There was the metallic crash of the bolts sliding home as he cocked the guns. Now he felt fine. He was doing something.

He depressed the guns towards the white-capped waves dimly seen far below and pressed the firing button. The guns chattered and the staccato explosions shook the aircraft, startling the crew. Long red tracers arched downwards and outwards into the night.
"OK, Skip. Guns OK."
"Good lad, Jim," came Harry Woodly's voice.
Now Jim Davidson felt much better. It was just another raid. They were on their way. OK. No stoppages with the guns. No problems to solve. He hated wrestling with the guns in the dark… For the next few hours, here was his perch. Here he would sit swinging the turret from side to side, each movement slow and deliberate, marking a passage of time. Nearer to the end of this raid. Nearer to the end of the tour. But first there was the long haul across the North Sea. It always surprised him how long it took…

Harry Woodly saw it first as he crossed the Dutch coast: a crimson red glow. The dark dome of the sky was shot with blood, like nothing he had ever seen before on all his raids. "It must be a decoy", he thought. "Pyrotechnics creating the effect of fire." He checked his course and stayed with it. The red glow stayed. Dead ahead. Strange. A decoy usually took them off course.

Then, gradually, realization of what that awesome sight really was came as a tremendous shock. Cologne was ablaze from end to end. Fires were feeding upon other fires in the very heart of the city. And all over the smaller darker patches there could be seen the white glare of incendiaries bursting.

Harry was still marvelling at the astonishing spectacle, doing a gentle weave at 14,000 feet, when his mind was jolted back to the immediate situation by a shout from the tail gunner, Jim Davidson, and the rattle of machine-guns which reverberated throughout the aircraft.
"Fighter attacking. Right. Now!" Automatically Woodly put the aircraft into the practised drill: a tight diving turn towards the fighter, cutting down the target size and aiming-time for the fighter. It was the beginning of a running fight. The Junkers 88 pilot was a hot one. He lifted one wing, did a stall turn and somehow managed to get into a position to attack from the port beam. "Yes, this man is really good," thought Woodly. He pulled the control column hard back into his stomach. Just in time. Two ropes of red tracer shot right under the port wing. Woodly held onto the column, hard back until he felt the aircraft about to stall. Then just at the precise moment he pushed the nose down and opened the throttles. But the Junker's pilot was not to be denied. He came in again, diving from above the tail, ignoring the tracers whizzing at him from Davidson's guns, his plane shuddering under the recoil from the cannon. Yet again the Halifax corkscrewed downwards. The black shape of the Junkers flashed by. And then it was gone.
"Jesus, Jesus." breathed Davidson heavily, "that was too damned close!"
Now Woodly was getting back some altitude. He called for a course and began again his steady weave towards the stricken city ahead. Checking his crew, one by one. No one hurt. No damage. Yet.

Now the fire was nearer. Wisps of thick smoke began to blur the pilot's vision. There was only one thing he could do, but it involved breaking from the flight plan. He would have to climb above the pall of smoke drifting away from Cologne. He climbed to 17,000 feet. He steadied the bomber on course. Now for the run in.
"All yours, bomb-aimer."
Shellbursts were getting unpleasantly close. The aircraft shuddered in the blasts of near misses now. Jagged lumps of flak ripped holes in his wings and fuselage. There was a vicious flash and a roar in front. Bomb doors were open. No point in looking for the aiming-point now in that conflagration. But the bomb-aimer had selected a patch still untouched by fire. Calmly he gave course corrections. Now all else was blotted out from the minds of both the pilot and the man with his eye in the sight. Immediately below the twin towers of the cathedral passed, and then the silvery river flashing with reds and yellows and white of bursting incendiaries. Steadily they went. The whole cockpit lit up. A thumb felt for the button. A hand contracted into a fist. Bombs fell away in quick succession, and a pattern of flashes below sparked off further flares which soon brought with them belchings of thick black smoke of burning rubber.

Harry Woodly opened the engines to full throttle and made a descending turn to port (instead of the planned route to Euskirchen), rapidly losing height and gaining speed to set a fast course home. As they left the ancient city of Cologne, pursued by bursting shells, an excited Scottish voice came over the intercom:
"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! What a fire!"

By dawn, in the operations rooms at RAF Croft, the progress of the raid had been closely monitored and recorded in silence... Smartly dressed, tight-shirted airwomen, with hair drawn back... had chalked numbers of the aircraft that had taken off onto the board and their expected time of return. Now they would soon know... A cry was heard. And there at the end of the airfield came the wings of a roaring great bird... Irregularly now they came back, singly, each landing in its own distinctive way. The count was taken...

A different body of men now made their way across the tarmac from those who had moved excitedly out for the raid earlier last night. Tension was released, their postures slumped, they were physically tired and mentally exhausted. But no bed for them yet.

Jim Davidson filed into the operations block behind his pilot, Harry Woodly, and with the rest of the crew tailing after him. There a smartly dressed intelligence officer interrogated them. Carefully he listened to their story of the raid. He interrupted with questions. Had they seen a Halifax go down in flames? Were any parachutes seen? What was the enemy interference like? Sometimes one of the crew would add an extra piece of information, but generally they left the answers for the skipper... Most of the time they sat sprawling on the hard wooden chairs round the table, sipping a mug of tea laced with rum... In the warm room they had stripped off their heavy flying-clothing. Gradually the sheet of paper in front of the debriefing officer was covered with notes.

At last, after a final question or two, they were released and went off for breakfast... One by one they finished their meal and drifted off to their quarters, some to sleep and some to their usual nightmare.

Operation Millenium was now a one-line entry in their logbooks.' In Davidson's case this was rather laconically recorded as, 'Cologne. 1000 A.C. Blitz. Attacked by five fighters. Ju 88.'

Having undertaken this epic raid he continued his tour with trips to Essen (3) including the second outing of the 'Thousand Force'; 16.6.1942 Bonn, 'Flak burst put aircraft out of control and port-inner engine caught fire but went out. Returned and landed safely' (Ibid); Bremen (6) including the reassembling of the 'Thousand Force' 25/26.6.1942; Wilhelmshaven; Vegesack; Duisburg; Lyons; Saarbrucken (2) and Karlsruhe; Davidson carried out two operational tours; advancing to Squadron Leader, he retrained after the war as a helicopter pilot and commanded 60 P.T.C. (Personnel Transit Camp) in Malaya; he returned to view Cologne Cathedral 37 years later after Operation Millenium, where he gave a talk on the raid to a German audience of 800; during this visit he also met with the German fighter ace Adolf Galland, and the Mayor of Cologne; in later life he resided in Huntington, York.

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